THE COURIER.
"Itagonoau" answers; "I know it, and I
turn my buck to sparolhoir feelings."
"Cyrano" looks nt him and Bays slowly,
"I liko you.''But Mr. ManBllold didn't look
at bim and ho delivers tho lino haBtily
and indifferently. It meanB a good deal,
that lino. It means that "Oymno'' saw
that tho bakor, like himsulf, indulged in
the luxury of ruining himself for what
ho loved; it is a pledge of protection, a
ealuto to a soul somewhat liko hie own.
For after this scene, "Cyrano" bocomes
the baker's protector.
The moon extravaganza in tho third
act, Mr. Mansfield intone?, chants as a
sort of recitatif.but oven sung, it is not
moro melodious than his fervid reading
of the balcony scene, in which all tho
romanco of night since night began
seems breathed between his lips. Any
one who knows Mr. Mansfield's tempera
ment will appreciate what a magnificent
offort he makes in that act. He is not
a man who wears his heart on liis eleeve
;nd ho loves not to bo sentimental. I
think only in the stage darkness and
the stage moonlight would ho play tho
lover so ardently, and even then ho
was by no means tho most ardent lover
that I have heard. For under all this
great man's disguiBes, uuder all his wigs
and rougo and powder, at tho bottom of
every passion he assumeB, one always
feels his own personality; a personality
intense to fierceness and tinged with
bitterness. At the bottom of his cruci
ble there is a hard substance which all
the flame of his great genius haB naver
fused, a kind of final negation, a drought
of the soul.
The battle scene n tho fourth act is
one of the most novel and stirring stage
effects it has ever been my good fortune
to witneBB. When Christian is brought
in wounded and dying he is laid upon
the ground and "Roxano" kneels beside
him. Tho Gascon cadets charge over
the earthworks, "Cyrano" at their head,
and are driven back, tumbling back over
the rampants on tho stage in the most
realistic manner, and all the while that
poor despairing women line there upon
the body of her lover, the dead and
dying falling about her, indifferent alike
to victory or defeat, kissing the lips that
will soon be cold. "Cyrano" is driven
back with his men. The Spaniards
appear on top of the ramparts crying,
"What brave devils are there?" Then
"Cyrano," wounded, and fallen upon one
knee, still striking out with his sword,
cries;
"These are the Cadets of Gascony,
Of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux!"
I never heard such a burst of vibrant
power from a human throat. I suppose
Garrick and Kean used to achieve su
preme moments like that, but I have
never heard such a tone before and I
shull remember it as long as I remember
anything.
Of the last act and tho death scene I
will say nothing. It bus been written
about so often. It is magnificent, but
on the stage ub in the world, to live well
is harder thau to die well.
And again this Richard Mansfield
this restless and prolific genius, has
made stagelana tho richer by one great
charucter tho more. As "Biff" Hall
said, "after all there are just three
kindB of aotore; there are good actors,
and bad actors, and there jb Richard
MauBfield." What a great example do
you offer to tho frivolous young actors
ot our generation, Mr. Mansfield. You
have realized that the traditions of stage
pointi'' have nothing whatever to do
with life or the interpretation of it, that
they are the accidents rather than the
essentials ot your art, and that a dra
matic effect is worth nothing save in so
far that it illuminates the soul behind
it. You build your characters up from
the very beginning of lifo. Incidentally
you lay baro tho primal causes, tho in
herent traits, the conditions of nature
which lie at tho rootB of tho man's lifo
and account for his conduct in tho play.
You get down to tho subconscious per
Fonality of tho man, to tho framo work
of Lis boing, analyze thoBo delicato com
binations which are nature's art problems
wherewith bIio beguiles tho long tedium
ot the centuries. You know something
of the chomistry of the blood, of tlioso
wasting foverB not nnmod in tho litera
ture of medicino, of thoso warring ele
ments which, under a seeming unity of
character, from tho man's first sobbing
broil th continuully rond him. You havo
stood, I think, liko Omar in tho Potter's
houEo at ovontido, surrounded by tho
Things of Clay, and you havo learned
something of tho secrets of his craft;
how for hiB diversion he combines hiB
rarest clay with the mud of tho streotB;
how a turn of the wheel may subvort tho
tine vessel to base uses and how a litllo
care in finish may destino tho basest
earth for honor and high offices.
