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The old scyth bearer has been unusually busy in harvesting among professional during the past few days. From England we learn of the death of Thomas Wilson under peculiarlt out of an express train, and impulsively he jumped out after her. The child was only bruised, but the father injured his spine. He was a pautomomimst of repute and a farcical actor of promise, and was under contract to the dramatic company of Mrs. George Crowe (our Kate Bateman) for next season. Charles Octavius Wood, son of the English scenic artist Charles Wood, and himself scenic artist at the {Tyne?} Theatre, Newcastle, has been drowned while boating and bathing. Many circus performers now among us knew Walter Beckett, bandmaster of John Henry Cooke's Circus, who has died of consumption at Dundee, Scotland. Paul and Alfred Martinetti, who are as well known here as upon the other side, have in Charles Wilford, who in private life was Charles Williams Dukes, lost one who was a valued member of their company of the pantomimists. England also records the death of Charles Garland, under which name he will be recognized by not a few in this country, although abroad, where he was an advanced tenor both in concert and in English opera, he bore the professional desiguation of Joseph Plerpoint. He should not be confounded with Bantock Pierpoint, an English bariton. The cable on July 6 announced the demise of Lindsay Sloper. A pianist of rare excellence and a composer whose work showed tasteful discrimination, he will, more because of his years than in spite of them, be missed in English musical circles. He was not a stranger here personally, having concluded a tour of this country 15 years ago as a member of the Dolby Concert Company, in which were Mme. Patey, Edith Wynne, William Cummings, and Charles Santley.

Australia contributes three deaths in the person of the wife of Signor Agrata, a Melbourne manager; of Arthur Redwood, a young comedian recently from England, and who had become a confirmed paralytic; and of Mrs. H.R. Harwood, wife of an Australian comedian and manager, and herself au actress of long standing.

Alike in dramatics and in operas Harwood is a name old to the stage on this continent, as well as mark in naval cirlces. It was the English actor, John Harwoodm who in the closing year of the last century, while playing in this country, married Sarah Bache, granddaughter of Benjamin Franklin. He quit and stage and became a wine merchant in Philadelphia. His son was Rear-Admiral Harwood, of the United States navy, and his grandsons were Lieut.-Col. Franklin Harwood, of the Engineer Corps, and Lieut. Henry Wood Harwood, of the Marines. The latter died in Philadelphia eight years ago.

Last Sunday this column referred incidentally to a marriage in the circus ring in the Quaker City in 1877. The unnamed groom was Rudolphe Mette, one of the acrobatic brothers of that name. He became careless of himself, and last Sabbath morning his dead body was found in a stable in Brooklyn.

These brief necrological records would be in complete without a passing reference to Edward Lamb. We remember him as the hateful Haley in the original production here of that particular brand of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" in which all the Howards began to occupy the National Theatre in the Summer of 1853. Spate of frame, with not five pounds of flesh on him were the water squeezed out, he was, except in height, another Charles Burke. Even his voice was more like Burke's or Stuart Robson's than like H. E. Stevens's or that of some other "heavy man" of these very "heavy" days. Lamb was clearly out of his sphere until on night, about a year later, we saw him in a sort of the Lone Fisherman role at the Bowery Theatre. It was one of the soldiers in "Putnam." Lamb had but a word to say here and there, but his exits were in themselves an entire comic play. The short, quick, nervous step, the sidling movement, the upward jerk of the chin, and the peculiar bobbing of the head told better than a dozen "lengths" of speech could possibly have done. Later his Jaques Strop in "Robert Macaire" proved a real treat in conjuction with the Robert of Leffingwell, who was undoubtedly the best mock-heroic actor the American stage has never known. Many years later Lamb did Strop at the Winter Garden by special request.

