I have often been told by famous women of the past that the beautiful Mrs. Russell, then of Wallack’s Theatre, was the originator in this country of richly elegant realism in stage costuming.  When it was known that the mere linings of her gowns cost more than the outside of other dresses; that all her velvet was silk velvet; all her lace to the last inch was real lace; that no wired nor spliced feathers curled about her splendid leghorns, only magnificent single plumes, each worth weeks of salary, this handsome woman, superbly clad, created a sensation, but alas! at the same time, she unconsciously scattered seed behind her that sprang up into a fine crop of dragon’s teeth for following young actresses to gather. Qui donne le menu, donne la faim! And right here let me say, I am not of those who believe the past holds a monopoly of all good things.  I have much satisfaction in the present, and a strong and an abiding faith in the future, and even in this matter of dress, which has become such an anxiety to the young actress, I would not ask to go back to those days of primitive costuming.  In Shakespere’s day there appeared over a “drop,” or curtain of green, a legend plainly stating, “This is a street in Verona,” and every man with an imagination straightway saw the Veronese street to his complete satisfaction; but there were those who had no imagination, and to hold their attention and to keep their patronage, scenes had to be painted for them.  One would not like to see a woman draped in plain grey with an attached placard saying, “This is a ball gown” or “This is a Coronation robe,” the imagination would balk at it.  But there is a far cry between that and the real Coronation robe of velvet, fur, and jewels.  What I would ask for is moderation, and above all freedom for the actress from the burden of senseless extravagance which is being bound upon her shoulders—­not by the public, not even by the manager, but by the mischievous small hands of sister actresses, who have private means outside of their salaries.  How generous they would be if they could be content to dress with grace and elegance while omitting the mad extravagance that those who are dependent upon their salaries alone will surely try to emulate, and sometimes at what a price, dear Heaven, at what a price!

Let us say an actress plays the part of a woman of fashion—­of rank.  As she makes her first appearance, she is supposed to have returned from the opera.  Therefore, though she may wear them but one moment, hood and opera cloak are needed because they will help out the illusion.  Suppose, then, she wears a long cloak of velvet or cloth, with a lining of delicate tinted quilted satin or fur; if the impression of warmth or elegance and comfort is given, its work has been well done.  But suppose the actress enters in an opera cloak of such gorgeous material that the elaborate embroidery on it seems an impertinence—­a creation lined with the frailest, most expensive fur known to commerce, frothing