30,
THE STOPAY OBEGOSFIANr POETBAiND, MAY 25; 1902.
ZWNT) P"ROG"RESS OF
THE ENGLISH DP, AM A
ITS PLACE LN LITERATURE AND THE HOLD
IT WILL PROBABLY RETAIN
"RISE
Mr. Hugh H. H&rdroan, Jr., of the Portland1
Academy faculty, delivered a series of lectures
the past "Winter before the Teachers' Associa
tion on the English drama. In the concluding
lecture, last Saturday night, he summed up the
eubjeot thus:
"We have reached the end of thei time
allotted to our study of the development
of the English drama, and during that
time we have studied It In its various
forms down to the beginning of the 19th,
century- "We have traced it from its crude
beginnings in the 14th century to the
time when, after the productions of Rich
ard Brinsley Sheridan, it ceased to occupy
Ike foremost rank in popular opinion, and
gave place to another -and newer form
of literature, the novel. It did not then,
and It has not since, ceased to stand
prominently Jn the favor of the people.
But Its glory was, in a measure, eclipsed,
and It has had to give way. That it will
ever again, while the present conditions
continue, supercede Its rival. Is doubtful.
Among the forces which have contributed
to its overthrow is the printing press,
whose power, great as it now Is, we ex
pect to increase rather than diminish.
Such Is the influence of the press that
the modern, public Is nothing if not a
reading public, whereas former publics
were anything but reading publics. In
this Jay one secret of the drama's hold
on the people, the patronage It'recelved,
and the opportunities of just reward It
pffered to men of ability and. genius.
From this, I would not have you infer
that the condition of the drama today Is
hopeless. Far from it. There Is no rea
son to think that it will not be as good
in the 20th century as it was in the 13th,
not to say better. There 'is much drama
toeing written and produced today, and
where there is abundance there is good
reason to expect to find excellence. The
last ten years have seen producd in 32ng
Sand, France, Germany and America,
dramas that rise above mediocrity. Cer
tain influences have recently heen brought
to bear on theatrical 'productions which
nave been detrimental rather than help
ful to the drama as an art, but these
influences I refer particularly to the
dramatization of the contemporary cheap
novel are likely too be as ephemeral as
the productions themselves. I expect to
live to see the dramatic art survive this
attack of hysterics and be the wiser, per
haps the better, for sad experiences
leach much, for it.
Development of the Drama.
The development of the English drama
was slow but not always steady. It
took 200 years for it to progress from
the rough, unlettered Mystery plays of the
14th century, through the Miracle and
.Morality plays of the 15th and early 16th
centuries, to the beginnings of regular
comedy and tragedy in the 16th. But even
then the beginnings were scarcely recog
nizable as dramas, so crude and unformed
were they.. "What close comparison, do
you suppose, could be made between
-"Ralph Roister Dolster," the first English
comedy, and "As You Like It," or between
-"Perrex and Porrex," the first English
tragedy, and "Othello," the best English
tragedy? And yet these two plays were
the beginnings of that incomparable
period of English literature known as tho
Elizabethan.
"Within the next half century or so, this
HINTS FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER
Grand Prix coat, worn over a tucked white
lawn shirt. A wido fold of black satin
taffeta ribbon goes about the waist and
is held in front by a pearl buckle colored
a rich and Jewel-like blue. The buckle's
tongue is gilt, to match the gilt and blue
enamel buttons that adorn the coat's
chaped fronts.
The Coat of Many Cuts.
Here we come fairly and squarely upon
;lha question of coats and their import
ance. Never before have so many coats,
I of so wide a variety of shapes, seemed
essential to the proper costuming of wo
i mankind. Is there a shopper with soul
bo dead that she has not! already begged,
borrowed or stolen the money for a
"'Basque Covert Coat," and having got
i this desire of her heart has she not also
teighed after a kneo or heel long black
taffeta "Surtout," yearned for a cream of
itan laco hung "Victoria," and boldly
fcbpught a silk "Frocks and Frills," or
flailed and tucked moire "Eton." These,
riy the way, are Just a few of the coats
ion the market at present.
There Is 6ome difficulty in deciding as
to which type predominates. The basque
covert coat is meant for morning wear
and Is the handy andy for Summer time.
HThe voluminous taffeta surtout, that may
Jiang loose or fit the figure partially, is.
supposed to be particularly "designed for
the automobile and the unspeakable dust
Its whizzing wheels arouse. The Victoria
Ss the indulgence of rich, showy carriage
folk and the Frocks and Frills and tailed
Etons are worn by everybody on all occa
sions. It is to be hoped by Autumn the rage
for so wide a variety of coats will have
somewhat subsided. The present mad ex
travagance in feminine dress was recently
Illustrated by the heap of 19 trunks piled
In a railway baggage room and claimed
by one small lady. She bewailed herself
the responsibility of such a wardrobe, and
declared that one vast trunk was filled
with wraps only; another, somewhat
smaller, was packed with neckties, chiffon
boas and tulle sashes, while a third was
filled to the brim with silk and cotton
petticoats.
Colored Shoes.
