Milton Nobles

• • stage Stories, • •
Anecdotes of the theatre,
• • Reminiscenses, • •
• Dialogues and Character •
•

•

• Sketches. •

•

/Milton Nobles

"Shop Talk"
• • "Love an law\ •
« , "The phoenix," . »
"A man of the People,"
. . "lntevieWs," # •
. "From Sire to Son." •

COPYRIGHTED BY MILTON NOBLES.

MILWAUKEE :

RIVERSIDE PRINTING CO.,
PKINTERS AND PUBLISHERS.

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
I am just in receipt of a letter from my publisher, calling attention to the fact that I had
failed to write a preface. It is singular that I
should have overlooked this important prefix,
since the preface affords an author his best opportunity to apologize for his temerity
and offer the extenuating circumstances,
should any exist. Some months ago, when
I conceived the idea of perpetuating this
volume, I met on Fulton street, Brooklyn, an old acquaintance, an ex-actor, manager and playwright, now a politician and
local statesman. I mentioned to him, incidentally, that I thought of getting out a book.
"What for?" be asked, promptly. The incisive bluntness of the question dazed me for a
moment. After pulling myself together carefully I replied, apologetically: " For fifty
cents in paper covers, a dollar in cloth." He

looked at me thoughtfully for a time, and replied : " That's different, of course." As my
reply seemed, in a measure, to satisfy my cynical friend, I have determined to let it go to
the public as my only justification for what
follows.

T H E AUTHOR.

w

CONTENTS.
P AGE.

The Palmy Day Tragedian, six papers,

. . .

7

Yorick's Skull,

59

Hard Times,

78

Penalty Bloggs,

85

The Isaacs-Crummels' Boom,

. . . . . .

94

"George,"

112

Stage Aspirants,

125

A Chat with the Brakeinan,

133

"Sary,"

137

The Mission of the Theatre

143

And the Villain Still Pursued Her,

. . . .

146

Stage Anecdotes,

151

Wrecked Geniuses,

164

A Running Conversation,

180

Flotsam and Jetsam,

. . . . . . . .

* 195

THE PALMY DAY TRAGEDIAN.
FIRST

PAPER,

H E DISCOURSES UPON T H E DECADENCE OF HIS A R T ,
A N D RECALLS SOME INCIDENTS
OTHERWISE — A

REMINISCENCE

AMUSING

AND

OF FORREST IN

1857—HE TALKS ABOUT T H E F U N D M E E T I N G .

ACTORS! " sneered the palmy day tragedian, as he posed gracefully against
his favorite awning post and passed
his thin fingers through his suspiciously black
>f^^\

8

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

curls. "Actors! There are no actors now.
Count them upon your fingers. Where are they ?
Forrest, Eddy, Davenport, Jennings, Whalley,
Adams, Chanfrau, Hamblin, Scott, Goodall—•
gone, all gone," and for a moment his thin face
grew sad and his sunken eyes moistened, as he
gazed with a far-away look over the heads of
his listeners; then, with a mournful pathos, he
added, "Why, there are scarcely a dozen of us
left."
"Oh, yes," he continued, in answer to a
query, " I attended the Fund meeting, I saw
the thousand people gathered there, but not a
thousand 'actors;' no, sir, heaven forbid! I
saw scores of dudes sucking their massive canes,
whose silver knobs were as empty as their own.
Hundreds of frivolous butterflies, in gaudy
tints, who came from the Lord knows where,
and are drifting the Lord knows whither. Oh,
yes, I saw them all, and when Palmer mentioned the name of my old friend, Ned, ' the
noblest Roman of them all/ I saw these ' actors'
look inquiringly at each other. And one of
these ' actors/ a fellow with a cane bigger than
himself, with a glass in his eye, and a moustache that reminded one of a caterpillar—this

The Palmy Day Tragedian.
4

9

actor J turned and asked me who Forrest was.
Yes, sir, he actually asked me who Edwin Forrest was! Actors! actors! I Ye gods, can such
things be, and overcome us like a summer's
cloud without our special wonder ? "
As no one evinced a disposition to answer
this conundrum, the tragedian resumed: "I
was proud to see my old friends Dion Boueicault and Harry Watkins on the stage, among
the favored few. It shows that the real actor,
though in the minority, still gets there all the
same. I also noted other old "companions of
the isle" — Billy Florence, Tom Keene and
evergreen old Uncle Ben. But I missed Bob
Johnson and Jack Studley. But, Aunt Louisa
was there; I have observed that Louisa is generally there."
" Did you hear Ingersoll's speech ? " asked a
tall man with an asthmatic voice and checkered
pantaloons.
" Yes, sir, every word of it. ' A fellow of infinite jest' is my friend Bob; also of most excellent fancy. His tribute to genius as embodied
in art, literature and the drama was worthy of
the man, and that is saying much. His tribute
to Shakespeare, ' t h e intellectual ocean into

10

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

which pour all of the rivers of thought/ was a
figure of speech worthy the occasion and the
theme. His tribute to the play-house and
players of our own generation was happy, logical and full of solid.' chunks of wisdom/ And
right there is where he should have stopped^
There were many good Christian men and
women there, and the occasion was sacred in its
significance; and Ingersoll, who was fully equal
to the occasion on its merits, should have left
his hobby at home."
A small, fat man, with a large nose and a
Seymore coat, inquired whether Forrest had
been a church member.
"Not exactly a church member, perhaps,"
replied the tragedian, severely, " but still a believer and a God-fearing man."
" He must have been a great actor," said the
Lyceum-School man, who was holding up the
other awning-post, and looking with admiration
and envy at the tragedian.
" H e was a man" said the noble son of Thespis, lifting his hat reverently, " take him for all
in all 1 shall not look upon his like again."
"Did you ever act with h i m ? " asked the
Lyceum man.

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

11

"Did I ever play with. Ned Forrest! " hissed
the tragedian. Then he surveyed his little
group of listeners with a glance of comprehensive contempt, " When this poor frame shall be
laid in the earth; when in after years the children of Thespis shall make their annual visit
to the Actors' plot, to strew with flowers the
graves of the humble and unwritten members
of their craft, let them read upon the slab that
covers me, only this: lHe supported Forrest/ "
Then he brushed a fly off his bald spot, and
carefully replaced his last year's silk hat. The
oppressive silence following this burst of feeling
was finally broken by the fat man, who asked
the tragedian to tell them something about
Forrest.
" 0 memory," he mused, " thou art a volume
rich in sacred lore, and while I approve not
of casting pearls before swine, yet will I a tale
unfold, that now comes to me wafted down the
corridors of years. Way back in '57—the year
known in our history as 'hard times'—I was in
Cleveland. John Ellsler and Felix A. Vincent
were the managers. Both are still among the
living. Those were hard times, indeed, for the
poor player. The luxury of a salary was un-

12

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

known
The managers continued to give
weekly about four or five dollars to each member of the company. Just enough to keep the
wolf from the door. There were some good
actors there, too; real actors. There were G.
E Graham, T. B. Douglass, L. J. Vincent, Ada
Clifton, Gus Fenno, Ed. L. Mortimer and others.
" But I started to say something about Forrest. Well, in the company was a poor fellow
named Graham, He was second comedian.
Most of us were single young fellows, but Graham had an invalid wife, and three wee little
children. Yet for those five mouths there was
but the one share on pay-day, and doctors and
medicine had to be paid for; there was no fund
and no free doctor then. We would all chip in
five or ten cents a week from our miserable
pittances to swell Graham's little store. Poor
fellow, it was sad to see him at night trying to
be funny, his pale, hollow cheeks daubed with
paint, his sunken eyes red and swollen with
nightly vigils over a dying wife and hungry
little ones. But he never complained. He
was the son of a New England clergyman. Returning from college, he had secretly married
his young sister's governess, and was driven

