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limited to the payers of 40 francs yearly of direct taxes, and to members of the learned professions-it not unfrequently happens that the election of a " College" or constituency mustering 1500 registered electors, is barely attended by onetenth of that number. With such a disposition on the part of what is considered the elite of the people, what other results can be expected from manhood suffrage and secret voting than what we see in France-the reign of the multitude, which is another word for the dictatorship of a Napoleon or a Gambetta. One might well accept the Vox populi as Vox Dei, if the mass acted on its own impulse and not often on its worst enemies' suggestion, and if zeal for its class interests did not interfere with its sense of the public good.

By thus freely and fairly, to the best of my abilities, pointing out the shortcomings of the Italians in such experiment of an independent political life as they have up to this moment gone through, I think I have made the best case for them in what concerns the past, and set out the most encouraging prospects of what may be expected of them in the future. Twenty or even twoand-twenty years is but a short period in the existence of a nation-a brief lapse of time to efface the marks of years, to correct the stoop of the shoulders contracted by long submission to a home and foreign yoke. The Italians are not now what they were in the palmy days of ancient Rome, or what they again became in the stirring times of medieval Florence, Genoa, or Venice. Four centuries of priestly and princely misrule could not fail to leave on their mental and moral character an impression so deep as to seem, on a cursory view, indelible; and nothing but a miracle could at once raise them to the ideal of their too sanguine well-wishers. But the question is whether any nation, under the same circumstances, would be very much better; or whether, as it used to be said before 1860, men of any other race of duller fibre and grosser habits would, after undergoing so demoralizing an ordeal, still preserve the features and upright bearing of human beings, and not crawl, like brutes, on all fours."

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The Italians, it must be allowed, have not, during this last score of years, done

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the best for themselves; but surely they could have done worse; and a sufficient defence for them would be the mere enumeration of the many mistakes and misdeeds which they might not unpardonably have committed, but from which they have wisely abstained. In their foreign policy, to begin with, they have not been free from vague aspirations and tender or even morbid susceptibilitiesbut they have, after all, always commanded their temper, soothed or quelled insane agitation, disavowed rash and absurd pretensions, put up with deliberate, galling provocation. They have not been that sure guarantee of European peace" which would have become the mission assigned to them; they have not trusted to an inoffensive attitude as their best safeguard, and have followed their neighbors' bad example by arming themselves to the teeth. But the war minister who called for more cannon and gunpowder had to withdraw before the prudent vote of his colleagues in the cabinet. The charge of a military establishment has been heavy for Italy, it must be granted; but it has not, as elsewhere, led to the prevalence of militarism; it has never subjected the country to the sudden catastrophe of a Pronunciamiento. The evils of an armed peace, added to those of an overgrown and improvident administration, have led to financial distress, and to a ruthless taxation, exhausting the resources and all but breaking the back of the nation. But even in that respect the Italians have reached the limits beyond which recklessness cannot go; they seem now bent on retrenchment; their Budget has for the last four or five years presented, if not quite a satisfactory, at least a more encouraging balance-sheet. Public confidence has risen at home and abroad, and Italian Five per Cents are at 931.

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In matters of home policy, again, it must be granted that Italy has not well withstood the influence of pseudo-democratic and ultra-humanitarian Utopias. But the bill introducing universal suffrage and that abolishing capital punishment have not yet become law, and are hardly likely to pass without amendments that will take the sting from them

amendments, not only accepted, but even suggested by the Kadical Govern

ment, always half-hearted about the measures to which it is bound by its precedents, yet which it has for these last five years managed to postpone. Italy would, moreover, not be the first country in which measures of that nature have not been repealed by the very men by whom they were most ardently and most persistently advocated.

Finally, the Italians cannot deny the charge that they have been, in politics as in crinolines, chignons, or idiot fringes, servile imitators of French fashions, aping almost exclusively the very nation which harbors perhaps the least good-will to them, and deals them the hardest snubs and slaps in the face. But they have hitherto followed their leaders at a tolerably safe distance; they have not carried French theories to their ultimate conclusions. The Italians have a ready-made "Head of the State," a corner-stone of the constitution, in their loyalty to their king and dynasty. They are not by nature hero-worshippers.