It is in this deeper knowledge of tho
products and bi -products of nature's
combinations that you outstrip your
playwrights, mako your characters ac
tual personalities, each with his own
personal trait?, raannorismB of Rpooch
methods of thought and peculiar habits
of boJy, each as complete ub a creation
from the pageB of Balz3c. It is difficult
to believe that the eanu blood flows in
your Beau Brummel, and Rodion, that
the same heart can feed two bungs so
different. Surely tho same fleBh cannot
clothe the shrunken jowl of Chevrial and
the youthful cheek of Don Juan. You
seem to give to these beings different
nerve fibre, different cellular stiucture.
Each night you teem to wear the livery
of a new master and to make your body
the receptacle of a different soul. Each
night your limbs seoui moulded, your
cheek seared, your eyes burned by the
despotic usBge of the particular passion
you assume, as a bouse, long occupied,
seems at last to confoun to and oven
share the caprices of its tenant.
ABSENT MINDED.
It seems her husband had been out
very late celebrating it was one of
those holidays and as he came home in
the rosy flush of tho morning he thought
it would be a capital idea to take a bath
on getting home.
First of all and most important it
would contradict any wrong impression
as to his condition, and his wife some
times had wrong impressions when he
had been out all night. We women aie
bo suspicioup!
But he went boldly to the bathroom
and was soon splashing around as gayly
as a canary. In fact he created such an
uuuBual commotion that his wife woke
up and went to see what waB the matter
Suddenly he saw her gazing through
the door with a look so cold and con
temptuous that it struck a chill to bis
very heart. But ho made a dive for tho
soap and went on industriously with his
ablutions.
"What are you doing there, Peter?"
she asked bim.
Ho made the effort of bis lifo to seem
dobonairs and perfectly sober.
"Can't you see what I'm doing, my
dear?" he answered, with another pro
digious splaeh. "I'm taking a bath."
"Don't you think it would be a good
idea' for vou to tako off your under
clothes?' she asked him, with a frozen
inflection, as she passed out of eight.
Dramatic Miror.
McCarty 'Phwat makes you look so
gloomy, O'Reilly?''
O'Rwilly Flannagan 'st bet mo foive
dollars thot he could dbrink a quart av
whisky in wan day an' not shtagger; tno
loser t'pay f'r th' whisky."
McCarty Sure, mon, yez hov a dead
cinch! He can't take free dhrinkB
without sbtaggerin!
O'Reilly Divil a bit av a cinch hov
Oi! Th' shpalpoen's gono V bed wid' th'
bottle! Puck.
MR. BUNSEN'3 ILLUMINATIONS.
Lr.oNAni) II. Rommnh.
If littlo Mr. Bunson, jowoler and
opticinn, had boon gifted with second
sight ho might havo done differently.
Ho might havo hung over his sldowalk
a monstroiiBimngo of tho human oyo, a
massive wooden watch or oven a gigan
tic pair of spectacles. But Jho rapid
civilization ot tho metropolis tlomunded
something moro startling in tho way of
advertising than such time-honored
symbols of his craft, and that is why
ho susponded abovo tho door of his shop
a dazzling colored whirlgig that at
night flushed rod and green and whito
far up and down Broadway.
Tho novelty waa indeed striking.
Over and over rolled tho glowing chro
matic disk, and folk who saw it pauEed
for a second look and romembored the
piano afterward. Littlo Mr. Bunson,
who stood in hiB doorway on tho night
of his sign's initial appearance, listened
to tho comments ot tho passers-by and
began to think seriously of enlarging
his establishment.
Business increased during tho next
month to tho extent that Mr. Bunson
was obligod to employ n additional
clerk. Harry Hill, tho tyro, was a
bright, handsome young fellow, and ho
grow liko a morning glory vino into tho
favor and confidence of his employer.
Harry lived witb his mother and sister
in a cozy flat in Harlem, and thither bo
escorted Mr. Bunson after work one hot
evening in August.
Now, Mr. Bunson was a retiring man
of a singular and masculine persuasion
that all women were to be studiously
avoided; but ho tot aside his scruples
on this occasion and accepted Harry's
pressing invitation. They took tea in
the little flower garden on tho roof, and
when Harry went down to help bis
sister with the dishes Mr. Bunson sud
denly discovered, with many inward
wonderinge, that his diffidence bad
vanished.
"There is the making of a fino man
in that boy of yours," ho said.
"Indeed, I know it," was the grateful
reply of the gentle- v iced mother. "He
will be the man his father was before
him, Mr. Hill wsb killed when Harry
wbb very young.''
Mrp. Hill sighed, and Mr. Bunsen sat
silent until the brother and sister re
turned. From the Boulevard bolow
came the muffled Bounds of moving life.