Except for his advanced years, there should be no alarm felt because of the disappearance of Henry Scharf. It is not the first time he has been missing. He kept himself out of sight of professionals for nearly 20 years, and about 1881 reappeared upon the stage after those who had played him with when he came from England and opened at the theatre on the broadway near Anthony-street, early in the '50s, had supposed him dead. He had been quietly living South, pursuing another vocation.

It is in contemplation unwittingly to summon George L. Fox and broken-legged Harry Seymour from their graves. Each will come up with a stiff protest. A new "skit," to be called "Amanuensis," is reported to be in preparation for the Bijou Theatre. Among its threatened novelties are dog to impersonate a cat, with the idea of making the feline appear of unusual size. Fox and Seymour conveyed the same idea in pantomime by using a boy, who makes a bigger cat and can always be intelligently directed, whereas even a trained dog will flunk. Another novelty is to be a full moon of hugeness, which will first change to a human eye that winks, and finally resolve itself into the man who is popularly supposed to inhabit the domain of Luna whenever the supply of green cheese has run out. It is confidently predicted that this innovation will make audiences laugh. there is no doubt of it. It made them cackle ages ago. According to a published synopsis of "Amanuensis" that play is to bristle with the unshelled casianea vulgus. This is the commonest kind of "chestnust." The starting point of "Amaneunsis" is described as "hynotism, the new form of magnetism." This is Hell--at least, it was a german named Hell who, in the last century, discovered hypnotic thralldom and taught some valuable things in animal magnetism to one Mesmer, to whom posterity has, as a matter of convenience, given the credit of the whole somnambulistic or nerve-racking business. If the new "skit" has nothing in it fresher to the stage than hypnotism, big cat, and comic moon, it may cost H. E. Dixey something to experiment with it at the Bijou for the purpose of casting it out upon the road.

The popularity of the catch phrase "You know" seems almost simultaneously to have inspired two local song writers. One of them is certainly ahead of the other in the matter of copyright, although behind in publication, and he is now going about town inquiring what the words "colorable imitation" mean when used by the "Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C." All the same, he wonders that no comic song writer caught on to this title ahead of him. His squib is dedicated to Roland Recd.

The death of Edward Lamb could not well fail to call to mind W.J. Florence's alleged mental feat in relation to "Caste" just 20 years ago. There was no need for the court to pass upon the question whether it would be legal for a man to hire some one with a good memory ro see a play and commit it to paper after leaving the theatre, if it would be illegal for him to hire stenographers to jot it down in the theatre. Mr. Florence probably volunteered his somewhat surprising testimony in extenuation of his having the play for production at Barney Williams's theatre in the face of the fact that the right to it had been secured from the author by Lester Wallack; but it is doubtful if the Judge gave the mnemonic performance any weight at all.

A proprietary right in plays has since been recognized, and we no longer see foreign authors resorting to the subterfuge of doubling up with some American citizen in order to secure a copyright; but the consequences of Mr. Florence's setting the world a bad example by his testimony as to personal memorizing are observable even to-day. There is before us the dead-earnest circular of one who prides himself upon being "America's foremost young dramatic author." He proves that he is--bu citing the wearisome number of other men's plays he has written after having somehow got into a parquet seat and committed them to memory.

It may contribute largely to Mr. Florence's ethanasia for him to realize, when at last the A.G. does his double tonguing on the cornet, (the cornet has superseded the bugle as a solo instrument on earth, and why not in favor with the Angel Gabriel?) that he was not alone in encouraging the mnemonic method of playwriting. Prof. J.H. Siddons, who died some months ago in Washington, boasted that he had memorized "The Dead Heart" for the Bowery Theatre. The right to it had been secured by a Baltimore manager, and Edwin Adams had already made a specialty of the leading role, Robert Landry. This was before Mr. Florence had, as he claimed, surcharged his brain with the lines and business of "Caste." Ancestry was no bar to Siddons's act of constructive literary piracy. The Professor was something more than actor, journalist, reader, lecturer, and dramatic tutor. He claimed to be a son of that George Siddons who was the son of the great Sarah Siddons.

