We fear that long since "the days of Tarleton
and of Kempe," the stage has retained
traces of ancient barbarism. What is called
"gagging"—adding to or substituting the
text—not only our clowns, but actors of
higher pretensions have been guilty of from
the earliest dawn to a very recent period,
if, indeed, the practice be yet altogether
abandoned. The purity of the poet's text
should, above all things, be preserved in
stage-representations. In Shakspeare, the
alteration of a word will spoil a passage; yet
some actors are foolish enough to think that
they may show originality by interpolation.
On the contrary, true genius, on the actor's
part, is shown by his making the most of the
text as it stands; all beyond this is the poet's
province. As this feeling spreads—and we
are happy to be able to bear testimony that
among our best performers it is spreading—
the integrity of the text will come to be as
seriously considered as its purity. The public
will then cease to be content with mutilated
performances. We trust and believe that the
time is hastening, when the background to
Shakspeare's "Hamlet" will be restored to
the stage; when we shall again have
Fortinbras and his army, together with Hamlet's
account of the manner in which he had
circumvented the king's tools on his voyage to
England, and other particulars now omitted,
which, "as necessary questions of the play,"
deserve respectful attention, and without
which the conduct of the piece wants
coherence and stability. The prayer, too, of the
usurping iuncle should be restored; nay, with
the exception of two rather coarse lines, the
entire text should be delivered. The sole
objection to this proposal is the length of the
tragedy; an objection, however, at once
obviated, by having one piece only performed
in an evening. Such a National Theatre,
indeed, as that we have above proposed,
should be established on this specific
principle—the exclusive exhibition each evening
of one five-act play, whether tragedy or
comedy, performed by the best and most
mature actors under a competent directory,
and supported as far as necessary by the
state.

The Elizabethan drama grew up under the
patronage of the court. The Victorian drama
would grow up with that of the people at
large, were but the popular will organised
and regulated by parliamentary sanction, as
it might be by the establishment of one
National Theatre under the highest control,
without interfering with the conduct of other
houses.

A standard of taste and merit would be
thus created, and a competition excited, which
would soon develop all the histrionic and
dramatic talent in the country. The recent
legislative enlargement of the theatrical arena
has already done much good; the liberty of
the stage, as the condition of progress, is an
invaluable boon. More, nevertheless, is
required to be done. Erect, in addition, a
standard of good authorship and good acting,
and we shall ere long find ourselves in
possession of a modern drama, illustrative of
the new thoughts and feelings which have
supervened upon the improved and more
intricate combinations of an advanced society.
Mighty is the work that yet remains for the
dramatic poet to do; but not greater than
the genius which may reasonably be believed
to exist for the adequate accomplishment of
the task proposed.

LIFE IN AN ESTANCIA.

FIRST PART.

A VERY interesting series of letters has been
put into our hands, addressed to his relations
in England by a son and brother, who has
been many years settled in South America.
For the last four years he has been the majordomo,
or active manager, of one of those vast
establishments in the Pampas of Buenos
Ayres, called "Estancias," where oxen, horses,
and sheep are multiplied to an extent which
makes our island notions of flocks and herds
almost contemptible. Sir Francis Head's
"Scamper across the Pampas," and other
Travels, have presented us vivid pictures of
thousands of oxen and horses, running wild
over interminable plains; but we are not
aware of any published account of a residence
in an Estancia—of that life of solitude and
adventure which combines so much of the
excitement of the hunter with the provident
arrangements of the man of commerce. The
condition of our stout Northumbrian in these
wilds is altogether a remarkable one. The
passages which we shall give from his
letters will retain his own words: our concern
with them will be confined to selection and
arrangement.

The word " Estancia," as given in the
Spanish dictionary, simply means a private
apartment or dormitory in a dwelling-house,
and it is difficult to account for its being
applied to establishments dedicated to the
breeding of cattle. In all probability when
the first settlers from old Spain erected their
huts, dwellings, or Estancias, for the purpose
of domesticating the wild cattle, the name of
the dwelling in course of time, became the
name of the establishment, and has continued
to be so down to the present day. I am led
to this conclusion from the fact that other
names have undergone similar changes quite
foreign to their original application in the
Spanish language.

Lakes, affording a permanent supply of
water, are absolutely necessary for an
Estancia. Next in importance to water is
good pasture and dry campo—these generally
go together. When the natural formation
of the land is broken into ridges, or is low
and marshy, the quality of the grass
partakes of the nature of the soil, harsh, and