Since Cavour's death and Garibaldi's marriage there has been no case of transcendent genius or miraculous valor to call forth their veneration or enthusiasm. Italy supplies Napoleons and Gambettas to her neighbors, but will have none for herself. It is fortunate also that France should show so much ingenuity, and be so ready to seize every opportunity to affront the Italians, that she should become more exacting and overbearing in proportion as she, notwithstanding her great wealth, sinks in importance and loses prestige. It is not many years since an Italian Deputy, on his visit to Madrid, "thanked Heaven that had created Spain, lest his own Italy should be the lowest in the scale of civilized nations." For what concerns government, it is questionable whether either Italy or Spain herself can find anything to envy in the condition of their Gallic sister.Fortnightly Review.

A SUNFLOWER.

EARTH hides her secrets deep
Down where the small seed lies,
Hid from the air and skies

Where first it sank to sleep.

To grow, to blossom, and to die

Ah, who shall know her hidden alchemy?

Quick stirs the inner strife,

Strong grow the powers of life,

Forth from earth's mother breast,

From her dark homes of rest,

Forth as an essence rare

Eager to meet the air

Growth's very being, seen

Here, in this tenderest green.

Drawn by the light above,
Upward the life must move;
Touched by the outward life
Kindles anew the strife,

Light seeks the dark's domain,

Draws thence with quickening pain

New store of substance rare,

Back through each tingling vein

Thrusts the new life again

Beauty unfolds in air.

So grows earth's changeling child,
By light and air beguiled
Out of her dreamless rest
Safe in the mother breast.
Impulses come to her,
New hopes without a name
Touch every leaf, and stir
Colorless sap to flame;
Quick through her pulses run
Love's hidden mystic powers,
She wakes in golden flowers
Trembling to greet the sun.

What means this being new,
Sweet pain she never knew
Down in the quiet earth
Ere hope had come to birth?
Golden he shines above,

Love wakes, and born of love
All her sweet flowers unfold
In rays of burning gold.

Life then means nought but this-
Trembling to wait his kiss,
Wake to emotion?

There where he glows she turns
All her gold flowers and burns
With her devotion.

Ah, but when day is done?
When he is gone, her sun,
King of her world and lover?
Low droops the faithful head
Where the brown earth is spread
Waiting once more to cover
Dead hopes and blossoms over.

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as the case may require; he must be prepared also to represent or to personate it; he must so express it as to render it credible, intelligible, and affecting to others. Aspect, elocution, attitude and gesture, these are the means wherewith he accomplishes his effects, illudes his audience, and wins of them their applause; these are his professional implements and symbols, and without these there can be no acting. "A harsh inflexible voice, a rigid or heavy face," Mr. G. H. Lewes has said, would prevent even a Shakespeare from being impressive and affecting on the stage;" and the same critic has decided that unless the actor possesses the personal and physical qualifications requisite for the representation of the character he undertakes, no amount of ability in conceiving it will avail.

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in his efforts to portray, disguising his imperfections and making amends for his shortcomings, that it becomes question at last as to what natural advantages he can or cannot dispense with. Is there anything, he may be tempted to ask, that positively unfits him for creditable appearance upon the scene? The stage is a wide field, an open profession, finds occupation for very many; what matters it if some of its servants present sundry physical defects and infirmities? Can absolutely nothing be done with the harsh inflexible voice? Is the rigid heavy face so fatal a bar to histrionic success? It is desirable, of course, that Romeo should be young, and Juliet beautiful; that Ferdinand should be better-looking than Caliban, and Hamlet less corpulent than Falstaff; that Lear should appear venerable, and Cæsar own a Roman nose; but even as to these obvious conditions the playgoing public is usually prepared to allow some discount or abatement. No doubt, too great a strain may be placed upon public lenity in this respect. There is an old story told of the seeking of a theatrical engagement by a very unlikely candidate. It was objected that he was very short. So, he said, was Garrick. It was charged against him that he was very ugly. Well, Weston had been very ugly. But he squinted abominably. So did the admirable comedian, Lewis. But he stuttered. Mrs. Inchbald had stuttered, nevertheless her success upon the stage had been complete. Act- complete. But he was lame of one leg. Mr. Foote had been very lame-in fact, had lost one of his legs. But his voice was weak and hollow. So, he alleged, was Mr. Kemble's. But, it was finally urged against him, he had all these defects combined. So much the more singular, he pleaded. However, the manager decided not to engage him.