Julian Cross, a comedian of some artistic worth when he came to this country with Mrs. John Wood, and worthier now by reason of the seasoning due to lapse of years, has "given the sack" to a troublesome sac. The other day a London surgeon relieved his face of a cyst.

This cheerful allusion to the keen cuts of surgery is a reminder that Dr. Moreil Mackenzie, whose knife has recently been making life worth clinging to by the Crown Prince of Germany, is a newphew of the noted English actor, Henry Compton, who died but a few years ago, and therefore cousin of Edward Compton, who supported Adelaide Neilson in America during one season. Miss Neilson and young Mr. Compton profoundly

The old scyth bearer has been unusually busy in harvesting among professional during the past few days. From England we learn of the death of Thomas Wilson under peculiarlt out of an express train, and impulsively he jumped out after her. The child was only bruised, but the father injured his spine. He was a pautomomimst of repute and a farcical actor of promise, and was under contract to the dramatic company of Mrs. George Crowe (our Kate Bateman) for next season. Charles Octavius Wood, son of the English scenic artist Charles Wood, and himself scenic artist at the {Tyne?} Theatre, Newcastle, has been drowned while boating and bathing. Many circus performers now among us knew Walter Beckett, bandmaster of John Henry Cooke's Circus, who has died of consumption at Dundee, Scotland. Paul and Alfred Martinetti, who are as well known here as upon the other side, have in Charles Wilford, who in private life was Charles Williams Dukes, lost one who was a valued member of their company of the pantomimists. England also records the death of Charles Garland, under which name he will be recognized by not a few in this country, although abroad, where he was an advanced tenor both in concert and in English opera, he bore the professional desiguation of Joseph Plerpoint. He should not be confounded with Bantock Pierpoint, an English bariton. The cable on July 6 announced the demise of Lindsay Sloper. A pianist of rare excellence and a composer whose work showed tasteful discrimination, he will, more because of his years than in spite of them, be missed in English musical circles. He was not a stranger here personally, having concluded a tour of this country 15 years ago as a member of the Dolby Concert Company, in which were Mme. Patey, Edith Wynne, William Cummings, and Charles Santley.

Australia contributes three deaths in the person of the wife of Signor Agrata, a Melbourne manager; of Arthur Redwood, a young comedian recently from England, and who had become a confirmed paralytic; and of Mrs. H.R. Harwood, wife of an Australian comedian and manager, and herself au actress of long standing.

Alike in dramatics and in operas Harwood is a name old to the stage on this continent, as well as mark in naval cirlces. It was the English actor, John Harwoodm who in the closing year of the last century, while playing in this country, married Sarah Bache, granddaughter of Benjamin Franklin. He quit and stage and became a wine merchant in Philadelphia. His son was Rear-Admiral Harwood, of the United States navy, and his grandsons were Lieut.-Col. Franklin Harwood, of the Engineer Corps, and Lieut. Henry Wood Harwood, of the Marines. The latter died in Philadelphia eight years ago.

Last Sunday this column referred incidentally to a marriage in the circus ring in the Quaker City in 1877. The unnamed groom was Rudolphe Mette, one of the acrobatic brothers of that name. He became careless of himself, and last Sabbath morning his dead body was found in a stable in Brooklyn.

These brief necrological records would be in complete without a passing reference to Edward Lamb. We remember him as the hateful Haley in the original production here of that particular brand of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" in which all the Howards began to occupy the National Theatre in the Summer of 1853. Spate of frame, with not five pounds of flesh on him were the water squeezed out, he was, except in height, another Charles Burke. Even his voice was more like Burke's or Stuart Robson's than like H. E. Stevens's or that of some other "heavy man" of these very "heavy" days. Lamb was clearly out of his sphere until on night, about a year later, we saw him in a sort of the Lone Fisherman role at the Bowery Theatre. It was one of the soldiers in "Putnam." Lamb had but a word to say here and there, but his exits were in themselves an entire comic play. The short, quick, nervous step, the sidling movement, the upward jerk of the chin, and the peculiar bobbing of the head told better than a dozen "lengths" of speech could possibly have done. Later his Jaques Strop in "Robert Macaire" proved a real treat in conjuction with the Robert of Leffingwell, who was undoubtedly the best mock-heroic actor the American stage has never known. Many years later Lamb did Strop at the Winter Garden by special request.