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

13

from his home. He loved his wife and children devotedly, and was actually starving himself to death to keep them from hunger.
" Forrest was to open in Metamora. It was
in the spring, and the weather was getting
warm. During the long, tiresome rehearsal I
noticed that Graham seemed unusually weak,
and finally Forrest, who thought he was stupid,
spoke brusquely to him and pushed him aside,
and a moment later the poor fellow fell in a
dead faint. Every one gathered about him,
doing nothing, as usual under such circumstances.
" What's the m a t t e r ? " said Forrest, coming
over to the entrance, and comprehending the
situation, he picked the poor emaciated form in
his brawny arms and carried him to the back
door. ' Get some ice !' roared the great actor.
Just then an ice-wagon was passing in the alley.
I snatched from the rear of the wagon a bigsquare block of ice, and two of us rolled it to
the door. i Break it u p ! ' shouted Metamora.
A dozen started for an axe, but in the confusion
nothing was forthcoming. Forrest handed the
fainting Graham over to one of the ladies, and
seized tjie mammoth block of ice. Talk about

14

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

Atlas supporting the globe, or Jove hurling the
bolts! Bah! They are tame compared to that
picture of Edwin Forrest lifting the massive
block of ice above his majestic head and dashing it into a thousand pieces on the stone sill at
his feet. Then he took the poor frail figure in
his mighty arms, and with his great dark hand
stroked the pale temples and ashen cheeks.
And poor Graham! When he recovered and
saw the face of the tragedian bending over him,
the look of comic terror that overspread his
countenance completely upset us all. The poor
boy was nearly frightened into another swoon
and tried to blubber out some apology. We all
had to laugh in spite of his pale and terrorstricken face, and Forrest patted him on the
head, and joined in the laughter. Then, calling the stage manager, he asked him a few
questions, ordered a carriage and sent the poor
boy home. He gave orders that he should be
left out of the bills and excused from rehearsals
for the entire week.
" That boy is sick," growled Forrest. " Give
him a week's rest." On the following Monday
morning Graham reported for duty, a changed
man. There was color in his cheek, light in

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

15

his eye and vigor in his step. But tears were
in his eyes, too. Yes, sir, tears, but they were
tears of joy and thankfulness. And then he
told us how the great Forrest had visited his
poor garret, talked pleasantly to his wife, and
kissed his children. How each day of the
week had brought them a basket laden with
substantial food, and how on Saturday night
there came a sealed envelope containing one
hundred dollars, with no word of explanation.
Yes, gentlemen, one hundred dollars, and this
is fact, not fiction."
"Poor Graham! He was a noble fellow/'
mused the tragedian after a pause. " At the
breaking out of the war he enlisted as a private
soldier, rose to the rank of major of cavalry,
was twice breveted for heroic conduct and
died a hero's death leading a forlorn hope in
the Wilderness."
" Move on! " shouted the unappreciative cop,
" Move on! "
The tragedian squandered one lofty, withering glance upon him, and moved on. The tall
man with the asthma folded his duster about
him and wandered to his favorite bench in
Union Square park. The fat man with the

16

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

Seymour coat and large nose dropped into the
nearest beer saloon, and the Lyceum School
actor went home to study Hamlet.

SECOND

PAPER.

" W h e n Roscius was an actor in Rome,"
mused the tragedian.
" T h e n came each actor on his ass," suggested the fat comedian, with a broad, all around
smile, which threatened to become a full-blown
laugh, until it was untimely nipped by a withering glance from the tragedian, when it spread
out over his fat face and disappeared ignominiously behind his ample ears. The silence which
intervened was embarrassing, particularly for
the fat man, who realized that he had gone too
far.
The man with asthma at last made bold:
" You have not been in your accustomed haunts
for some days," he said apologetically.

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

17

" No; since our last meeting I have been en
tour."
"Did you visit Chicago?" asked the Lyceum
School actor.
"No, we visited Red Bank, Paterson and
Elizabeth. We were to have invaded Trenton
and Newark, but circumstances over which we
had no control, caused the abandonment of
our original plans. However, Elizabeth is a
good closing point. Newark would have been
better by the matter of an hour's j a u n t ; but
that's not much."
"Did you play your favorite character of
Othello?" This by the Lyceum man.
" No; I did enact one Uncle Tom, and I was
killed before we reached the capital, and a brute
killed me too. Shades of Brutus; that I should
live to become a turkey actor, aye, and an
Uncle Tom turkey actor."
It was subsequently learned that the term
" turkey actor " is applied to those artists who,
owing to circumstances beyond their control,
are compelled to linger the greater portion of
the year in and about the metropolis, devoting
their talents to Thanksgiving and Christmas
" snaps."

18

The Palmy Dag Tragedian.

"Did the ghost walk at all?" asked the man
with the asthma.
" Walk, walk! he did not even wake up. But
that we could have borne. The humiliation
was not that we closed; it was the manner of
the closing; not the effect but the cause."
" Drunken agent, I suppose," said the man
with the Seymore coat.
" No, sir, it was the usual thing—a kicker."
"Oh, I see," said the Lyceum school actor,
" it was professional jealousy." The withering
glance with which the tragedian crushed the
last speaker, will be understood in the light of
what follows:
" Was it Eva's mother or Aunt Ophelia who
kicked," asked the fat man.
" Neither, sir, it was the star. In other words
the jackass; yes, sir, the jackass. To this complexion have we come at last; we support jackasses on the New Jersey circuit." For a time
the tragedian seemed wrapped in his indignation, his mind no doubt reverting to the time
when he had supported his old friend Forrest.
During this pause the fat man iutimated to the
Lyceum School actor that he had lost the op-

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

19

portunity of a life time in not having joined
that company as understudy,
"Yes, sir, a jackass!" suddenly roared the
tragedian in a tone that startled the asthma
man, and queered^ the fat comedian's laugh.
" It was a case of pool; a regular combine. The
comedian had saved a season's salary from an
engagement in one of John Stevens' companies,
and bought a jackass. His racket was a joint
engagement for the two comedy rolls, Marks
and the Donkey. Thus, you see, the arch conspirator obtained the bulge, as it were. A sudden collapse had no terrors for him. Even
should he fail to realize on his donkey, he could
still ride home. However, we will now reorganize."
The Lyceum School man brightened up at
once. " Do you think there will be an opening
for m e ? " he asked.
"Undoubtedly, we now require just one more
man. A responsible person to act as treasurer
and play George Shelby in the last act."
An oppressive silence intervened, only broken
by the breathing of the man with asthma.
"He will be required to deposit—" posterity
will never know the concluding words of this

20

The Palmy Day Tragedian,

sentence, for the reason that they were not
spoken. The fat comedian had rolled over a
beer barrel into the gutter, and by the time the
man with the duster had fished him out, the
Lyceum School actor had disappeared.
" I see that George Boniface's new play is
quite a go," said the tall man, wiping a bit of
mud from his eye with the corner of his duster.
"Yes, sir," replied the tragedian, " a n d I'm
glad of it for George's sake, and Foster's too.
They are a couple of the back numbers who
are worth reading. I wonder if George remembers when he and I were boot-jacks at the Old
Bowery in 1859 ? A h ! they were a merry band,
and a bright one, too. Let me see how many
of them I can recall, living and dead." The
old actor covered his pale face for a moment
with his thin, white hands, and when he removed them something like a tear glistened in
either eye: "George Wood and Ned Tilton
were the managers. Dead, both dead. Will
Tayton, Sydney Wilkins, Harry Jordan, W. H.
Ward, Mrs. Leighton, Mrs. Burroughs, Hattie
Arnold—all dead, I believe. And of the living
I recall Andy Glassford, Sam Ryan, Charles
Foster, Bob Johnson, Kate Denin, Mrs. Jordan