"With the unquestionable decline In the
popularity of yellow shoes it remains to
be seen whether a warm welcome awaits
the new green and red and gray leather
shoes of this season's introduction. These
are made up In Oxford ties and Colonial
street slippers. The color of their leather
4s not aggressive and their shapes are
most conservative. The drees shoe of the
season is beyond all dispute the Colonial
slipper, made of patent leather or black,
.Russian calf, and finished with buckle or
big bow, as the purchaser may please.
Most of the daintier types of outdoor Ox
ford ties are made with Colonial heels,
somewhat pointed toes and a big bow of
black ribbon fastens at the top of the
lacing, or an unusually wide black ribbon
is used as lacing and forms the broad bow
over the Instep.
The dress Oxford, for nine women in
ten. Is of patent leather with the highest
possible skirt dancer heels, pointed toes
and exaggeratedly wide lacings. For ping
pong a tidy little vlci kid Oxford, with
three bands of rubber across the sole and
a rubber-clad heel or a broad buckled
Colonial tie with the rubber sole strops
and heel caps are recommended. A very
gay new dancing slipper. Just out, is a
patent leather duchess shoe, with the big
Instep flap of crimson or green velvet
form of art, in both tragedy and comedy,
was to be brought to a perfection to
which no equal Is to be found In the his
tory of all literature. During that time
many hands were tried at It, with more
or less success in every case, but they
were all to be made to seem clumsy and
unskilled by the vivifying hand of "Wil
liam Shakespeare. Lyly, Greene, Kyd,
Marlowe, did much to perfect tho drama,
and what they did was not cast aside as
useless, but appropriated and Improved by
their great successor. The progress of an
art is very much like the progress of an
experimental science. Those who follow
may learn much form those who precede.
There is this difference, however, that,
whereas a man of ordinary ability may
accomplish more in. science than all his
predecessors of extraordinary ability
simply because of the accumulated
knowledge of fact that is accessible
a man to surpass greatly his pre
decessors In art must have supe
rior ability. Such a man was Shakes
peare. He learned much from the work
of others, but he had that within him
which enabled him to surpass them so far
as to cancel his debt to them. That pe
culiar something which elevated him far
above all his predecessors and contem
poraries, and placed him on a pinnacle
of excellence which was never attained
before in any literature, which never has
been attained since, and which It is no
risk to say never will be attained again,
we must he content to call shepr trenfnu.
"Would you know what the dramatic art
reaiiy is, would you find a perfect play,
would you behold universal man placed
frankly before you and made to reveal the
innermost workings of his mind and his
soul, his higher and his lower elements,
his noble and his Ignoble passions, his
lighter and his weightier thoughts, feel
ings, moods and deeds, Tead the come
dies, histories and tragedies of Shake
speare. There you will find them all, and
what Is of far greater Importance there
you will find yourself. Just as you are.
Just as you" hope to be. Just as you ought
to be. Tou will find no mirror more flaw
less than that which he holds up to
Nature.
Shalcepenre's Successors.
That art does, not progress merely by. a
process of evolution is shown in the
dramas written by Shakespeare's suc
cessors. Almost as soon as Shakespeare
ceased to write, the drama began to de
cline. The way in which this decline was
manifested shows that the ability xof the
individual dramatist counts for more than
the tradition which he receives from those
who have gone before. Shakespeare had
perfected the form of the drama, and had
embodied in that form a substance which
was in perfect keeping with it. Although
Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, "Web
ster, Massinger, Ford and others 'of the
early 17th century retained in general this
perfection of form, they showed a decided
degeneration in their substance. The two
were no longer in keeping; tho form over
balanced the substance. Hence we say
that in their work began the decline of
the drama from the high point of excel
lence to which it was carried in the works
of Shakespeare. They wrote good plays,
in many respects great plays, but not tho
greatest.
Then came the period of Puritan su
premacy in England, when not only the
dramatic, but all arts, were at a low ebb.
This was a period, not merely of Inac
tivity, but of conscious suppression of all
the forms of pleasure, the higher as well
as the lower. Accordingly we are not
surprised when, with tho return of the
corrupt Charles II to tho throne, accom
panied by a court no less corrupt and
sensual, there followed an age unparalleled
for its depravity of taste and custom.
HOW TO DRESS FOR PING-PONG
AND BUCKLES (CONTINUED FROM
crossed by a long, narrow gold or cut steel
buckle.
Tho "Wash. Petticoat.
"What a vast amount of admiration,
needlework and hard money is being spent
on tho gay wash petticoat! The white
underskirt, with its pretty embroidered
flowers, is not nearly good enough for the
hundred and one women who want .color;
consequently we had counters full of ging
ham, percale, lawn, pongee, wash madras,
wash mohair and dimity petticoats, rang
ing in price from Jl 50 to $15, $25 and $30.