But, of course, stage portraiture can only be a matter of approximation; the actor has to seem rather than to be the character he performs, although it is likely that the actors themselves do not so clearly perceive this distinction. Macready enters in his diary at one place: Began to read over Macbeth. Like Maclise over his pictures, I exclaim, Why cannot I make it the very thing, the reality?'"' At another time he writes: Acted Macbeth as badly as I acted it well on Monday last. The gallery was noisy, but that is no excuse for me. I could not feel myself in the part. I was laboring to play Macbeth. On Monday last I was Macbeth." And again a little later: "Acted Macbeth in my best manner, positively improving several passages, but sustaining the character in a most satisfactory manner. J'ai été le personnage. The admired comedian Molé had a sounder view of his professional duties when he observed of one of his own performances : Je ne suis pas content de moi ce soir. Je me suis trop livré, je ne suis pas resté mon maître; j'étais entré trop vivement dans la situation; j'étais le personnage même, je n'étais plus l'acteur qui le joue. J'ai été vrai comme je le serais chez moi; pour l'optique du théâtre il faut l'être autrement.'

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This optique du théâtre, in fact, with certain artifices of the toilet skilfully employed, so materially abets the player

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struck with incurable madness while in the act of playing Iago to the Othello of Sheridan, and died shortly afterwards in an asylum. The first symptom of his malady is said to have been the perversion of the text of his part and his description of Jealousy as a green-eyed lobster. And the later eccentricities of the veteran Macklin may be attributed rather to excessive senility than to absolute mental disease. We are told that, properly attired as Shylock, he entered the greenroom, where the other players were already assembled. He was about to make his last appearance upon the stage. What is there a play to-night?" he inquired. All were amazed; no one answered. Is there a play to-night?" he repeated. The representative of Portia said to him, "Yes, of course. The Merchant of Venice. What is the matter with you, Mr. Macklin ?" And who is the Shylock?" he asked. Why, you, sir, you are the Shylock. Ah, he said, am I?” and he sat down in silence. There was general concern. However, the curtain went up, the play began, and the aged actor performed his part to the satisfaction of the audience, if he stopped now and then and moved to the side the better to hear the prompter. "Eh, what is it? what do you say?" he sometimes demanded audibly, as he lifted up his hair from his ear and lowered his head beside the prompter's box.

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But Reddish, the stepfather of George Canning, was decidedly a mad player. He had been dismissed from Covent Garden Theatre because of his "indisposition of mind," when, upon the intervention of certain of his friends, the management granted him a benefit. The play of Cymbeline was accordingly announced with Reddish as Posthumus. Ireland in his biography of Henderson relates that an hour before the performance he met Reddish with the step of an idiot, his eye wandering, and his whole countenance vacant." Congratulated upon his being sufficiently recovered to appear, "Yes, sir," he said, "I shall perform, and in the garden scene I shall astonish you!" The garden scene?" cried Ireland; I thought you were to play Posthumus." No, sir, I play Romeo." And all the way to the

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theatre he persisted that he was to appear as Romeo; he even recited various of the speeches of that character, and after his arrival in the greenroom it was with extreme difficulty he could be persuaded that he had to play any other part. When the time came for him to appear upon the stage, he was pushed on, every one fearing that he would begin his performance of Posthumus with one of Romeo's speeches. 'With this expectation," writes Ireland, "I stood in the pit, close to the orchestra, and being so near had a perfect view of his face. The instant he came in sight of the audience his recollection seemed to return, his countenance resumed meaning, his eye appeared lighted up, he made the bow of modest respect, and went through the scene much better than I had before seen him. On his return to the greenroom, the image of Romeo returned to his mind, nor did he lose it till his second appearance, when, the moment he had the cue, he went through the scene; and in this weak and imbecile state of his understanding performed the whole better than I ever saw him before." Ireland even pronounced that the actor's manner in his insane state was 'less assuming and more natural" than when he had the full exercise of

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his reason. Reddish was not seen again upon the stage, however; he died soon afterward hopelessly mad, an inmate of York Asylum.

In the records of the Théâtre Française a very similar case may be found. The actor Monrose, famous at one time for his admirable personation of the character of Figaro, had been for some months in confinement because of the disordered condition of his mind. His success in Beaumarchais' comedy had in truth turned his brain. He had so identified himself with the part of the Spanish barber that he could not lay it down or be rid of it. On the stage or off, sleeping or waking, he was always Figaro. He had forgotten his own name, but he answered to that of Figaro. In conversation he was absent, appeared not to hear or not to understand what was said to him; but a quotation from the "Barbier" produced an immediate reply, a merry laugh, a droll gesture. It was resolved that a performance should be given for his benefit,

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