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

21

and Jim Collier. Those who have seen Jim
act in late years tell me that he is a worse actor
now than he was in 1859. This I will never
believe. To play was work in those days, but
we had lots of fun nevertheless. I remember
one Monday night when a new drama was to be
produced. Two rehearsals were all we ever
expected then, three at most. In the new play
Bob Johnson was to be the hero and Bill Ward
the villain. Ward's part was a terror—about
forty-five lengths. Ward was a fine actor, but
he was also very fond of fishing, and Sundays,
which in stock times was the actor's study day,
Ward usually devoted to his favorite sport. As
a consequence he was generally fluky on Monday nights. On this particular Monday night
he was particularly shaky. He had not only
fished all day Sunday, but got becalmed, and
barely reached the city Monday morning in
time for rehearsal. Ward was winging the long
heavy villain; didn't know a line, but he was
a great winger. During the second act he had
to rush on to the hero, and drawing from his
bosom a large document, wave it triumphantly
in the air, and exclaim: * Behold, fond dotard,
in this little parchment I hole1 thy fate; here,

22

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

duly attested, are written proofs of thy friend's
baseness and the maiden's perfidy.' Ward
rushed on and got on as far as * fond dotard/
when he rammed his hand into his breast, and
a ghostly pallor overspread his face.
" He had forgotten his prop. There was no
document. The pause was but for an instant.
AVard jammed his hand into the other side of
his tunic with a grin of satisfaction ; his part
was there where he had thrust it upon entering. Drawing forth the manuscript triumphantly, he waived it in the air and finished
the speech. But he had forgotten the business
of the hero. Johnson seized the part and commenced tearing it to pieces. " Here, here! hold
on Bob, don't, d
n it! That's my part, and
I don't know it," whispered Ward. " Served
you right! Go fishing on Sunday, will ye ? "
hissed Johnson, and dashing the fragments
upon the floor, he stamped upon them, exclaiming : " Perish forever the vile record." It was
the middle of a scene, and Bob knew that something must be done to save the act. So, seizing Ward by the throat, he dragged him off
K i E, a la Damon and Lucullus, exclaiming,
" And as I stamp the falsehood from this per-

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

23

jured evidence, so will I wring the base libel
from thy craven throat.' The curtain came
down, and there was a double call. Ward and
Johnson took the call from opposite sides,
marched to the centre, and shook hands heroically. The piece had been a dead frost up to
that time, but Ward's fishing and Johnson's
ready wit made a situation which saved it from
inevitable failure. Ward had to wing from
the prompt stand for the rest of the play, but
he got there."
During the foregoing recital the Lyceum
School man had quietly slipped back to his
accustomed post. "Thatreminds me of an incident," said the tall man with asthma, "that
occurred at the old Metropolitan in Sacramento,
in '69. I was playing Roaring Ralph Stackpole
with Joe Proctor."
" What, with that voice ! " interrupted the
fat man. "No wonder Sacramento is a bad
show town."
The comedian got his laugh, and the children of genius dropped into the basement and
quaffed the foaming nectar. And the Lyceum
School man, as usual, paid the score.

24

The Palmy Day Tragedian,

THIRD

PAPER.

" All the world's a stage, and all the men and
women merely players," mused the tragedian,
" and I have in my time played many parts."
"Did you reorganize the Uncle Tom company ? " asked the man with asthma.
" We did not reorganize," answered the tragedian, with dignity. " The Rondoui manager
declined to advance fares when he learned that
we had no jackass. However, their loss was
my temporary gain. As soon as it was known
that our tour would not be resumed, a brisk
rivalry began among metropolitan managers
for my services. While my last engagement
has not added materially to my reputation as a
legitimate attraction, I am a small gainer in the
matter of financial standing and a large gainer
in the matter of experience."
" Experience! " said the Lyceum man, "Why,
I fancied there was no walk of the drama which
you had not traversed."
" Young man," replied the tragedian, " I am
now five-and-thirty years an actor, but I am

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

25

still a student. The true artist is never satisfied with himself, and each night of his professional life he learns something, as often from a
good as from a bad actor; the one shows him
something to emulate, the other something to
avoid. When I was two years an actor I knew
it all; in five years I had reached the stage
where I was willing to learn something; in ten
years my head had resumed its normal proportions, and since that time I have been learning
how to act. It took me five years to learn how
to properly make an entrance and an exit, and
I have seen others who had not learned it in
ten."
" Speaking of entrances and exits," said the
man with the asthma and linen duster, " reminds me of an incident that occurred at the
American theatre in San Francisco in 1855.
We had a grand production of Mazeppa. Lon
Phelps did Mazeppa. Lon was afraid of horses,
and refused to make the run, so they had to
resort to a double. J. J. McClosky was made
up for the double, and masked in by the crowd
of peasants and retainers, was strapped to the
fiery untamed, and dashed up the mountains.
Each night there was a big call, and Phelps,

26

The Palmy Day Tragedian,

carefully made up in fleshings, would march
triumphantly in front of the curtain, bowing
and smiling his thanks for the call. On the
fifth night of the play the second run gave
way and McClosky and the horse disappeared
together, amid cracking boards and timbers.
Of course, there was great excitement, and the
audience began calling to learn whether Mazeppa was seriously hurt. After a short wait,
Phelps swelled out in front of the curtain, with
a little property-blood on his face and hands,
and limping desperately, but smiling a sad,
sweet, painful smile, as though saying, 'Its
nothing, ladies and gentlemen, a mere scratch,
nothing more, I assure you/ Meantime the
carpenters and supers were dragging poor McClosky out from under the mass of broken
boards, horse, etc. Mac was badly shaken up,
but not seriously hurt. The audience in front
was wildly applauding Phelps' mock heroics.
The stage manager, who in the excitement had
forgotten all about the double, pulled McClosky
down to the first entrance shouting,'Go out;
go out and let 'em see that you ain't hurt/
Mac, half dazed with pain and fright, and not
realizing what he was doing, stepped in front

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

27

of the curtain, with real blood on his face, and
nursing a genuine lame leg. Just as he came
on Phelps started to limp off,and they met face
to face in the centre of the stage. The expressions on the faces of Phelps and McjClosky, as
the situation suddenly dawned on them, bafHes
description. Had they been costumed as the
Dromios that expression would have immortalized them. For the space of about ten seconds
there was a deathly stillness in the audience,
then, as the truth of the double struck them,
there went up a yell that nearly raised the roof.
The two Mazeppas forgot their limps and rushed
behind the curtain at opposite sides. At each
subsequent appearance, during the evening,
Phelps was greeted with yells of laughter, and
after the next night the play was taken off."
" Not bad, not bad," said the tragedian, patronizingly. "All of which goes to show the
degenerate tendencies of the times in matters
pertaining to our art. In 1855 we supported
horses, a few years later the jackass came to
the front, and now we have got down to dogs."
" Dogs ? " asked the fat comedian. " How is
that?"
" Yes, sir, I repeat it, dogs! I thought wheo

28

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

I played Uncle Tom, with the jackass starred,
that I had fathomed the depth of professional
degradation. Vain delusion! The dog star is
now in the ascendant. Since our last meeting
I have been supporting the celebrated dramatic
dogs, ' Terror' and ' Leviathan/ assisted by the
talented young actors and authors, the Barber
Brothers. My last engagement was one of those
in which I learned much—that should be
avoided. I did enact the heavy villain. In
each act I desperately assaulted the suffering
heroine, to be in turn torn to pieces by the canine heroes. In each act they were to feast
upon a different portion of my anatomy, and
for each occasion I had a sole leather pad covered with red flannel, suitably adjusted to receive the assault. In the first act when I said
to the maiden, ' Fair maiden, resistance is useless. You must, you shall be mine/ the star
threw on a dog from R. I. E. ' Terror' wagged
his tail good naturedly and looked up into my
face in a friendly sort of way; then he sat down
and began to scratch himself behind the ear
with his left foot. ' Sick him, Terror/ shouted
the dog star from the wing. * Go on, sick ? im,

you

,

1 Why

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

29

the h
?' Meantime the
maiden was screaming for help, and I was repeating speeches from all of the maiden pursuers that I had ever played. The louder the
author swore in the second entrance, the louder
the audience laughed, and the harder the dog
scratched. Finally, fearing Terror might lie
down and go to sleep, I seized him by the ears,
pulled his nose up against the red pad on my
throat, and held him there while we struggled
desperately about the stage, the heroine screaming and the orchestra playing forte, till curtain.
Then the star and author kicked the dog all
over the stage in four different languages, with
a Mott Street dialect. All of this I could have
endured in silence, but when the star came to
my dressing-room and said, ' Soy, young feller,
ye didn't give de dog his cue/ I took him gently
but firmly by the hair and bumped his head
against the door-jam. The Barber Brothers and
dogs have now offered me the position of stage
manager and leading man with their combination."
"Will you accept?" asked the asthma man.
" I hardly know. Palmer and Dan Frohman
both want me, but they won't pay anything.

