"

[Illustration: ACT III. Pantaloon David Peggotty Gladstone Ives.]

It is in this same Third Act that the fine old crusted melodramatic
curse is uncorked, and a good imperial quart of wrath is poured out on
his dancing daughter's head by the heavy father, who, in his country
suit, forces his way into the gilded halls of the Duke's mansion, past
the flunkeys, the head butler, and all the rest of the usual pampered
menials. An audience that can accept this old-fashioned cheap-novel
kind of clap-trap, and witness, without surprise, the marvellous
departure of all the guests, supperless, for no assigned cause, or
explicable reason, not even an alarm of fire having been given, will
swallow a considerable amount.

The Fourth Act is an anticlimax, and shows up the faulty construction
of the drama. Of course the news comes that the Dancing Girl is dead,
and this information is brought by a Sainte Nitouche of a "Sister" of
some Theatrical Order (not admitted after half-past seven), whose very
appearance is a _suggestio falsi_. Equally, of course, a letter is
found, which, as exculpating Gooseberry, induces the old cuss of a
Puritan father to shake hands with the converted "Spotted Nobleman";
but, be it remembered, the Dook is still his landlord, and the value
of the property is going up considerably. Then it appears that the old
humbug of an agent has sagaciously speculated in the improvement of
the island, and poor Gooseberry feels under such an obligation to that
sly puss of an agent's daughter, that, in a melancholy sort of way,
he offers her his hand, which she, the artful little hussy of a _Becky
Sharp_, with considerable affectation of coyness, accepts, and down
goes the Curtain upon as unsatisfactory and commonplace a termination
to a good Melodrama as any Philistine of the Philistines could
possibly wish. It would have been a human tragedy indeed had poor
Gooseberry poisoned himself, and the girl whose life he had saved had
arrived just too late, only to die of a broken heart. But that "is
quite another story."

The piece is well played all round, especially by the men. Mr. TREE
is excellent, except in the ultra-melodramatic parts, where he is too
noisy. The very best thing he does is the perfect finish of the Second
Act, when, without a word, he sits in the chair before the fire lost
in dismal thought. This is admirable: as perfect in its dramatic force
as it is true to nature. It is without exception the best thi