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26

ART LOAN EYES AND EARS.

Eyes that see and ears that hear find much to amuse as well as to interest their owners, and in no place do these protruding organs find better opportunities for indulgence than at the Art Loan. One might write a readable book composed of sayings and doings in connections with these Art Loan walls, and the visitors who come to see, and hear, and talk. Poor R. gets her share of arrows shot from friendly bows as well as from common foes, and why? Because the printers' type makes her pen say impossible things. For instance, "Barnum's chariot on the hill," (!) instead of "on the Nile." But as R. never sees a proof, she is thankful for so few misrepresentations.

If grown folks dared to be as free and frank, as true and outspoken as children are in their daily intercourse, what storms of applause, what hisses of indignation, as well as that golden silence, a thousand times worse than the two former, would deafen our ears, silence our tongues, and make us wish to hide our diminished heads.

The boldest expressions often proceed from the most timid natures, and we are prone to censure small faults and withhold praise justly due. Judicious praise is too seldom bestowed, while injudicious censure is too often given when least merited. But this pen is getting off the track in its wanderings from the Art Loan, and some kind soul will say, "Rosemary" should practice what she so readily preaches——to which she says, amen!

Three beautiful pictures were purchased by Miss Godfroy on Monday last. These were "The Christening," by Heinisch (in room I); this is considered a very fine painting (its money value is $150). "Giardino Popolare," by Henri Duvieux, a very small sized painting (214, in room O, price $100), exquisite in tone and finish. Also, "Mount Katahdin," in room L, valued at $450. Miss Godfroy's selections reflect much credit upon her refined taste, and will be a "joy forever" to herself and her many friends. "Mount Katahdin is a restful picture, perfect in detail; its skies are serenely beautiful; its rosy-hued water faithfully reflecting light and shade, and those ducks! how they rest upon and fly above the peaceful waters like things of life! One can feel the sort of languor its dreamy, hazy atmosphere suggests. It is restful; a lovely picture for an invalid's room, or the boudoir.

Joe Jefferson's picture (876) is a "thing of beauty" and an enchanting spot wherein to take a twenty years' nap, or, that sleep that knows no waking. One cannot pass it without lingering admiringly before it. Why do not more of Detroit's millionaires come to the front and secure some of these gems, such as "Œnone" (498). That superb picture should not be permitted to leave Detroit. Neither ought Hart's "On the Beach," and others, that would adorn the walls of any refined home in this city. Mrs. William A. Butler was the purchaser of a lovely water-color (1022). Price, $100. This is a charming addition to her fine collection. 

Mrs. Gen. Custer graced the Art Loan with her gentle presence Wednesday afternoon last, and was enthusiastic in her admiration of pictures, marbles, etc. What a history of a life mingled joys and griefs is revealed in her lovely face. Past, present and future are written there. Submission to the inevitable and a looking forward into the life beyond are indelibly stamped upon her bright, intelligent face, framed in jetŒwith widow's weeds.
 
There is a fine picture (341), room K, entitled "Worldly Thoughts," representing an innocent old Roman Catholic priest, listening to the temptation of a worldly looking associate in ministerial garb. A more suitable title might be suggested in "The Tempter and the Tempted." The cunning tempter seems to be pointing with his thumb back to the world, which fills the holy innocent's face with surprise as he listens to the whisperings of the adversary. I know not the real history of this picture, but I thus interpret it.

Will not some generous soul, some lover of portraits buy "My Old Man?" (85) Surely Detroit will not part with this venerable old chap, so entitled to a permanent home in our midst. I shall "cry my eyes out" if I lose him entirely and forever. The Art Loan is filled to overflowing to-day with a crowd of appreciative visitors. Two weeks more closes these doors, and these beautiful walls must be dismantled. More anon.
ROSEMARY.

P.S.——This is Thursday afternoon; the rain is pouring in torrents, and hundreds of unfortunates in human form are huddled together in the Art Loan. The demand for umbrellas and waterproofs, as well as catalogues, is greatly in excess of supply. Could a photographer step in and take this assemblage en masse, the picture would be worth $100. Bald-headed babies are roaring in the ladies' room; tired mothers wonder they were "such fools as to come here in the rain." Children are being dragged about by parents evidently disappointed in this kind of circus. No expression possible in the human face but is on exhibition here at this moment, and the temptation to laugh and cry is about equal with the gentle sex, while the majority of it; opposite (!) look profanity unutterable, but the rain continues to pour——all the same. 
R.