SO

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

Abbey has written me not to close until he gets
back from Europe. So for the present matters
must remain in status quo"
The Lyceum School actor listened to the
closing sentence with silent, open-mouthed
wonder; the tall man gazed vacantly at the
statue of Washington, and the fat comedian
slid down the baluster into the basement and
hid himself behind a schooner.

FOURTH

PAPER.

"The summer days have come again, the
jsaddest of the year/' sighed the tragedian, as
he gracefully wiped a bit of dust from his
newly-ironed hat. The fat comedian with the
Seymour coat evidently thought of something
very funny, for a smile stole over his face, but
whatever the gem was he heroically suppressed
it, seeing that the tragedian had not finished.
" I am moved to these reflections," continued

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

31

the friend of Forrest, " by the remembrance of
a painful incident which occurred this morning
as I was about to leave my hotel on the Rue de
la Bleecker. The lack of confidence which
seems to prevail among boarding house keepers
at this particular season, is simply absurd.
However, this morning's experience is but one
of the many incidents, trifling in themselves,
yet in the aggregate embarrassing, that come
with each summer's solstice."
The Lyceum School actor, who lives with his
family and has not yet had an engagement,
failed to catch the true spirit of these reflections, but the fat comedian and the man with
the duster showed by the thoughtful cast of
their countenances that the comedian had
struck within them a responsive chord.
" I rise," said the man with asthma, " to a
question of privilege."
"The member from the Pacific may proceed," said the tragedian.
" On the occasion of our last sitting
"
" Standing," interrupted the comedian.
" I accept the amendment. At our last
' standing? I recalled an incident of a performance of Mazeppa at the old American Theatre^

32

lhe Palmy Day Tragedian.

San Francisco, in 1854. A few days later I
met my old friend McClosky at the Fund rooms.
He congratulated me upon having got the incidents so perfect after so many years, and told
me a part of the story which I had forgotten.
0. R. Thorne (the elder) was the manager, and
Jirn Dowling (dead) was stage manager. It
was Dowling who pushed McClosky in front of
the curtain while Lon Phelps was bowing his
acknowledgments. When they got off Phelps
wanted to thrash Mac, insisting that he had
done it purposely. It seems that just at this
time Mrs, Phelps was up the country on a tour,
and Lon had made an impression upon a fair
'Friscan, whom he had in front nightly to witness his desperate ride and hand him an
elaborate bouquet when he took his call. Phelps
accused McClosky of showing him up and trying to make him ridiculous, and they didn't
speak as they passed by for several weeks. ' I
wouldn't have minded it,' said Lon, 'if my girl
hadn't been in front.' "
"And my old friend, Jeremy Diddler, was
right," said the tragedian. " N o weapon so
fatal to the soldier, the sage or the lover as
ridicule,"

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

33

" Right you are," said the fat comedian, " It
was ridicule that drove me into comedy."
" Ridicule has much to answer for," said the
tragedian.
The tall man with asthma rattled out a laugh;
he was now quits with the comedian for a former thrust.
" Yes, sir," said the comedian, " I have always felt that nature intended me for a tragedian ; but while amply endowing me with
the requisite mental resources, she made my
body too short."
"And your nose too long," said the tall man.
" I was all right in utility," continued the fat
man, " b u t my trouble commenced when I
reached the walking gents, and it culminated
the followiug season when I tried the juveniles.
I was with Garry Hough on the Michigan circuit at the time. We used to travel in wagons
and show under canvas. I was as slim as a
match, and didn't weigh over a hundred
pounds. Hough got hold of some 'society'
lady, who wanted to play Juliet. Like the
most of 'em she was fair, fat, and anywhere
from 35 to 50. I had to play Romeo with her,
&ttd I nearly got lost in her clothes three QV

34

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

four times. Everytime she embraced me I
disappeared and the audience roared. Her
performadce was not very intellectual nor spirituelle, but when she fell on me in the last act
in front of Capulet's tomb, I realized that what
she lacked in mind she made up in matter. It
seems that I had died on the trap in which we
had buried Ophelia the night before, and when
Juliet struck me I doubled up and went through.
It didn't make any difference with the play,
however, as the audience couldn't have seen
me, anyway, after she buried me. The next
night we were doing The Hunchback. The
star was the Julia and I was wrestling with Sir
Thomas Clifford. We got along very nicely,
until the last act, where Sir Thomas enters as
my lord's secretary. She belched out her
'Clifford, why don't you speak to me?' in the
old-time style. I handed her the letter, saying,
'A letter from my lord.' At that moment one
of the mules that we used for hauling baggage,
and which was tied to the wagon near by, let a
series of unearthly brays out of himself that
fairly shook the tent-poles. When the echoes
had died away Julia spoke her next line, i 'Twas
Clifford's voice if ever Clifford spoke.' The

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

35

play ended right there, and I went into low
comedy the next week."
"Alas I how true it is," mused the tragedian,
"that the braying of a donkey is frequently
more potent in shaping our destinies than the
voice of conscience or the admonitions of friendship—which reflection calls to my mind a little
incident not unconnected with my old friend
John Burke. The major has been many things
in his day—actor, agent, manager, seout (at
Erastina), author, lecturer, but first, and all the
time, genial, big-hearted John Burke, whom
age cannot wither nor custom stale. John's
labors in the field of dramatic authorship are
confined, I believe, to one youthful folly. It
was in Buffalo, just one-and-twenty years ago.
Those who now gaze in admiration upon John's
massive, manly form, could scarcely conceive
the slender stripling of 1867. It was near the
end of the season, when John prevailed on
Manager Carr to try his first and (I believe) last
play. I have forgotten the name, but it is not
material Burke used to sit in the orchestra
and observe the rehearsals. It was in the days
when there was a nightly change of bill, and a
daily rehearsal of the night's play, so new pro-

86

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

ductions stood a poor chance. But John's faith
was great, and as we began to evolve a little
order out of his chaos, his confidence became a
conviction, One thing caused us all some uneasiness ; the leading man (poor Dick Healey)
had a very long part, and at the last rehearsal
he didn't know a line. However, Dick assured
the author that he would ' be all right at night/
and told Burke that it was a great play—sure
winner. On this assurance Burke went to the
leading restaurant and ordered a supper for the
entire company and members of the press, all
of whom received a personal invitation.
"Well, sir, during my five-and thirty years
of professional life, I have officiated in different
capacities at the births and deaths of many
dramatic bantlings, but this still-born effort of
Burke's aspiring muse was something entirely
unique in my experience; and to add to the
horror of the situation, Healey was i blind ;' he
couldn't speak a line. How we got through
that night has been a mystery to me ever since.
Poor Dick was often given to the cup that cheers,
but he had got far beyond the cheering point
on that occasion. The performance was so dire
that not one of us had the courage to meet the

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

3?

author or share his supper. He had been
modest and unassuming, and we all felt a
genuine sympathy for him. But the play,
aside from Healy's dereliction, was so bad that
we could not possibly have said a cheering
thing to him, and so we all went quietly home.
The critics left after the first act. But John
remembered his obligations as a host, and going
to the restaurant seated himself at the head of
the table and awaited the arrival of his guests.
In about thirty minutes a solitary figure loomed
up in the door. It was Healy, full to the eyes.
Dick steadied himself against the door for a
minute, and then made a pass for the nearest
chair; he missed it and fell across the table.
Recovering and bracing himself against a chair,
he threw an arm around Burk's neck, exclaiming : ' S'great play, John, s'great play—how'gi
like my las' tact ?' John placed him gently in
a chair and then withdrew to a respectful distance and gazed at his guest. And there let
us leave them," said the tragedian, " the author
and his bete noir" In the abundant prosperity
of later years, John can well afford to smile at
this failure and to forgive the one who aggravated his sufterings. Dick was a good actor of

38

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

the old school, but, like many of his fellows,
his own worst enemy. Poor Dick has long
since joined the silent majority, and last year
his good wife met him on the other side. Let
us shed a tear to his memory; but cast no
stones, for none of us are without sin."