Those at the first mentioned price are
good enough and pretty enough for a
queen. They are tucked and abundantly
A charming ping-pong dress for out
door tabic tennlH.
flounced and well cut; the expense of the
others lies in their shaped flounces of Im
ported French gingham, encrusted with
motifs of Irish point, or they are hand
made and the flounces aro decorated with
flights of hand-embroidered butterflies and
trails of field flowers In their natural
colors. Such skirts are for use under duck
and linen gowns and for all but evening
costume. The wash petticoats have rout
ed the Summer silk skirt In the evening,
when the colored cotton skirt is put off, a
gorgeous white lawn affair Is assumed,
or a sweet white net or esprit pretticoat
Is donned. The white cotton esprit petti
coats are good Investments. They wash
perfectly, take the starch beautifully, and
I Ik r Mr "ill
dm .'if'ixnA
Wflw' Vr
Ji' x Jx W "
Nor are we surprised that the drama
which then received its Diincinal nunnort
from the royalist class, should reflect this .
condition of society, we are not sur
prised, I say, nor are we any the less
convinced that Justification for this state
of affairs Is totally impossible. This de
generacy naturally found expression in
comedy, tragedy being on a different
plane, and at this time taking a peculiar
bent, was less Influenced by the co
existent conditions. The comedies of
"Wycherley, Farquhar, Congreve and Van
brugh are among the most brilliant in the
English language. But the brilliancy is
that of language and style; at bottom
they are Immoral, vicious, corrupting.
The tragedies of Dryden, Atnay, and Lee
are exotic. They have been aptly charac
terized -as "heroic dramas," of more dig
nity and merit than the melodrama, but of
less than true tragedy. Still, In a meas
ure, they save the Restoration drama
from utter corfdemnatlon, because they
are at least moral In tone, though In
clined to extreme heroics.
, Modern Day Comedy.
The ISth century saw a decided Improve
ment in the drama, particularly in com
edy. The reaction from" the Restoration
laxity was inevitable, and. as is usual,
the pendulum swung to the other extreme
Beginning In the comedies of Colley Ab
ber, or suggested by them, and maturing
In those of,RIchard Steele, the sentimental
drama took possession of the stage and
held it for practically half a century.
Then "She Stoops to Conquer" edged
timidly in from the wings, stood a mo
ment to receive the hisses of the audience,
who had como to weep and were asked
to laugh, and then by sheer force of
humor made them laugh themselves out of
the state of sentimental senility Into one
of English sanity. Thus a society of
snivellers was discountenanced, handker
chiefs were discarded, the atmosphere was
puTifled, English comedy celebrated the
went by producing "The Rivals" and
"The School for Scandal," by Richard
Brlnsley Sheridan, and sentimental com
edy fled swiftly away, "oft looking back
and lotting fall big tears."
The 19th century drama differed from
most of the preceding in that the drama
took no decided inclinations. It was not
a period remarkable for its productivity,
nor one signalized by barrenness. The
list of dramatists includes the names of .
many men who made their reputations J
principally by writing plays, and many j
other forms of literature. Promjnent
among tho first class were: Sheridan
Knowles, best known as the author of
"Vlrginius"; Douglas Jerrold, the author
of "Black-Eyed Susan": Dion Bouclcault,
author of "Arrah-na-Pogue" and other
Irish plays; Tom Taylor, author of "Our
American Cousin," "An Unequal Match":
Thomas Robertson, the exponent of
"Robertson" comedy, or what we call
comedy-dramas, and author of such plays
as "David Garrlck," "Society," "Ours,"
"Caste." "Play," "School," "M. P.,"
"War." Foremost among those of the
second class were: "Walter Savage Lan
der, Henry Hart Wllman and Lord Byron
In tragedy exclusively; Bulwer Lytton,
author of "Richelieu" and "The Lady of
Lyons"; Robert Browning, Alfred Tenny
son and Algernon Charles Swinburne In
dramas whose distinction is that they are
successful "closet plays" and unsuccessful
acting plays, as managers and actors have
found to their sorrow.
Contemporary Dramatists.
The condition of the drama In England
and America today might be better, and
it might be worse. We hear much about
the dissoluteness of the stage and the de
generacy of the drama; but, as I have
already said to you, I do not think that
THE FASHIONS IN COATS
PAGE 29)
form the most buoyant foundations for
silk, muslin or lace gowns.
Again we see well-dressed little girls
wearing white stockings with their plain
cotton and linen gowns. Evidently there
are mothers who approve of this mode,
though not yet do we see any but the
merest babies who wear the white hose
with dressy costumes. Black hose, half
silk, half lisle, is esteemed the fashiona
ble foot covering for little maids in short
and very much frilled skirts. Wide
fringed satin surah and satin taffeta
sashes are the girdles most esteemed at
Summer afternoon parties whereat em
broidered Swiss muslin continues to be
the most modish toilet. A captivating
needlework muslin tea party frock is il
lustrated. The yoke of the waist is span
gled with whlto dots, and the base of the
yoke and edge thereof, the edges of the
flounces and the sleeves, are enriched with
a needlework finish In Louis XVI pattern,
instead of plain scallops.
Quite the most recent outburst of infan
tile gorgeousness is evinced by the costly
and beautiful white embroidered Swiss
muslin coats made upon tinted taffeta
linings. For toddlers of high degree the
cap is bought to accord in color and
needlework pattern with the coat, and
under the transparent frills of the handr
some wrap, sketched to illuminate this
text, full taffeta ruffles are gathered,
their edges finished a trifle longer than
those of muslin ana buttonholed in round
ing points. MARY DEAN.