Ferry boats roared to one another
across the river, and the rumble of a
train over the Jersoy reached the ears
of the littlo roof party. Up among the
chimney tops a cool breeze blew, and all
was so quiet and peaceful that Mr. Bun
sen felt real regret at the thought of
returning to his sultry bachelor's hall
down town.
Having once broken bis iron clad rule,
Mr, Bunsen found it hard to resist a
second invitation, and before Dame
Nature in the Park had begun to paint
her verdant countenance with the cos
metics of declining days be bad ccmo to
be looked upon by the Hills as one of
their most regular visitors.
"How long has your fathor been
dead?" asked Mr. Bunsen of Harry one
day in late autumn.
"Ten years, sir," replied the boy.
During tho remainder of that day Mr.
Bunsen seemed preoccupied.
Captain Muller, of the Now York de
tectives, was puzzled. "I can't under
stand it," he said. "Either the boy Ib
guilty or my men are idiots. That's the
fourth robbery reported from that corner-within
two da) a. TbiB was not done
by an ordinary pickpocket. The boy,
you say . . . ."
"He's an honest looking chap," inter
rupted an elderly man in evening dress.
"Ho don't look like a thief, but the odd
part is that ho can't toll a plausible
story."
"Ho says?"
"Ho Hays that ho started for my house
with my wifo's diamond brooch In his
pocket. Tho jowole aro hoirlnomn, and
perhaps tho most valuuhlo stonos in
New York."
Tho Captain waited, politoly eilont.
Tho elderly gontlcmun paced tho floor
nervously.
"Wo have trusted Bunsen for yoars,"
ho continuod. "I took tho brooch thoro
mysolf to havo a setting boo u rod, and
Bunson was to loliovor it horo in per
son. Mrs. Marshall intended to woar
it at tho Sturdovunt rocoption tonight.
Sho in in hor room now, completely pros
trated by tho Bhock."
"Tho boy loft tho storo with it?' said
tho Captain.
"Bunson saw it safely in hiB pockot
and watched him until ho wbb outeids
tho door. Tho boy says that ho stood
at tho cornoi a minute, waiting for a
car "
"Did ho brush against anyone?"
"No, but ho romombors pn-jsing a few
words with a countryman on tho corner
and chufling him about his wonderment
at that rovolving illuminution in front
of Bunson'B Btoro. Ho suys ho ppoko to
no ono oIbo until he turned to look for
a car and found himself in a dark alley
two squares away from tho cornor."
"Impossible!" cxclalmod tho Captain.
"Tho brooch, of courso "
"Was gono. Tho boy rushed hick to
tho jeweler's and Bunson sent for me.
The boy seemed completely upBet and
Bunson took him home in a cab. Tbat'i
all I can tell you beyond giving you a
description of tho diamonds."
When Captain Muller returned to
detective headquartots ho issued a war
rant for tho arrest of Harry Hill and
detailed four picked specials for duty
on the block in which Mr. Bunion's
store was situated. Then bo leaned
back in his chair, put liis feet upon his
deBk and reflected:
"Hairy Hill Bob's boy Bob HilJ,
that beat mo out of my lieutonuntcy,
and married Noll! And now bis son's
a thief!"
A sudden determination seized bim,
"He's Nell's boy, too! By Jove! I'll
servo the warrant myself!"
"A lady to see you, Captain," said a
sergeant, appearing at the door. A red
faced woman entered and fell into a
chnir.
"Ob, sir, I'm that wrought up I can
hardly walk," she began.
"What is your business with me?"
asked the Captain.
"I've been robbed sir, robbed of overy
cent I had in tho world," sobbed the
woman.
"This is your complaint, Dick," said
the Captain.
"I wanted you to hear it," said the
sergeant.
Between bursts of grief the woman
told ber story. Early in the evening
she had been standing on a Broadway
corner waiting to cross. She dropped a
parcel, a well dresBed young woman
picked it up for hor, and for a moment
the two conversed
Then she remembered a thrill of fright
and found herself in a narrow hallway a
quarter of a mile away.
"You talked to no one but this young
woman?" said tho Captain.
"I'm sure I didn't," replied tho
woman. "She said a few words to me
about that funny red and green sign
near the corner; then I forgot what hap
pened until I found myself in the hall
way witb my purse gone."
"Curious," muttered the Captain.
"They all say bo. Keep this from tho"
reporters, Dick, I won't be back to
night." A sorrowful group waited in the liv
ing room of tho littlo Harlem flat. Mrs.
Hill's eyes were red with weeping; but
the first anguish had passed, and noth-