FIFTH

PAPER.

" Good name in man and woman, dear my
lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls,"
murmured the tragedian, and then for a moment he seemed lost in thought.
It was the comedian's opportunity, and he
seized it: " Who steals my purse steals trash."
" Me, too, sighed the tall man with asthma.
The Lyceum School man felt that the conversation was drifting in a dangerous direction,
but he had thoughtfully put on his other pantaloons that morning, so he resolved to remain
during the session.

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

39

" And," continued the friend of Forrest, " I
might add parenthetically that ' there is a
divinity that shapes our ends rough—hew them
how we will.' I am aware that mine is not the
accepted rendering of this oft-quoted paragraph,
yet it is a reading that is instructive as illustrating how as small a thing as a misplaced
comma may paraphrase panegyric and pervert
philosophy."
The comedian scratched his fat chin thoughtfully, and remained discreetly silent, feeling,
no doubt, that the conversation had drifted a
little beyond him. The Lyceum School man
made a pencil mem. on an envelope, and the
tragedian continued:
" I had contemplated for to-day a sail upon
the noble Hudson, aye, even to the capital of
our Empire State, where Mr. O'Flannagan, Mr.
O'Gaff, Mr. O'Gunn, Mr. O'Gall, Mr. McGlue,
Mr. McSwag and Mr. O'Boodle do make laws
for the government of the free and untrammeled
American citizen. But when I visited my
father's brother with a view to furthering this
design, there appeared between that relative and
myself a difference of opinion as to the relative
value of certain collaterals so great as to cause

40

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

a temporary abandonment of my plans. And
so for the nonce I'll bask in the rosy noon-day
sun, and hie me to the inviting green that glints
athwart the Rialto."
" Speaking of a sail upon the Hudson/' began
the man with the duster, " reminds me of an
incident that occurred—"
" In Sacramento ? " asked the fat comedian.
u
No, sir," continued the man with asthma,
u
this one ante-dates even the days of '49. Indeed it takes us way back into the thirties, and
it has come down to me through two generations. Uncle Ben Baker is my sponsor for this
one: Among the early exponents of the drama
in this country was the Chapman family, the
grand-parents of the present generation of that
family, now doing honorable service in various
branches of the profession. At the time under
consideration the Chapmans had a theatre of
their own. It was not exactly built upon the
sand, but upon a flat-boat, and floated with the
current from town to town along the Ohio and
Mississippi rivers. The guild was little better
than vagabonds then. No private cars, no special trains, no palace hotels, no gilded temples
of Thespis. It was a daily struggle, and some

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

41

days a very hard one, for the necessaries of life.
The players, of course, lived on the boat, and
in the absence of money were frequently obliged
to take vegetables, eggs, poultry, etc., for tickets.
Mrs. Chapman sold tickets and played the heavy
leads. She had a little office on the bow of the
boat, with bins and compartments for receiving
the merchandise, and directly over her head
was a little sliding trap-door, which opened into
a chicken coop on the roof. One evening about
1835, Chapman's Theatre was tied to a stake
near the boat landing at New Madrid, Mo. The
play was to be Othello. John Stith was the
Othello and Wm. Wharem the Iago. Times
were hard and money scarce, but green corn,
eggs and chickens came in plentifully, and
many times had Mrs. Chapman before going
back to dress for Emelia, opened the little door
over her head, and pushed a nice fat pullet into
the coop.
" Wharem was a devoted fisherman, and at
almost any hour of the day or night could be
found on the outer edge of the boat angling
for cat-fish. In those days there were cat in
the Mississippi weighing from twenty to seventy
pounds, and one of them once fastened to the

42

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

monster hook, it required both skill and strength
to land him. The stage was on the rear of the
boat, and this night Wharem was fishing directly opposite the R. I. E., his seat not more
than four feet from the stage. He had fished
the entire afternoon without a bite, and after
dressing for Iago he went at it again.
"The colored boy, who was 'general utility*
about the boat, would hold the line when
Wharem went on for his scenes. The curtain
went up on the third act, and Wharem heard
his cue for entering with Othello. He Jooked
for the boy, but he was gone; again the cue
was given and there wasn't a thing at hand to
which he could make fast his line, and he
couldn't afford to let it go, so bending down he
tied the end firmly about his ankle and rushed
on the stage just in time to catch his cue on
the third repeat. ' Sweet wench, perdition
catch my soul, but I do love thee, and when I
love thee not chaos is come again/ quoth
Othello. Then he crossed left, and caught his
foot in Iago's fish-line. ' What in h— is that ?'
growled Stith, and Iago answered 'my fishline.' ' Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed
my lady, know of your love ?' ' Oh, yes, and

The Palmy Day Tragedian,

43

went between us very oft/ said Othello. Then
he started to cross, but saw the fish-line and remained in left corner. Iago began to get his
work in now, and had just said, ' Beware, my
lord, of jealousy, it is the green-eyed mons—'
when his right leg went out from under him
like a shot. He gathered himself quickly and
tried it again: i monster that doth make the
meat it feeds'—and then came a succession of
quick, savage jerks at Iago's leg, which nearly
upset him a second time. Determined not to
lose his fish Wharem interpolated: ' My lord, I
fear that in my great love I have gone too far.
(Jerk! jerk!) I will leave you one moment to
your thoughts, anon I will return.' And reaching down he grabbed the line and rushed for
the side of the boat. And then the fun commenced. Othello sat down, buried his face in
his hands, and waited for Iago to land his
game. Cassio, Roderigo and Desdemona eager! y
watched the struggle. Finally the monster cat,
after pulling as though he weighed a ton, suddenly changed his tactics, jumped clear of the
water and landed on the boat. The sudden
slacking of the terrible tension took Iago so
completely by surprise that he staggered back

44

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

and fell his length on the stage, in full view of
the audience, dragging the forty-pound cat fish
after him."
" Did Uncle Ben furnish you with any data
or circumstantial evidence of the historical
accuracy of this cat-fish story ? " asked the tragedian.
"Not exactly; he simply jotted the points
down from memory on a Fund letter-head."
" That is of-fish-al" said the comedian, but
the painful stillness with which the remark was
received convinced him that it was ill-timed.
" But the funniest part of the performance
came afterward," continued the man with the
duster. "Between acts Emelia and Brabantio
slipped out to count up, or, rather, weigh
up, the receipts. They found two dollars and
ten cents in cash, twenty-two watermelons,
three dozen eggs, and a small supply of sweet
potatoes and green corn. Every seat was filled.
1
There must have been a big run on chickens
to-night/ said Brabantio Chapman, seeing the
meagre assets in other directions. ' Indeed
there was,' replied Emelia; i there must be at
least fifty nice fat pullets in the coop.' Papa
Chapman rushed up to get a look at them, and

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

45

horror of horrors ! the coop was empty ! And
what do you suppose those miserable New Madridians had done? They had 'faked' one
pullet on the old lady all the evening, using a
little bare-footed nigger to slip up over the stern
of the boat and steal it out as fast as she put it
in, and when the whole town was in the nigger
stole the chicken on his own account and went
home.
"Both Mr. and Mrs. Chapman were good
Methodists, but it is reported that the atmosphere about that flatboat became suddenly blue
when the true inwardness of the scheme dawned
on the old gentleman. * And to think that
these miserable Missouri heathens should be
quietly enjoying a Shakespearian masterpiece,
played as only the Chapmans can play it, for
two dollars and ten cents csah and twenty-three
watermelons ! D—n 'em! But I'll be even
with 'em I'
" The curtain had just rung up on the fourth
act, and the old man slipped his cables and
pushed his ' temple of Thespis' out into the
current and went on with the play. Just before
the curtain fell on the last act he pushed in
shore and made fast, and that audience had to
walk home ten miles through a swamp."

