dance is charged to each man, and the organ stops in the middle of the dance while the master of the ceremonies collects the money. So it becomes a very expensive amusement to a "dancing man," and the landlord must reap enormous profits, as his only outlay is a few oil lamps; and the men who do not dance, drink at his bar, while every one who enters pays an admission fee of twopence-strangers, fourpence. Ladies are not called upon to pay; but though this piece of gallantry is shown them, they have to make up for it by doing all the real hard work of the island. The men are a very lazy set, and high pay is no incentive to them to work. They are good at sea; but on land! For instance, when I arrived I was highly amused to see my trunk-which, if somewhat large, is not at all heavy-carried on poles and ropes by four brawny Heligolanders. It took ten men to carry up my luggage, which was by no means unreasonable or excessive. The islanders are for the most part a peaceful racethere is very little brawling amongst them, and murder is an unknown crime.

When I was a child I remember reading of some heathen savages who prayed for wrecks. But "burning suns must shine and many waters roll," I thought, between that and our "Christian land." However, this dreadful thing happened no farther distant than Heligoland, where prayers were regularly offered in church for shipwrecks. For the natives lived by such flotsam and jetsam as the waves cast up, and to them it was no more sin to pray for wrecks, than it is to us to beseech as we do for our daily bread. Happily all this is changed now-when I attended divine service the clergyman prayed impressively for those abroad on the deep waters, and there are tales of gallant rescues of drowning mariners by the Heligolanders and our British coastguard. Everything on the island has vastly improved and continues to improve under the judicious and liberal rule of Colonel Maxse. He has done away with the old administration of justice, which was rank corruption and favouritism, and taken the law into his own hands. The captain of the coastguard settles all minor differences-the Governor, the more important ones; and there is always power of appeal from the lower court to the higher.

It is a pity that the old costumes are giving way here, as in most places, to the ruthless hand of ugly modern fashion; still you may yet see the scarlet petticoat with its yellow border, the kerchief pinned across the breast, and the curious sun bonnet and veil of black silk edged with lace; the men nearly all wear blouses instead of the corduroys, blue shirt, and souwesters of former days. During the season, the islanders make considerable profit out of visitors—in the

winter, when the island is storm-locked and boats cannot come near, they live on very little, principally on fish purchased from English smacks and dried.

Now a word about the life of the visitors. The great event of the day is the bathing, and as this takes place from the Düne, a sandbank in the sea, a mile away, those who have not chartered their own boats wait their turn to be pulled across by the omnibus boats. A very pretty sight it was from my window on a fine morning to watch the boats, some fifteen or twenty, each with four rowers and a brown sail, scudding across the blue rippling waters. On the shore a closely packed crowd stand patiently in the hot sun waiting for their turn, and consoled for the ills of the present by a delicious hope of the future, when they shall be swimming and diving in the cool, fresh, strong water. For the sea in this part has peculiar properties-it is more like strong spirit than water, and for the unwary who remain in too long is really dangerous. The bath over, people walk about, or sit on the sand with their books-the ladies of course with hair unbound-then they recross, put on fresh attire, read the papers, and at three the dinner commences and lasts two hours. If you happen to pass the Conversazions House at this hour you will see through the open windows some three or four hundred persons dining together, and your ears will be assailed by a perfect Babel of voices. There are several other tables d'hôte on the Oberland and Unterland, and no vacant seats at any of the tables. The afternoon is occupied by sipping coffee and listening to the band, or watching the arrival of the Hamburg or Bremen steamers-if it is not Tuesday or Friday, when no boat comes in. After two or three rough days, when the steamers have not been able to come, there is a very keen anxiety, for provisions fall short, and people do not quite like the thought of being cut off from the outer world, and getting no letters or papers. At seven the theatre, built and supported by the Governor, commences -a fairly good company from Berlin perform five nights a week; and besides that amusement, there is the Conversazions House, where there is dancing or a concert almost every night. So it will be seen that life on a little island in the middle of the sea can be made as cheery as in a big city. The Governor entertains with much good taste and hospitality-not a few members of royalty and nobility are his guests—and with picnics, yachting, impromptu dances, private theatricals, and pleasant dinner and supper parties, time wears swiftly away, and leaves only a grateful and cheery memory of the days spent on the bright little island of Heligoland.

PLAYERS OF OUR DAY.

XIX.-MISS BATEMAN.

UST at the time when this lady seemed likely to drop out of our consideration, except as an actress of one character, she has taken the town by storm, almost as successfully as she did in the part of Leah. Despite our reminiscences of this remarkable performance we were beginning to take Miss Bateman at her own estimate. Already in these papers we had referred to one important test by which even the most superficial observer can gauge the capacity of an actor or actress, namely, by asking the simple question, "Is his or her name associated with a single character or with many?" When we think of Mrs. Siddons a number of striking characters rise up before us-Queen Catharine, Constance, Jane Shore, Isabella. The same with Rachel; and, indeed, with all our greatest players. It is true that in these days such opportunities for acting do not offer as presented themselves to the Queens of the stage in the days that are gone. Expensive accessories, the ruinous cost of advertising, and the absolute necessity of making one piece run for hundreds of nights, do not encourage versatility; and the tendency of management as we have known it for some time, both here and in America, is to make one-part actors and actresses. We may instance Jefferson's Rip Van Winkle, Miss Bateman's Leah, Sothern's Lord Dundreary. Fortunately, however, for her reputation, and happily for art, Miss Bateman has recently stepped out into Ristori's greatest part, and with such undoubted power as entitles her Medea to be ranked with that of the great Italian.