HOW TO COOK
ASPARAGUS
THE MANY DELICIOUS
USES OF THE TENDER
SUCCULENT
THIS delicate vegetable Is always re
ceived with favor, and it is the duty
of the cook, therefore, to preserve as far
as possible its flavor. The flrst mistake Is
to overboil it, so that the tender heads
are left behind in the saucepan, writes
Eleanor M. Lucas in the Delineator.
Many writers on cookery expitlate to
great extent on tho proper method of
cooking asparagus, and SJr Henry Thomp
son's process of cooking this delicious es
culent merits repetition, as It Is simple
and successful. He advises that "the
stalks be cut of exactly equal lengths,
tied In a bundle, and boiled, standing tips
upward. In a deep saucepan. Nearly two
Inches of the heads should be out of the
water, the steam sufficing to cook them,
as they form the tenderest part of the
plant, -whilst the hard, stalky part Is
rendered soft and succulent by the
longer boiling which this plan permits.
A period of 30 or 40 minutes on the plan
recommended will Tender fully one-third
more of the stalk delicious, whilst the
head will be properly cooked by the
steam alone," The water must be boil
ing briskly when the vegetable is placed
In It, and salt heightens Its green color.
If a sauce is to be served with the veg
etable have It in readiness, and as soon
as the asparagus Is cooked serve at once.
If the vegetable is to be served cold,
drain as soon as It Is tender and place It
where It will cool quickly. Never allow
It to remain In the water after It Is ten
der, as this destroys ita fresh color.
An unskilled cook consigns the cupful
of left-over asparagus to the garbage pall,
but one with a sense of thrift will convert
it Into dainty asparagus croquettes, tim-
the men and women on the stage at
present are all dissolute on the contrary.
I think that the great majority of them
are better mentally, socially and morally
than were the actors and actresses of
earlier times. And I certainly think that
there Is more reason for hope than for
despair In the condition of the drama.
The people who are eternally harping on
the evil ways Into which things dramatic
have fallen, as a rule, know nothing about
the history of the drama, have never fa
miliarized themselves with the social con
ditions surrounding the earlier plays and
players, and Jump at the conclusion that
the situation Is hopeless because they
have not the opportunity or the taste to
choose what Is good. With such writers
as J. M. Barrie. A. W. Plnero. H. V. Es
mond, Henry Arthur Jones, Bernard Shaw
and Stephen Phillips writing plays in
England, and David Belasco, William
Gillette, Clyde Fitch, Augustus Thomas
and Bronson Howard in America; Ros
tand in France, Maeterlenck in Belgium,
Ibsen in Scandinavia, Sudermann and
Hauptman, In Germany, whose plays have .
more or less Influence on the English
with all these writers at work seriously
and diligently, I do not think we need
despair. I
There Is much more poor work than
good vbelng done; but show me the time I
when there was not. Bear In mind that
English dramatic literature has only one
good play for each ten years of Its his- I
tory. Need we wonder, then, that there '
Is not a new "Hamlet" or "Othello" or
"School for Scandal" produced every
week? j
i
In bringing our work to a close, It has
seemed to. me that a few general remarks
on the relation of dramatic literature to
real life may not be out of place.
All true literature Is the expression of
the universal element In nature and In life.
In this expression all that is transitory,
trivial, accidental, is eliminated. This
universal element we call truth, poetic
truth. Now by truth we do not mean
fact, for fact almost Invariably has as
sociated with it much that Is accidental,
trivial and Incomprehensible. Hence,
when we say that literature Is the ex
pression of the truth of life we mcanhat
it is the expression of the permanent and
eternal elements.
Of the various forms of literature used
as the medium for this expression of the
truth of nature and life, two have almost
equal claim to precedence. Naturally they
are, at their best, both poetic forms the
epic and the drama. Which is the higher
form we need not discuss. It is oufllcient
for us to know that the one which we are
studying Is perhaps supreme. As one of
the twd highest forms of -literature, then,
the drama differs from the epic in being
Intensive rather than extensive. It seeks
to explore deeply rather than broadly In
human nature. It probes until It discov
ers the elemental principles upon which
the life of mankind is founded, and In
which each Individual shares; then It re
clothes these universalities In concrete ex
amples, and presents them to us in the
guise of Individuals, In whom we feel
that we share more than we do In our
living neighbors. The concrete examples
by means of which dramatic poetry pre
sents the fundamentals of human char
acter are not mere abstractions for then
they would be allegories rather than per
sons or individuals. On the contrary,
they have the, universal outline so filled
and rounded that we think of them, not
as personifications, but as characters, not
amorousness but as Romeo, not as flend
lshncss but as Iago, not as ambition but
as Macbeth.
As to the expression of the events of
balcs or with a bunch of cress prepare a
dainty salad, or use It as Ailing for an
omelette.
One learns very quickly, too, to prize
a sandwich or a savory, as the open
sandwich Is called made of asparagus
points and a bit of ravigote butter or a'
sprinkling of fresh chopped herbs. These
Bavorles are served before the soup at
luncheons and Informal dinners and are,
as the -name Implies, a whet to the appe
tite. They are served also at 5 o'clock
teas and at suppers.
Delicious soups are made with aspara
gus. These are made without meat and
are excellent for luncheons.
Cream of Aaparngna.