46

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

" In more serious vein," said the tragedian,
" I feel called upon to intimate to you that my
time of rest and recreation is nearing its end,
and these, our pleasant confabs, our soulful intermingling of facts and fictions of our noble
guild, past and present, must soon be numbered
among the treasured stores of memories. Possibly our next gathering will be the last until
the warm suns of another June shall draw to
this busy mart the wandering children of
Thespis."

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

SIXTH

47

PAPER

HE TAKES L E A V E OF HIS COMPANIONS W I T H A F E W
FARTING

SHOTS

AT

FOLLY

AS

SHE

FLIES—A

TOUCH OF PATHOS—THE STORY OF A L I F E .

" I feel," said the tragedian seriously, " that
I have been a victim of that 'vaulting ambition
that o'erleaps itself and falls on t'other side?'
During my last year's tour with the Crummels'

48

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

Tragic Aggregation, I met at Jincksville, Iowa,
an elderly commercial tourist of the Hebrew
persuasion, hailing from this great city. He
had that night witnessed my Virginius, and he
felt called upon to say to me that my performance, though miserable and meagre in its surroundings, had at times forcibly reminded him
of 'the noblest Roman of them all/ Forrest,
whom he had known and greatly admired. He
assured me that in the metropolis there was a
dearth of genuine ability. ' In point of fact/
said my friend,' New York is hungry for a good
actor/ and so I came. During my year's sojourn in and about the metropolis I have learned
many things. My friend may or may not have
been right regarding New York's theatrical appetite, but if she hungers, it's a hunger manifestly that does not crave Roman fathers, melancholy Danes or vengeful Moors, and so, having no revenue but my good spirits to feed and
clothe me, I have, in lieu of the umber of
Othello, donned the cork of Uncle Tom, playing seconds to the jackass.
"Instead of slaying the centurion's virgin
daughter in the market place, I have served as
a stage mop for the bull-dog in the Barber

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

49

Brothers7 great canine drama of Foiled Again.
Instead of Hamlet's philosophic sea of troubles,
I have plunged me in the mammoth tank to
rescue the drowning heroine in Bluster's great
masterpiece, The Luring Lights, or, The Gaul
of Gotham. And yet my year on the Rialto
has not been altogether unfruitful. I have, I
trust, acquired some knowledge of modern
methods. I have observed that the popular
idols write to the morning papers a history of
their bright sayings, and tell how they saved
the poor author by their ready fund of wit and
repartee, and as they have recalled some of
their bright originations, I have recognized
them in spite of their crutches and white beards
as old friends; and then I have remembered
how, when a merry child, with long flaxen
curls, my grandfather took me on his knee and
told me that same old gag; and I have said to
myself, if these misguided geniuses have no
friends to admonish them, I will for the nonce
play jackass and bray in their ears: ' See that
those who play your clowns speak no more than
is set down for them; 7 and while the actors
have been telling the public how they pad their
bad parts, the ballet girls have been telling how

50

The Palmy Bay Tragedian.

they pad their bad legs; and in the category
with bad parts and bad legs, let me not forget
to include the bad English in which they are
summarized.
" The ballet girls have told an anxious public, in the Sunday issues, all about their tights
and how they fill in the holes to make'em fit.
This, it is to be presumed, will be followed by
a desertation on knit undershirts; to conclude,
probably, with an exhaustive treatise on bureau
and other drawers collectively. In the light of
these and other incidents that I have noted
during my sojourn in the metropolis, 1 can
readily discern that the effete East is approaching to that perfection in matters of light amusement which has heretofore prevailed in Leadville and El Paso. The difference seems to me
to be a difference merely of quality and degree
—the quality of the beverage and the degree of
pretentiousness with which they dish it up.
For
Call it by what sounding1 title ye will,
The stench of the wine room will cling" to it still."

"And so you are going back to your old love
again!" said the comedian. "Well, old pard,
the gang will miss you."

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

51

"They will indeed," said the man with
asthma, and taking the old actor's hand in both
his own, he added with real feeling, " and the
few of us who have known you best will miss
you most."
The tragedian felt the sincerity of both, and
taking a hand of each, pressed them long and
tenderly.
"Yes," he said, " I feel lost in the big town,
after twenty years on the cross-roads. Crummels has written that they want me there, although they don't seem to want me here. We
all make our mistakes, if mistakes they can be
called. I suppose I made my mistake at the
end of the war. I came home with a shattered
arm, and a memento of the siege of Vicksburg
buried somewhere in my thigh. Had I returned with Fox to the Old Bowery, possibly I
might have kept abreast the times. But I had
mingled freely with hard-handed, big-hearted
men of the West and South; I had fought beside them on many fields, and talked with them
by many campfires; and so I grew to love them,
and when the end came, I linked my humble
destiny with theirs. And now, in the great West,
they ask for me again, and I shall go. Truly.

52

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

they cannot always give me gilded palaces for
play houses, but even from their wooden
benches their big human hearts will warm to
the Master's thoughts, and so for a moment linger with the poor player striving in his weak
way to give them substance. Often the dingy
stage will have no light but flickering oil lamps,
but where the glowing thoughts of the mighty
Bard do breathe and burn, there can be no
darkness. I shall not miss the glaring light,
the tinseled glitter, nor the hangings of rich
satins and velvets, for when I don Othello's
robe I shall live for those brief hours in Venice
and Cyprus. When Hamlet's inky cloak I wear
I shall feel the nipping and eager air on the
platform, and wander in feigned madness
through the stately halls of Elsinore. True,
the next hour finds me again in Jincksville
and Rogers Corners, but even there I find kindred souls, men and women who love the drama
for the drama's sake, and together we can lay
our poor tribute at the shrine of one who wrote
for all time and for all conditions of men."
With this last reference to the master, the
tragedian lifted his hat reverently and then
abstractedly placed it on a beer keg, as he took
again the hands of his companions.

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

53

" For any unkind word I may have uttered,
for any moment's pain I may have caused you,
I ask to be forgiven; and let my disclaiming
from a purposed evil free me so far in your
most generous thoughts that I have shot my
'arrow o'er the house and hurt my brother.'"
" There needs no ghost come from the grave
to tell us this," said the tall man. The fat
comedian said nothing, but he lifted his hat instinctively, and a tear trickled down his fat
cheek. The Lyceum School actor, who had not
ventured into the conversation upon this occasion, stood respectfully in the background, with
his hat in his hand, The tragedian turned
toward the tall man, who was also uncovered,
and pressed his hand gently. He seemed about
to speak, but the chin quivered, the eye
moistened, and there was a moment of eloquent
silence in the little group, finally broken by the
tragedian.
" Should you at any time hear the old playermentioned in terms of respect or of kindness,
say nothing; but if in words of shallow ribaldry,
then ' speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate,
nor set down aught in malice.' "
The tall man looked into his companion's

