eared
to dread even to look round, lest I should encounter her pallid face.
I hesitated, I trembled, and when with a supreme effort I at last
grasped the burnouse and cast it from me, I still lacked the courage
to ascertain what it really was, and stood shivering before the
white heap it made upon the floor. Finally, just as I thought public
curiosity to know what I was going to do began to grow weary, I
stooped down and seizing the white mantle dashed it from me with
contempt, showing by the gesture that I had discovered what it was,
and felt anger that such a trifle should thus alarm a bold man who had
committed murder." This pantomime obtained for Salvini at the New York
Academy of Music one of his greatest ovations.

When asked why he did not learn English, "Ah!" he replied, "I am too
old; and even if I mastered it, I could not control my knowledge of
it. When excited I should be lapsing into Italian, which would be very
absurd. You asked me the other day why I do not play Orestes. I should
make a queer young Greek with an Apollo-like figure now-a-days! The
time was when I looked the part and acted it well, and then I liked
to play it. I must leave it, with many other good things, to younger
men." Speaking about dramatic elocution, he said, "The best method is
obtained by close observation of Nature, and above all by earnestness.
If you can impress people with the conviction that you feel what you
say, they will pardon many shortcomings. And, above all, study, study,
study! All the genius in the world will not help you along with any
art unless you become a hard student. It has taken me years to master
a single part."

Salvini's visit to America has been fruitful of a double good. He has
shown forth the splendor of Italian genius, even revealing to us new
marvels in that mine of wealth, the works of the greatest Bard of
the English-speaking race; and he has gone back to Italy to tell
her people of things he has seen in the New World which his great
compatriot discovered--as wonderful in their way as any related by
Othello to Desdemona's willing ear.

R. DAVEY.

THREE FEATHERS.

BY WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF "A PRINCESS OF THULE."

CHAPTER XX.

TINTAGEL'S WALLS.

What was the matter with Harry Trelyon? His mother could not make out;
and there never had been much confidence between them, so that she
did not care to ask. But she watched, and she saw that he had, for
the time at least, forsaken his acc