Wash and cut In short lengths two dozen
asparagus stalks, Cover with two quarts
of boiling water, add a green onion, a
stalk of celery, a spray of parsley and a
heaping teaspoonful of salt. Cook fpr 25
minutes, then rub through a sieve. Re
turn to the saucepan and let come to a
boll. Beat the yolks of two eggs until
light, add half a pint of cream and stir
it into the hot soup. This soup may be
varied by adding different seasonings. A
tablespoonful of very finely chopped cher-
vil or tarragon may be added Just before
serving; or a cupful of cucumber dice
that have simmered for 10 minutes In
salted water, then drained. The same
effect is gained by using a tablespoonful
of finely chopped pimpernel, an herb with
a dainty cucumber flavor. A Very delicate
flavor and color Is given the soup by add
ing a cupful of whipped cream Just before
serving.
A few asparagus tips miy be added to
I the soup; or a green, custard may be
I made. For this press cooked asparagus
tips through a sieve to give half a. cupful
j of pulp. Add two table-spoonfuls of cream,.
i the whites of four eggs beaten slightly
ana mu a teaspooniui oi salt. iour into
tiny eggcups, set these in a panful of hot
water and pocli the custards until firm
either- on topnof he range or In the oven.
When flraa, tura gut of the cup and add
A fall visiting: coiitame.
life, as opposed to character, the drama
does that by means, of plot. In this as
in character, everything that is not a
permanent part of the whole, everything
that does not contribute in some way to
the winding or the. unwinding of the
threads of action, should be eliminated.
Among all the parts there must be unity,
coherence; interdependence. The result,
of all the parts must be symmetry, or
beauty. Naturally tlfe plot must be ap
propriate to the characters, and it will
be, if it be developed rightly; that is, if
the plot be the result of the natural, the
unavoidable clash or Interaction of each
of the characters on the others. Now this
plot may or may not be credible In real
life. Starting with certain presupposi
tions, the author may make his plot what
he will, so long as It Is probable In the
light of his preliminary assumptions. It
may even be impossible In real life, yet,
If In the light of what he has assumed
at the outset It be probable, we accept it
without question. But let It be improb
able, and whether it be impossible or not.
we reject it as totally incredible. To use
the words 6f Aristotle, "Probable Impos
sibilities are to be preferred to Improb
able possibilities."
Mediate and Immediate Ends.
But to what end? some one asks. What
is the purpose of the art of literature?
"Well, on that subject opinions are as
numerous as the sands of the sea. One
will answer that the end of this fine art
Is to relieve life of Its nonessentials and
hold It up before us so that we may see
It ao It really Is. Another will answer
that Its end Is to hold the mlr.r up to
Nature and try to reflect her In all her
various forms. Another will say that It
Is to incite people to right living; an
other that it is to show them the way to
live; another that It Is to instruct. And
so on, ad Infinitum. Which is right 1
shall not presume to say. I know what
the end of literature seems to me to be,
but I ant perfectly willing that others
should hold to their oplnlorp. To me the
end of literature, ao of all fine arts, is
not the stripping of life to Its elements,
nor the reflection of nature, nor the in
crease of purity, morality and right living
generally, nor Instruction, nor preaching,
but pleasure, or rational enjoyment by
the reader or the spectator. The kind and
degree of pleasure varies, of course, ac
cording to the dignity of the art; and it
may vary according to the reader's or
spectator's capacity for pleasure. But In
general it Is the rational pleasure pro
duced in normally constituted individuals
by a work of art. This seemo to, me to
be the immediate end of art. The mediate
end may be a thousand things. For exam
ple, an immoral man may see tho tragedy
of "Othello" acted on the stage; he may
have his emotions so stirred, his intellect
so convinced by the logic of events, that
henceforth he will lead a moral life. Or
another man, wearied by the cares and
worries of business, and on the verge of
a collapse, may see the comedy of "As
Toti Like It"; he may be so charmed by
the Idyllic beauty, the purity and the
wholesomencss of It, that he totally for
gets his business affairs and receives the
rest he so much needs. On the morrow,
with renewed vigor, he enters the arena
again and makes his fortune. In the one
case the result of the art is a pure life;
In the other a million dollars. But I
maintain that these are mediate, not im
mediate endspand that the immediate end
or result in both cases is pleasure. What
ever, then, may be the secondary result
of such fine art as the drama, the Im
mediate end is pleasure. I am well aware
that there are many eminent writers and
critics who hold that the end of literature
to the hot soup. The custard can be
poached In a shallow dish, allowed to
cool, then cut Into hearts, diamonds,
stars, etc., with a vegetable cutter. Place
in the tureen and pour oi'er them the hot
soup. When the tips of the asparagus are
cooked separately, the harder portiqns
can be utilized for soups and sauces.
Baked Anparartia.
Boil the tender portions of asparagus,
cut in half-Inch lengths until tender, then
drain. Make a sauce by heating two ta
blespoonfuls each of flour and butter:
when creamy add a cupful of water and
half a cupful of milk. Add the liquid
very slowly; when it bolls add a teaspoon
ful of salt and half a teaspoonful of
paprika. Remove from the Are and
add the yolks of two eggs slightly beaten.
