er in the alcove, where she is
first discovered motionless upon the pedestal, or when miraculously endued
with life, she moves, a beautiful yet discordant element in the Athenian
sculptor's household. The statuesque outline and the perfect harmony
between the figure of the actress and her surroundings, were striking
enough to draw more than once from the crowded theater, otherwise hushed
and attentive, an audible expression of pleasure. Rarely, indeed, can an
attempt to satisfy by actual bodily presentment the ideal of a poetical
legend have approached so nearly to absolute perfection."

_The Morning Post_, 10th December, 1883.

"'Pygmalion and Galatea,' a play in which Miss Mary Anderson is said to
have scored her most generally accepted success in her own country, has
now taken at the Lyceum the place of 'The Lady of Lyons,' a drama
certainly not well fitted to the young actress' capabilities. Mr.
Gilbert's well-known fairy comedy is in many respects exactly suited to
the display of Miss Anderson's special merits. Its heroine is a statue,
and a very beautiful simulation of chiseled marble was sure to be achieved
by a lady of Miss Anderson's personal advantages, and of her approved
skill in artistic posing. Moreover, the sub-acid spirit of the piece
rarely allows its sentiment to go very deep, and it is in the
expression--perhaps, we should write the experience--of really earnest
emotion, that Miss Anderson's chief deficiency lies. Galatea is moreover
by no means the strongest acting part in the comedy, affording few of the
opportunities for the exhibition of passion, which fall to the lot of the
heart-broken and indignant wife, Cynisca. Although in 1871, on the
original production of the play, Mrs. Kendall made much of Galatea's
womanly pathos, there is plenty of room for an effective rendering of the
character, which deliberately hides the woman in the statue. Such a
rendering is, as might have been expected, Miss Anderson's. Even in her
ingenious scenes of comedy with Leucippe and with Chrysos, there is no
more dramatic vivacity than might be looked for in a temporarily animated
block of stone. Her love for the sculptor who has given her vitality is
perfectly cold in its purity. There is no spontaneity in the accents in
which it is told, no amorous impulse to which it gives rise. This new
Galatea, however, is fair to look upon--so fair in her statuesque
attitudes and her shapely presence, that the infatuation of t