Except for his advanced years, there should be no alarm felt because of the disappearance of Henry Scharf. It is not the first time he has been missing. He kept himself out of sight of professionals for nearly 20 years, and about 1881 reappeared upon the stage after those who had played him with when he came from England and opened at the theatre on the broadway near Anthony-street, early in the '50s, had supposed him dead. He had been quietly living South, pursuing another vocation.

It is in contemplation unwittingly to summon George L. Fox and broken-legged Harry Seymour from their graves. Each will come up with a stiff protest. A new "skit," to be called "Amanuensis," is reported to be in preparation for the Bijou Theatre. Among its threatened novelties are dog to impersonate a cat, with the idea of making the feline appear of unusual size. Fox and Seymour conveyed the same idea in pantomime by using a boy, who makes a bigger cat and can always be intelligently directed, whereas even a trained dog will flunk. Another novelty is to be a full moon of hugeness, which will first change to a human eye that winks, and finally resolve itself into the man who is popularly supposed to inhabit the domain of Luna whenever the supply of green cheese has run out. It is confidently predicted that this innovation will make audiences laugh. there is no doubt of it. It made them cackle ages ago. According to a published synopsis of "Amanuensis" that play is to bristle with the unshelled casianea vulgus. This is the commonest kind of "chestnust." The starting point of "Amaneunsis" is described as "hynotism, the new form of magnetism." This is Hell--at least, it was a german named Hell who, in the last century, discovered hypnotic thralldom and taught some valuable things in animal magnetism to one Mesmer, to whom posterity has, as a matter of convenience, given the credit of the whole somnambulistic or nerve-racking business. If the new "skit" has nothing in it fresher to the stage than hypnotism, big cat, and comic moon, it may cost H. E. Dixey something to experiment with it at the Bijou for the purpose of casting it out upon the road.

The popularity of the catch phrase "You know" seems almost simultaneously to have inspired two local song writers. One of them is certainly ahead of the other in the matter of copyright, although behind in publication, and he is now going about town inquiring what the words "colorable imitation" mean when used by the "Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C." All the same, he wonders that no comic song writer caught on to this title ahead of him. His squib is dedicated to Roland Recd.

The death of Edward Lamb could not well fail to call to mind W.J. Florence's alleged mental feat in relation to "Caste" just 20 years ago. There was no need for the court to pass upon the question whether it would be legal for a man to hire some one with a good memory ro see a play and commit it to paper after leaving the theatre, if it would be illegal for him to hire stenographers to jot it down in the theatre. Mr. Florence probably volunteered his somewhat surprising testimony in extenuation of his having the play for production at Barney Williams's theatre in the face of the fact that the right to it had been secured from the author by Lester Wallack; but it is doubtful if the Judge gave the mnemonic performance any weight at all.

A proprietary right in plays has since been recognized, and we no longer see foreign authors resorting to the subterfuge of doubling up with some American citizen in order to secure a copyright; but the consequences of Mr. Florence's setting the world a bad example by his testimony as to personal memorizing are observable even to-day. There is before us the dead-earnest circular of one who prides himself upon being "America's foremost young dramatic author." He proves that he is--bu citing the wearisome number of other men's plays he has written after having somehow got into a parquet seat and committed them to memory.

It may contribute largely to Mr. Florence's ethanasia for him to realize, when at last the A.G. does his double tonguing on the cornet, (