Butter a baking dish, place In It a layer
of asparagus, then a layer of sauce, and
so on until the materials are used. Cover
the top with breadcrumbs moistened with
the sauce, and set the dish in the oven
long enough to brown the crumbs.
The above dish is delicious served In
rice croustades. To make them, add a
tablespoonful of-butter to two cupfuls
of hot cooked rice; add also the yolks of
two eggs, beaten slightly. Butter the
small oblong molds that are sold for this
purpose and line the bottoms and sides
with the rice mixture, pressing it in Arm
with a wooden spoon. Brush over with
the beaten white of an egg, and place
In the oven for 10 minutes. Turn the
croustades from the molds and fill with
the asparagus mixed with sauce. With
a cupful of cooked minced chicken or
veal added to the asparagus an Inexpen
sive and appetizing entree Is produced
with little outlay.
AsparnHTUK Loaf.
Cook three cupfuls of asparagus tips
until tender, then drain. Cream two ta
blespoonfuls each of butter and flour, add
half a teaspoonful of salt, a dash of pap
rika and a cupful of hot milk. Add the
milk slowly, stirring all the time. Cook
for five minutes. Remove from the range,
add four well-beaten eggs, a cupful of
asparagus tips and a teaspoonful of
chopped parsley. Butter well a small
bowl and line It with the remainder of
the asparagus tips. If the tips will not
adhere readily to the sides of the bowl,
dip them in the sauce, cover with a piece
of oiled paper, stand the bowl In 'hot
water and cook In a cool oven for 15 min
utes. Turn out of the bowl and serve with
the following sauce:
Beat two teaspoonfuls of butter to a
cream, beat In the yolks of two eggs, one
at a time, and beat with the butter very
thoroughly. Add also a few grains of salt
and pepper. Place the bowl containing
this over hot water and add slowly a cup
ful and a half of boiling water. As soon
as the mixture thickens remove and add
a tablt spoonful of lemon Juice.
Asparagus Fritter.
These are delicious to serve with roast
veal or chicken. Mix a cupful of cooked
asparagus tips with a thick sauce made
of two tablespoon fuls of flour and ono
tablespoonful of butter cooked In a half
a cupful of milk. When cold add one
vEZ and fry on a buttered griddle. In
cakes about two Inches In diameter.
Sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve
hot.
Afiparagraa Puffs.
These are delicious with broiled ham or
chops at the breakfast table. Or serve
them with a stewed fowl or a dish having
plenty of gravy. Add to a cupful of as
paragus tips half a cupful of sifted flour,
a teaspoonful of salt and a tiny pinch
of grated nutmeg. Beat the yolks and
whites of two eggs separately. Mix the
yokes into the' flour and asparagus and
lastly fold In the stiffly beaten whites.
Drop from a spoon on a buttered pan and
cook In a hot ovtn. Ten minutes' baking
will give delicately brown, puffy halls-that
garnish a dish daintily and give . pleasant
change.
Is, or should be, moral or intellectual In
struction, but I have never been convinced
by their arguments. If we want to in
struct people In facts, there is the his
torical and scientific treatise; if we want
to Instruct them In morality and religion,
there Is the tract, and the sermon; If we
want to instruct them in theories, there
is philosophy; and if we want to waken
their finer sensibilities, to stir their deep
er emotions, to arouse their sense of the
beautiful, there Is true literature.
I should be surprised if I found that In
thus defining the en of literature as
pleasure. I have not raised the- question,
"Do you include tragedy in that?"
"Surely," we hear some, one say, "surely
there can be no pleasure In seeing a tra
gedy, exccRt the pleasure found in the
ability of the actor." "For my part,"
says another, "I do not like to see trage
dies on the stage. Thv are too gloomy,
they have too much of the dark side of
life in them, too much of wrongdoing
and suffering and sorrow. We see enough
of these In real life without having them
Inflicted on us when we go to the theater
to enjoy ourselves. A great many people
feel this way, but in spite of that I do not
except tragedy from the literature whose
end is pleasure. To Justify my position,
I must fall back on Aristotle's theory
of the function of tragedy," as expounded
by Butcher:
The function of tragedy is thus defined
by Aristotle in his "Poetics": "Through
pity and fear effecting the proper kathar
sls, or purgation, of these 'emotions." You
will all agree that tin feelings of pity
and fear In real life have In them an ele
ment of morbidity. This arises from tho
fact that there Is In both the personal
element. We truly fear, when there la
an Impending danger to us; and we truly
pity when an undeserved misfortune falls
upon a friend. By katharsls, or purga
tion, of the emotions, pity and f cart- Aris
totle meant the elimination of this per
sonal element which results In morbidity.
How tragedy docs this is to be explained
In this way. The emotion of pity which
is aroused by the sight of a tragedy, in
which persons suffer more than they de
serve, becomes altogether Impersonal. Gen
erally speaking, we- pity others when
under similar circumstances we should
fear for ourselves. But In tragedy the
feeling of pity Is felt for someone who
Is not ourself, and who Is not near to
us. Hence, though the pity produced by a
tragedy Is not totally different from that
felt In real life-. It has not selfish element
In It, no possibility of having any. Fear,
however. Is greatly changed, when thus
transferred to the world of imagination.