But we propose first to deal with Miss Bateman's earlier history. We have only until recently seen her in two or three great parts, and her name is associated in the public mind only with these representations. Most people consider Mary Warner to be Miss Bateman's second best character. The acting had high merits undoubtedly for its realism, which is most sought after in these days; but to our

thinking she rather lowered than raised or ennobled a picture of squalid misery and suffering. There was little or none of that refining and spiritualising which in all such scenes should take us out of the region of miserable garrets, tattered rags, and broken-down furniture, and show us the noble soul in its dignity that pierces through all. Miss Bateman's aim was the direct contrary-to level her own natural feeling to the scenic squalor about her, and in as realistic a way as possible present the picture of a workwoman of the lower class reduced to straits and privations, and such as she might be seen by some casual visitor who had come to relieve her wants. This effect, the reader need not be reminded, is outside the legitimate circle of the drama, and belongs to the realism that includes cabs, houses on fire, &c., though it belongs to a popular style of modern playing. One of the aims at least of fine acting is to bring before us the nobler and more heroic side of our nature, and the aim of presenting it in a theatre is to furnish such a spectacle to those who may not have an opportunity of seeing it in real life, or may be under a false impression as to such matters. As Mr. Gladstone reminded an audience recently, the search for and illustrating of beauty is the true aim of all art; and every actor and actress should keep well before their mind that the most faithful imitation of nature is utterly stupid and valueless save as an exhibition of mere mechanical power.

It is, however, very different in the case of Leah; and it may be fairly said that any one who had seen Miss Bateman in the part would never forget his impressions. The play itself is written on true principles-the same that guided the great masters, viz., the choice of some grand popular emotion or passion, and its legitimate results. This is speaking in a tongue intelligible to all ages and nations. The play is broad, simple, powerful, and rationally characteristic; and it may be said to consist of a series of emotions, not of a mere narrative. Such is that which lives and makes the deepest impression; and with such a piece the figure of Miss Bateman will always be associated. Nothing more picturesque can be conceived, and there is in it an air of truth and breadth which is captivating. One of the most dramatic, because the simplest, situations on the stage is the conclusion of the first act, where the hunted Jewess is seen rushing in, pursued by the crowd, and the village priest interposes to protect her. The whole story is here told in the most effective way; and, in fact, in the only effective way, for a quarter of an hour's description of persecution, given in the most lugubrious manner, would not convey the idea dramatically. The tender situations, especially

the one at the close of the scene where she relents, is of the highest order. Miss Bateman lavishes quite a wealth of elaborate art on this character. It is finished like a Meissonier painting-gesture, above all, attitude. She has also a strange, dreamy glance, that seems to look beyond the audience, and which imparts a wonderful depth of poetry and sentiment to the whole. The curse which she hurls at her weak lover will always be a dramatic memory. Old men and women will tell the next generation of it with undimmed admiration; while that moaning, wailing sob of recognition and repentance, which is the leading feature of the last act, will dwell in the hearts of all play-goers who have had the privilege of sitting through Miss Bateman's dramatic story of the passionate, loving, tender, persecuted Jewess.

It must have been the peculiar passion and tenderness of Miss Bateman's Leah which marked her down in the mind of Mr. Wills for a humanised version of Medea. The wonder is that this actress had not already been furnished with a series of strong classical parts. Mr. Tom Taylor would have shown far greater insight into character and capacity if he had given his part of Joan to Miss Bateman. She is the only lady upon the stage at the present time who could realise the wild, dreamy, fanatical valour and single minded purpose of the Maid of Orleans. Whose fault is it that Miss Bateman is known only as Leah? We have been inclined to lay the charge at her own door. Medea answers a half-committed injustice. It may be said that the tenour and passion of "Wills's Medea" is more Gothic than classic; but the purely classic is unsuited to our age and manners. It needs that very essence of humanity which Mr. Wills has put into his version of the story, and which Miss Bateman interprets with a force of pathos which comes within the highest order of the truest art. Her entrance is in itself a splendid situation, and she is equal to it. The meeting at Corinth between Medea and Jason brings out a peculiar subtle power which reflects back from actress to audience full confidence in her capacity to interpret passion. Indeed, from the opening scene you cannot help feeling that Miss Bateman holds her strength in reserve; and when it does burst forth there is no strain, no effort; the passion is natural, it has smouldered all through; that it lights up and becomes a blaze is in the nature of things. There is no tearing of passion, no screeching, no wild action of the arms, no ugly contortion of the features. Her rage is a real terrific outburst, the letting loose of pent up passion, not