54

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

face. It was serious, sad, almost tragic. The
lines seemed deeper than usual about the eyes;
his hair was white about the roots; his face,
almost classic in its delicate beauty, was unusually pale, and it was plainly evident that
he was in the throes of a terrible mental struggle. At length he began slowly:
" I am fifty-eight to-day. And in the autumn of life's ceaseless struggle, I find myself
poor indeed in worldly goods, but rich in hallowed memories. Something, I know not what,
moves me to speak of that which I had thought
to carry with me along the silent river. This
morning I visited a lonely grave at Cypress
Hill. It was overgrown with ivy and wild violets, but no weeds had been allowed to flourish
in the sacred soil, for though often lost to sight
that grave has always been to memory dear.
A modest slab tells the passer that a young
mother and her first-born are buried in one coffin there. And there amid the violets I sat,
and my mind went back through the changing
kaleidoscope of five-and-thirty years. I was a
boy again on the old Granite Hills. But mine
was a boyhood with few boyish pleasures. My
father came of the old Puritan stock, and be-

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

55

lieved that this life was but a period of purgation for the life to come. Graduating from
Harvard, a stern father's will mapped out my
life in grooves as narrow as had been his own.
He sought to force me into the ministry, and I
had elected to become a player. But something
mightier than a father's will had unwittingly
taken a hand in the shaping of my destiny.
That subtle spell that makes serfs of kings and
kings of serfs, had fallen upon me. I had felt
the hallowed joy that comes with chaste woman's
love. In the scale against such a passion a
stern father's threats and a gentle mother's entreaties weighed as nothing; and so we parted
—the father to seek justification in his Calvinistic creeds; the heartbroken mother to weep
and pray for both; the outcast son to begin his
life-battle with only his pride, his manhood and
his love.
"For three years the struggle was a hard
one, but I had youth and affection to buoy me,
and so long as I kept her from suffering I was
content. And she was so gentle, so loving and
so hopeful. At last my recognition came, and
with it assured position and prospective triumphs ; and oh, the joy that filled our young

56

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

hearts! It was such a joy as comes only to
those who have loved, and suffered for that
love's sake. One day, upon returning from a
rehearsal, she met me in the door of our modest
home with a look in her face I had never seen
there before. She appeared half shy, half
frightened, yet she smiled and held me closely
in her loving arms for a moment, then hid her
sweet, blushing face on my breast, and then I
knew I had two lives to live for. I played
Romeo that night to the Juliet of Julia Dean ;
and, oh, how I did play it! My fellow-actors
stood wondering in the wings, and the star came
to the entrance and applauded me and took me
before the curtain at the end of the third act.
How little they knew of the source of my inspiration ! During the succeeding months T honestly believe that we were as happy as God has
ever permitted two of His children to be; and
through it all there stole a sweet conviction that
when the little one came, and we had taught
its infant lips to say ' Granma' and ( Grandpa,'
the cruel past would be obliterated, lor I was an
only child."
The old actor paused and buried his face for
a moment in his hands, but no one presumed
to speak.

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

57

"At last/ 7 he said, through tears he could
not keep back, " m y day of destiny dawned,
and by a strange coincidence it was my own
birthday. 1 left her on a snowy couch, scarce
"
whiter than her own fair skin, and hurried to
the theatre, where that night I played a dissipated, worthless roue, Hurrying home, half
dressed, and with my make-up on, I was met
on the threshold by a palid face and a warning
f
S h ! ' that froze the marrow in my bones. In
breathless silence I stole to her side. The
shadow of life's destroyer was at the bedside;
but a sweet smile of recognition greeted me
from the verge of the spirit world, and when
that smile had faded heaven was richer by two
angels/'
If tears have power to cleanse us of our sins,
then surely that little group of players was
purged of many transgressions during the brief
silence that intervened.
The tragedian was first to speak: " And then
the wild alarums of dreadful war rang through
the land. Our common mother called upon
her faithful sons to tear from her throat the
clutch of the matricide. What followed you
already know. This week, God willing, I shall

58

The Palmy Day Tragedian.

visit the home of my boyhood, I shall see the
quaint old church where my father read the
Law according to the light he had, and where
my sainted mother knelt, in firm, implicit faith;
and in the old churchyard I shall kneel and
place upon two moss-covered graves the violets
and the ivy that I brought to-day from Cypress
Hill."
Then taking a hand of each companion in
his own, he said impressively: "When that
is done, I'll to the West, to storm the barns once
more, and e're we meet again, mayhap I shall
have shifted to the lean and slippered pantaloon, sans eyes, sans taste, sans teeth, sans smell,
sans everything." The rest is silence.

YORICK'S SKULL.
(For the incidents, and a great portion of the narratiye contained in the true stories of Yorick's Skull and Hard Times,
I am indebted to my old friend James M. Martin, the
pioneer actor and journalist.)

iT

^HE property man of to-day is too often
the pariah of the dramatic profession with no knowledge whatever of
"props." His duties seem to be entirely embraced in setting chairs and tables in the wrong
place in a very perfunctory manner. The property man of the " palmy days " was an artisan
of the highest type and a real power in a theatre. Certain conventional articles were always
to be found, even in the poorest establishments,
and among them was the skull for Hamlet.
This " prop." might be turned out of wood or
manufactured of papier mache. Large turnips
deftly carved, and I have known of a pu mpkin
neatly sculptured and painted, to do duty as
Yorick's cranium. But a real property man
never felt that the requirements were complied

60

YoricVs Skull.

with unless he had a real skull for the great
tragedy.
In 1868 or thereabouts, Jack Langrishe was
to open a new theatre for a long season in
Helena, Montana. The company played up
the Union Pacific road as far as Corinne, where
we were to take transportation for Helena.
We learned that the theatre would not be completed for several weeks. The ladies were sent
on ahead in stage coaches, while the " boys"
who wanted to hunt and fish were to follow at
their leisure in carriages and mud wagons.
Early one morning, the dramatic outfit heavily
loaded, and the boys who had been making
merry with the "jolly dogs" of Corinne, also
heavily loaded, pulled out to cover six hundred
miles between the railroad and Helena.
We had great sport hunting and fishing.
Nothing of interest occurred until we got to the
Milk Ranch on White-Tail-Deer Creek. J. M.
Martin, who was in the company, was one of
the early men in Montana. In 1862-'63-'64
that territory was overrun by the most desperate crowd of murderers, assassins and road
agents that the world ever saw. The vigilantes
organized and hanged them by scores. He was

Yorick's Skull

61

well acquainted with the various localities of
interest, and this very Milk Ranch some years
before had an evil reputation. But at the time
of which we now speak it had passed into the
hands of honorable men. We camped on the
creek about a mile from the ranch and turned
the mules out. It is said a mule will serve you
faithfully twenty years to get a chance to kick
your brains out. The conduct of ours had been
exemplary; they were always to be found when
wanted, and we kept no guard. Martin, by
unanimous vote, was elected cook. This dignity involved the disagreeable necessity of turning out before daylight, building a fire and preparing breakfast. When the feast was prepared
the tocsin was sounded by beating on a frying
pan and the guests assembled This morning
the mules to preserve their record of subtle rascality, had run away. All hands buried out in
pursuit. Logan Paul, Jimmy Griffith, a most
useful actor and thorough property man, and
Martin, went down the creek. The stream was
fringed on either side with a dense growth of
willows. The mule is a cunning beast and will
often hide in such places. A yell from Logan
brought Griffith and Martin to him. Logan

62

Yorictfs *8kuU.

was a "boy then, and his nerves were nervous.
Standing on the edge of a clump of willows
with the perspiration pouring down his pale
face, he pointed to the centre of the undergrowth.
" What is it? " they exclaimed,
" In there! " he gasped.
" What's in there; the mules? "
"No," faltered Logan,
"What in
-I -—-I! — [ I did you
call me for!" exclaimed Griffith.
" Is this your idea of a joke ? " yelled Martin,
who had waded through the icy stream and
was shivering.
" Man there! " ejaculated Logan.
" Man! " they echoed. " What's he done to
you?"
" Nothing," replied Logan, " he's dead! "
" Dead! " They rushed into the willows, in
the centre of a thick clump, was a portion of
the skeleton of a large man which had been
burned away from the hips to the middle of
the ribs. From the place where the remains
were found and their position, this could hardly
have been accidental. Scraps of the under and
upper clothing, scattered around, were of extra