When we behold a play and feci the emo
tion of fear, we are no longer In the
world where there Is any imminent danger
.to ourselves. We fear not for ourselves,
but for the personages of the drama.
We thus call this emotion Into operation,
purge It of all element of selfishness, and
by so doing remove from it the painful
element. Added to this purifying of the
emotions Is thevelement of relief to them
which- accompanies the former process.
We all recognize the fact that our various
emotions must find vent in some way, and
that the process of satisfying them afforde
us pleasure.
Thus Aristotle's theory Involves two
ideas, that there Is the emotional relief,
and that there Is a purifying of the emo
tions so relieved. As Butcher says: "In
accepting this Interpretation we do not
ascribe to tragedy a direct moral purpose
and Influence. Tragedy . . . acts on
the feelings, not on the' will. It does
not make men better, but removes cer
tain hindrances to virtue." As I said be
fore, the indirect effects of art may be
many things, but the Immediate end Is
this "aesthetic function," to afford pleas
ure. Now, Just a word about why we feel
THREE FABLES IN SLANG
BY GEORGE ADE
Of What They Had Laid Outi for
Their Vacation.
A Man who had three weeks of Vaca
tion coming to him began to get busy
with an Atlas about April 1st. He and
his Wife figured that by keeping on the
Jump they could do Niagara, Thousand
Islands. Atlantic City, The Mammoth
Cave and cover the Great Lakes.
On April 10th they decided to charter a
House-Boat and float down the Missis
sippi. On April 20th he heard of a Cheap Ex
cursion to. California with a stop-over
Prlvlllege at every Station, and they be- j
gan to read up on Salt Lake and lellow
stone. On May 1st she flashed a Prospectus
pf a Northern Lake Besort where Boats
and Minnows were free and Nature was
ever smiling.
3y May 10th he had drawn a Blue Pen
cil all over a Folder of the Adlrpndack
Region and all the Hotel Rates were set
down in his Pocket Memorandum Book.
Ten days later she vetoed the Mountain
Trip because she had got next to a Nan
tucket Establishment where Family Board
was $6 a Week, with the use of a Horse.
On June 1st a Friend showed him how
by making two Changes and hiring a
Canoe he could penetrate the Deep Woods
where the Foot of Man had never Trod
and the Black Bass came to the Surface
and begged to be taken out.
On June 15th he and Wlfey packed up
and did the annual Hike up to Uncle
Foster's Place In Brown County, where
they ate with the Hired Hand and had
Greens three times a Day. There were no
Screens on the Windows, but by climbing
a Hill they could get a lovely View of the
Pike that ran over to the County Seat.
Moral: If Summer came in the Spring
there would be a lot of Travel.
Of the Girl "Who "Wanted to Warm
Up When It Was Too Late.
0
NCE there was a good Young Man
who delivered Milk and sang In the
Choir. He allowed his Affections to get
alt snarled up with a tall female Elfin
named Sophy. Fate kissed him off and he
lay frdze against the Cushion. It ap
peared that Sophy had no time for him
because he was about two notches below
her In the Social Scale. Sophy's father
was an Auctioneer and Agent for a Pat
ent Churn.
The Younir Man, whose Name was
Otis, removed the Gaff from his quiver
ing Bosom, and began to lay Plans to
humble her Pride. After placing his Milk
Route In the Hands of a Reliable Agent,
he went up to the City and began to take
Lessons on the norn. He practiced until
he was able to crawl Inside of ablg Oom
Pah and eat all of the Low Notes In
the Blue Book. The Hard Part of a Sou
sa March was Pie for him. He could close
his Eyes and run up the Scale and then
down again until he struck the New
foundland Growl coming at the end of
"Rocked in the Cradle."
Then he went back and Joined the Silver
Cornet Band. On Decoration day he was
up at the Head of the Line, Just behind
the Grand Marshal with the Red Sash,
and he carried a Tuby that looked like
the Entrance to a Cave. His Uniform
was fancy enough for a Colonel on the
Governor's Staff.
When he swept down Main Street, scar-
! Ing all the Horses and causing the Win
dow Panes to rattle, every one along the
Line of March who knew Ote was proud
of himself. .
Sophy saw him and got ready to do a
the emotions of pity and fear when wo
behold a tragedy. The reason for this Is
that th nprsinnnpoa nf fha rtrnmo nt- nnf
I merely Individuals representing themseh es
that they represent mankind. The ele
ments in their natures are the universal
elements of human nature. Similarly the
action of the play represents not merely
episodes In which those Individuals are
concerned, but represents. If not the
events, at any rate the laws of human
life In general. The plot must be uni
versal as well as the characters. Hence
In beholding a tragedy, such as, "Hamlet"
for example, we feci the emotions of pity
and fear, first because in. the melancholy
Dane and his associates we recogn'zo
traits of character which are human and
which we, as human beings, share with
the human beings on the stage; and sec
ond, because In the gradual development
of the action of the play, we see that
certain laws of nature are at work laws
Which may not htk vintaterl with immm.
lty in life, any more than they may in
me yray. in omer words-, our Klnsrlp
with humanity and our sympathy In the
affairs of our fellows produce this effect.