[[right margin]] I do not know this lady except by reputation. She has good taste. C. [[/right margin]] 

came back went to work painting and worked until evening. Before I went down to Rondout Girard came in to see my mother and he and Sara and I went over to my studio to see my new picture "Telling the bees" I brought it over with me and showed it to my mother as she sat up in bed. Dr. Kennedy called here today and he told Pa he thought he and his brother in law from Stamford would come up to make a call this evening. After tea Ma sitting at table with us, we went into the sitting room I had been reading from the Tribune and was about to read to my mother, from "Shandon Bells" which I began two or three days ago. She said she was not much interested but I thought she would be as the story proceeded and as I took up the book I said jokingly "now I was going to give her another dose She laughed and seemed amused, asked me to wait a moment, and spoke to Sara who retired with her to her room.

THE DRAMA.

HENRY IRVING.

Mr. Irving is a novelty, but he is not a stranger. Hundreds of Americans have seen his performances when he was acting at his own theatre in London, and thoughtful observers, whose duty it has been within the last ten years to consider and record the reciprocal influences of the stage and society, have naturally been compelled to take into their account the originality, force, charm, and commanding success of this remarkable actor. Wherever in the intellectual world an earnest and devoted spirit is steadfastly at work, no matter what may be its line of thought or its vehicle of expression, a source of power is soon established which makes itself felt, through either sympathy or antipathy, in every fibre of the mental experience of the age. Such a spirit has animated Mr. Irving. He is a man thoroughly in earnest, a thinker, a writer, a manager, a representative leader of the dramatic art. He has placed himself in the capital of the world, and there has gathered into his hands all the strings that work the great machinery of the stage in our time. It was inevitable that the influence of such a man should be recognized in America as well as in Europe; that his history should become known to our people; and that a wish for his personal presence should spring up and thrive in all the communities of our western world.

Mr. Irving has been an actor for twenty-seven years. Seventeen of those years he has passed in London, and it is not saying too much to say that during the latter half of that time he has stood at the head of the actors of England. No man could have had such a career, exerted such an influence, or attained to such a position, without being possessed of abilities of a higher order, used with wisdom, sincerity, and resolute will. Mr. Irving possesses these abilities and has used them in this way. The structure of his renown, accordingly, rests upon a solid foundation of worthy achievement. Judgement and taste differ——and will continue to differ——in defining his talents and estimating his rank. But upon one point all opinions are agreed——and all the more agreed since the performance of last night——he is a thorough actor. That he should come to America at this time is in the natural sequence of events. His coming has been sought, from this side of the Atlantic, for the last six years. He has been invited, again and again——not because he had a position to make, but because his position was already made. It ought, accordingly, to be clearly said, at the outset, that Mr. Irving cannot be viewed as an actor who comes here upon trial. His name and fame were long ago established. He is a sensation in America, because a new-comer; but he is not a probationer, and he is not a surprise. The audience that greeted Mr. Irving last night in the Star Theatre, where he made his first professional appearance in America, received him in this spirit,——greeting him, not as a stranger, but as an honored friend. A more brilliant audience has never been seen, and a more cordial welcome was never uttered.

A true actor can indicate his powers as surely——though not, of course, as fully——in a second-class character, even of melodrama, as in a character of high poetic tragedy. The elder Booth once electrified an audience in so slight a part as the Second Actor, in "Hamlet." Genius, the French philosopher said, is a question of a quarter of an hour. Five acts of Shakespeare and four hours of labor are not indispensable to a revelation of the divine spark. It is the manner in which a thing is done that, first of all, declares the actor. To act a great part greatly is to reach the highest success; but a smaller part may be acted in a great manner, and may be made the medium of a wonderful message. Mr. Irving might have come before us in Hamlet. He has preferred to appear as Mathias, the Polish Jew, in the well-known prose drama of "The Bells." His judgement was vindicated. The part is one that utilizes all disorganizing excitements, and one that is helped, and not hurt, by Mr. Irving's strangeness and by all his peculiarities. He labored under great excitement, and so did his audience; but this served only to intensify the creation of the actor and the enjoyment of the house.

Mathias is a murderer who suffers, and he may be depleted in either of two ways——as suffering from the fear and dread of detection, or as suffering from this cause intensified by remorse. Given from the former point of view he would be morally and spiritually superficial, and the excellence of the best performance of him would be scarcely more than technical——because the analysis, not of a human being, but of a grisly fiend. Given from the other point of view he may be made the vehicle for profound, subtle and pathetic study of human nature in one of the most terrible forms of its possible experience, and 

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