the acting did away as much as possible with any of the underlying
melancholy which flows through the comedy.

William Winter frankly asserts--perhaps not unwittingly giving a
staggering blow to the art of acting in so doing--that the reason
Rosalind is not more often embodied "in a competent and enthralling
manner is that her enchanting quality is something that cannot be
assumed--it must be possessed; it must exist in the fibre of the
individual, and its expression will then be spontaneous. Art can
accomplish much, but it cannot supply the inherent captivation that
constitutes the puissance of Rosalind. Miss Rehan possesses that
quality, and the method of her art was the fluent method of natural
grace."

Fie and a fig for Mr. Moore's theory about being beaten and standing
in the rain, implies Mr. Winter!

To Mr. Winter I am also indebted for a description of Mary Anderson in
_As You Like It_: "Miss Anderson, superbly handsome as Rosalind,
indicated that beneath her pretty swagger, nimble satire and silver
playfulness Rosalind is as earnest of Juliet--though different in
temperament and mind--as fond as Viola and as constant as Imogen."

Miss Marlowe's Rosalind, somewhat along the same lines as Miss
Anderson's, and Miss Crosman's, a hoydenish, tomboy sort of creature,
first cousin to Mistress Nell and the young lady of _The Amazons_,
should be familiar to theatregoers of the last two decades.

Last Monday evening Margaret Anglin exposed her version of the comedy.
As might have been expected, it has met with some unfavourable
criticism. Preconceived notions of Rosalind are as prevalent as
preconceived notions of Hamlet. And yet if _As You Like It_ had been
produced Monday night as a "new fantastic comedy," just as _Prunella_
was, for instance, I am inclined to think that everybody who dissented
would have been at Miss Anglin's charming heels.

The scenery has been given undue prominence both by the management and
by the writers for the newspapers. Its most interesting feature is the
arrangement by which it is speedily changed about. There were no long
waits caused by the settings of scenes during the acts. To say,
however, that it has anything to do with the art of Gordon Craig is to
speak nonsense. The scenes are painted in much the same manner as that
to which we are accustomed and inured. There is a certain haze over
the trees, caused partially by the tints and partially by the
lighting, which produces a rat