Vac of Comedy.,
That the Immediate end of comedy Is
pleasure is so evident that no argument
is needed to establish It. The quiet smiles
or the boisterous shouts which indicate
its effect are proof positive of It. Trag
edy and comedy seem at first view very
different; yet. I. venture to say that, if
we were able to estimate the mediate
effects of both we should find them much
the same. Tragedy takes the serious ele
ments of life and produces Its effect on
us by means of pity and fear; comedy
takes the lighter elements -and produces
Its effects on us by means of humor. We
all agree that there are certain of the
Sterner elements of life and character
which are universal, and which It is tho
business of tragedy to treat; we shall all
agree, too. I think, that there are certain
of the lighter elements which abound ?c
generally that they may be called uni
versal, and which It Is the business of
comedy to treat. These lighter elements
consist of imperfections, frailties, fol
lies. Infirmities, incongruities and did-,
cords of life In general, the ludicrous
parts of our common existence. At thte
we all feel free to laugh without fear
that our laughter will inflict pain, be
cause In reality we are laughing at things
In which we ourselves share. There Is a
kind of comedy the purpose of which is
to inflict pain or to put to shame, but that
Is not true comedy it Is satire. True
comedy and the true comic dramatist
laugh not at, but with his characters, and
with us. We feel that tho unexpected
surprises, and painless incongruities
which the author prepares for us in both
character and plot belong to real life, and
we are moved to laugh, not because we
feel that we are superior beings above a
laughing reproach, nor because we bear
malice toward others whom we recog
nize as having weaknesses and foibles as
great as our own. Real comedy, so far
is it from producing a haughty or ma
ligiant spirit In its audience, strives to
emphasize this kinship of weakness and
inconsistency and to promote a tolerant
feeling toward It.
In these ways have tragedy and com
edy appealed to humanity from the time
they came Into existence, and In theso
ways will they appeal probably till the
end of time. The dramatic instinct Is
innate in man, and as It always has found
expression In sorao form, so it doubtless
always will. And as long as its two high
est forms, tragedy and comedy, continue
to be read and acted, so long will Its
audiences be moved by the feelings of
pity, fear and humor. t
little Hedging. After the Parade when
he was in the Bon-Ton Candy Kitchen,
with a Handkerchief around his Neck,
ordering up Strawberry Soda, then Sophy
broke through the Circle of Admirers and
bade him Welcome. Otis gave her a cruel
Look and pretended that he did not re
member her Name.
That Evening she raw him pass the
House three times with the Tuby on one
Arm and a red-headed Milliner on the
other.
Moral: Adversity often hatches out the
true Nobllty of Character.
e
Of the Red Letter Xigbt at Smart
wecd Junction.
ONCE there was an undersized Town
that had the Ccrn-Fields sneaking
up on all sides of it, trying to brtak
over the Corporation Line. People ap
proaching the Town from the North could
not see it because there was a Row pf
Willow Trees In the Way.
Here In this comatose Settlement lived
a Family named Pilkins. The Pilklnses
were all the Eggs in Smartweed. They
owned a big General Store catty-cornered
from the Courthouse. It was well known
that they sent to Chicago for their Clothes
and ate Ice Cream In the Winter Time.
The Pilkins Girls had been away to Con
vent to have their Voices sand-papered
and fitted to a Piano, and they came
back with the flrst Gibson Shirtwaists
seen In those Parts. Most of the Girls
south of the Tracks were juat getting
wise to the Russian Blouse.
Along in May the Pilkins Family made
Its annual Play to set the Prairies o
fire. Every Adult in Town, except those
who had Jail Records, received an En
graved Invitation to come up to the Pil
kins House and take a peek at High Life.
Within three days you couldn't buy a Yard
of Wide Ribbon In any Store, and every
Second Man in Mink Patterson's Barber
Shop asked for a Hair Cut. The R. S.
V. P down In one Corner of the Bid had
some of the Brethren guessing for a
while. There was no need of putting that
on. It was an Immortal Cinch that every
one would turn out, if he had to be moved
in pn a Cot. About the only Entertain
menst they had in Smartweed Junction
were Uncle Tom under a Tent and the In
dian Medicine Troupe. Therefore, no
body was going to pass up the Pilkins
Jamboree, for there was to be an imported
Orchestra, costing 575, and Meals provid
ed, and the City Caterer was to bring his
own Waiters.
Everybody went home early that Day
so as to take a good thorough scouring
before getting Into their Other , Clothes.
At Du3k they began wending their Way
toward the Pilkins Place, all looking a
little worried and apprehensive. They
were sorted out at the Front Door and
led into the Dressing-'Rooms. pegged out
along the Walls, fed on Macaroons and
treated to large Bunches of Bach Music.
Every half hour or so somebody would
say something and that would be a Cue
for the others to shift their Feet.
The Punch Bowl got the Cold Eye until
It was learned that the Dye Stuff was
Anallnc and not Rum, and then they stood
around and dipped In until they tvere blue
under the Ears.
About 11 o'clock the Japanese Lanterns
began to burn up, and a large number of
PeopI whose Feet were hurting them
could be seen quietly ducking. The
Home Paper said it was'the Event of the
Season.
MORAL: Eat, Drink and be Merry, for
tomorrow ye Die,