Fire scenes are sometimes dangerous; but with proper care they may be rendered comparatively safe. That they are not so hazardous as is generally supposed by the uninitiated beholder may be learned from the following description:—One of the most familiar fire scenes is that which occurs in the “Streets of New York,” in which a three-story house burns down, the roof caving in, the shutters falling, and the walls breaking with a wonderful appearance of realism. The house is painted on three separate pieces, the top one of which is swung from the flies; this constitutes the roof. Upon the second is painted half the wall, and it is joined to the bottom piece in an irregular zigzag line. The simple dropping in succession of these pieces to the stage produces the falling of roof and wall. The fire itself is represented by chemical red fire and powdered lycopodium used separately, the former to give a red glow and the latter to represent flames. The shutters, which are to fall, are fastened to the scene with a preparation called “quick watch.” This is made of powder, alcohol, and a lamp wick. The window frames and sashes are made of sheet iron, covered with oakum soaked in alcohol or naphtha. These sashes and frames are not fastened to the canvas scene at all, but are placed a short distance behind it on platforms. The quickest possible touch of flame ignites the oakum, and, in a moment, the fire runs round the sash, and nothing apparently is left but the blackened and charred wood. Steam is used to represent the smoke that issues from the crannies in the walls of the burning building; and an occasional crash, followed by the ignition of a little powder to produce a sudden puff of smoke, gives the spectator the idea of a falling rafter. Behind the entire scene is placed a very large endless towel, upon which is painted a mass of flames. This is kept in constant upward motion, and, when viewed through an open window in the house, gives a good idea of the supposed furnace raging within.
Selecting a Play.—The following excellent list of plays adapted for amateurs was published in the Queen some years since.
| In 3 or More Acts. | M. | F. | Remarks. |
| Babes in the Wood | 7 | 4 | |
| Don Cæsar de Bazan | 9 | 2 | Drama. |
| Game of Speculation | 9 | 4 | |
| Heir at Law | 10 | 3 | |
| Jealous Wife | 12 | 5 | |
| John Bull | 14 | 3 | |
| Ladies’ Battle | 5 | 2 | Robertson’s translation. |
| Love Chase | 10 | 7 | |
| New Men and Old Acres | 11 | 5 | |
| Palace of Truth | 6 | 5 | |
| Plot and Passion | 7 | 2 | Drama. |
| Pygmalion and Galatea | 5 | 4 | |
| Rivals | 8 | 4 | Five acts. |
| Society | 11 | 5 | |
| Still Waters Run Deep | 9 | 3 | Can be acted in a drawing-room. |
Most of the above are beyond the talent and stage resources of any but the strongest amateur companies.
| In 2 Acts. | M. | F. | Remarks. |
| Bachelor of Arts | 8 | 2 | Good comedy. |
| Charles XII. | 7 | 2 | Very good dress piece. |
| Charles II. | 4 | 2 | Popular comedy and dress piece. |
| Court Cards | 5 | 4 | |
| Follies of a Night | 6 | 2 | |
| House and the Home | 3 | 3 | |
| Jacobite | 3 | 3 | |
| Liar | 4 | 3 | |
| Little Treasure | 5 | 3 | Very pathetic. |
| My Heart’s Idol | 7 | 3 | |
| Not a Bad Judge | 9 | 2 | Capital for amateurs. |
| Our Wife | 7 | 2 | Good dress piece. |
| Paul Pry | 7 | 2 | |
| Secret Agent | 8 | 3 | The best dress piece for amateurs. |
| Sweet Hearts | 2 | 2 | |
| Time Tries All | 6 | 2 | |
| Who Killed Cock Robin? | 2 | 2 | |
| Wonderful Woman | 6 | 3 | Very popular. |
| Woodcock’s Little Game | 4 | 3 | Capital light comedy. |
First catch your actors, then choose your play. In other words, fit your available square men into a square piece, and do not try and pare them down to the exigencies of a round one. As a rule dramatic talent and ambition is more common among the emotional than among the sterner sex. Women, too, adapt themselves more easily to any part. Also, their range of parts is narrower. It is easier to make people laugh than to cry, and they also prefer being amused to being harrowed. Of course low comedy is just as difficult as a higher line, but a feeble imitation passes muster better than in the serious parts. Englishmen are less averse to playing the fool in a fool’s part than risking an exhibition of deeper feeling. It is easy, therefore, to group your lesser lights round the central low comedy man, reflecting his genial glow, more or less, according to their several abilities, and to graft upon the whole a farce. A farce need not be vulgar. A farce, too, like charity, covers a multitude of sins in the way of dress, properties, or scenery. Almost any incongruity of the former is allowable, and any makeshift or hitch in the latter can be carried off by a ready wit. But supposing comic talent to be altogether absent in your company, you will probably find the “old man” element predominating. The younger, better looking, and more stalwart the individual the more convinced he will be that his strong point is the impersonation of old men. Yet old men’s parts are difficult. The very make up in anything but the broadest farce is a work of art in itself, and the gait, the tone of voice, the laugh, the down sitting, and the up-rising must never be lost sight of for a moment. Usually, too, the old man character is an adjunct rather than the central figure in a piece, and does not bear upon his shoulders the burden and heat of the day. Yet in skilful hands it is capable of unlimited expansion, and with weaker vessels can, at worst, but sink to the level of low comedy.
Of all the parts most difficult to fill that of the lover is the worst. Like good tenors, there are not enough stage lovers brought into the world. Englishmen are so shy, so afraid of making themselves ridiculous by exhibiting sentiment and emotion. They are not given to making love particularly prettily in real life, much less upon the boards. The result in amateur circles is generally a stick. All the same, the lover is an absolute necessity in most plays, and must be procured somehow or other.