Yorick's Skull

63

fine quality. The boots, in which remained
the desicated feet and legs, were of the fashionable high-heeled California manufacture. The
remaining portions of the frame were denuded
of flesh, and had evidently been there a long
time. But the object of interest was the skull,
which was large and synietrical. The teeth
^ere beautiful, complete, sound and regular,
with the exception of a few in front on the left
side which were worn slightly concave, the result, as we imagined, of holding a clay pipe
there when smoking. No papers or effects of
any kind could be discovered. In spite of persistent inquiries aided by the press, nothing
could be learned of him, After mature deliberation we concluded to leave the remains as
they were, and report at Helena. Griffith,
however, had an artistic eye to business. He
wanted a first-class tragic skull for Hamlet, a
skull with a romance and a history connected
with it.
"Why," he declared with enthusiasm, " I
might hunt the earth over, and never find such
a prop as this. Of course, this ain't the original Yorick's skull, and I'm sorry for it, but it
may be one of his descendants. He's evidently

64

Yorick's Skull.

a Scandinavian, judging from the light sandy
hair I find here."
Griffith took possession of the relic. We
camped that night on the summit of Boulder
Pass. For companionship and comfort the
boys selected partners who slept together. With
the cautious foresight of old mountain men,
Griffith and Martin, who were " pards," stretched
a canvas over the tongue of their wagon and
enjoyed the protection of a dog tent. Yorick's
skull, as it was named, was placed for safety
under the wagon at the foot of the bed.
Yorick's fate, his name, and all pertaining to
his history was the subject of conjecture around
the camp fire that night, until by a natural association of ideas the immortality of the soul
and a future life became the topic of discussion.
All shades of belief, from certainty of a life
hereafter, to positive materialism, were developed. A violent theological squabble ensued,
acrimonious and uncharitable, as such discussions usually are. The violent and dogmatic
were, as is generally the case, ignorant and
positive. They mistook their bitter prejudices
for arguments, and incoherent howlings for unanswerable truths. The skull lay beneath th§

Yorick's Skull.

65

wagon grinning at them, illumined by the
camp fire. I almost expected to hear a sarcastic laugh, and a hollow voice proceed from it
saying: " Fools! you will all know in time! "
But the death's head, the only authority that
could have settled the argument, was silent
and grinned alike at wisdom and folly.
Strange to say, the champion who was certain
of his immortality, expressed doubt concerning
the inspiration of the Scriptures. Like many
others who babble much, for and against them,
he had never read them. But by expressing
doubt he left his argument, and himself too,
open to annihilation. The controversy immediately dropped from the etherial heights of
immortality to dull earth, and became of the
earth, earthy. Mud was thrown, verbal mud
of course, when Martin, by the power in him
vested as Chief Cook and Autocrat of the camp,
consequently ex officio Speaker, Chairman, Moderator and High-Muck-a-Muck, arising from his
throne, (an inverted camp kettle), and brandishing his sceptre, (a soup ladle), shouted " Order!
This theological discussion will end in a fight!
You may hammer the devil out of a man, but
its impossible to thump brotherly love and the

66

YoricWs Skull

gospel of peace into him. As a stage manager
I have experienced myself, and seen in others,
considerable confusion of thought, but this controversy is a huckleberry over my persimmon;
its absolute verbal chaos! You," he continued,
pointing to the orator who felt himself to be
immortal, " doubt the Scriptures. You believe
in a life hereafter, but reject the only proof you
have of it. Immortality can only be proven in
two ways. A man you know to be dead must
return to you alive—I mean you individually,
for the testimony of another is of no consequence.
However truthful and honest he may be, in
this matter it is of no value. The departed one
must prove by words or acts that he is alive—
a genuine fact, and not an illusion; or you
must accept as truth the Book which declares
life everlasting to be a fact. In the latter case
the testimony of your senses cuts no figure, for
you have no such testimony—your belief rests
on faith, No dead man has ever returned to
tell you, or perhaps any of us, the secrets of the
hereafter. Should Yorick then, at this moment, open his mouth to enlighten us, the
chances are that those of us who did not drop
dead of fright3 would strike out for tall timber

Yorick's Skull.

67

without waiting to hear what he might have to
say. Thinking as you do, neither logic, induction, analogy or deduction, will aid you or any
one to solve this problem, unless you accept the
revealed word, for without it you have, so to
speak, no solid ground whereon to plant the sole
of your mental foot. All arguments outside of
it amount only to this: 'All peoples in all ages
hope for and expect life hereafter. So universal
is the belief that the soul is immartal, that it
may be termed a law inherent in the constitution of the human mind.' I will say here, that
some sceptics might insist that, before you provide for the immortality of the soul, it will be
needful to prove you have a soul. Try it without the aid of revelation and you will soon discover what a muddle you are in. But, you that
insist upon the passionate desire for immortality, or a desire to live hereafter, as being an
argument in favor of that doctrine, only state
one-half of the true proposition. The other
half is this: 'The love of life and horror of
death is inherent not only in man but the lower
animals. Paradoxical as it may appear, they
suffer death to escape it. While man has a hope
amounting to conviction of life beyond the

6%

Yorick's Skull

grave, nevertheless he will suffer untold misery
to remain in this life. In short the desire to
live here, in more or less pain, misery, and discomfort, is infinitely greater than the wish for a
happy hereafter. Your intense, inherent desire for life hereafter, or anything else, is n©
proof that it exists, or that you would enjoy it
if it did. I frequently have an ardent desire to
fly, but that don't give the ability to d© it. I'm
not built that way. You want to be an angel, but
your are not built that way, if you rely on your
present argument for the fact You have the
same logical grounds for thinking that because
you have a horror of death you will not die, as
you have for believing that because you have
an ardent desire for immortal life you will be
immortal. How about Moses ? In his legislation he says nothing about immortality. He
was brought up by Egyptians, and the doctrine
of immortality of the soul—not only of man,
but of cats and onions, bugs, birds and beasts—
was interwoven with the customs of their daily
life. I don't know what he thought on the
subject, or whether he thought at all. Perhaps
he regarded it as a self-evident truth that it
would be absurd to mention. We don't make

ToricFs Skull.

69

it a matter of solemn record that the sun shines,
that water is wet, that fire burns, nor did Moses
perhaps lay any stress on a doctrine which it is
possible no human soul in his age ever thought
of disputing. The belief of mankind proves
nothing whatever. Now, fellers, in conclusion,
as it is perfectly obvious you don't know what
you are talking about, I move we go to roost, as
this train will have to be rolling at daylight.
Gome, Griffiths! If any message arrives from
the other world via Yorick's skull we will be
the first to hear it, and we'll enlighten the
community.
The full moon was shining with a radiance
only to be witnessed in the clear mountain air,
but the timber on the peaks miles away was
afire, while the blue smoke which had settled
on the divide and in the valleys created a weird
vapory effect which was magical. Objects near
at hand appeared distorted, while those further
away assumed the fantastic shapes peculiar to
the mirage. Soon the camp was wrapped in
slumber. About two o'clock in the morning
Martin awoke half frozen. His faithful partner
Griffith, by a gentle rotary movement at which
he was an adept, had appropriated all the

70

Yorictfs ShulL

blankets. Seizing the bed clothes and raising
himself on his elbow preparatory to giving a
surge which would have stripped Griffith, he
happened to cast his eyes toward the foot of
the bed; there in the misty light lay the skull
with its cavernous eyes and ghastly grin facing
h i m ; a cricket which had found a home there,
chirping at that moment, sent a cold chill
through him. Looking further, in a direct line
from the death head about a hundred yards
away, as near as could be judged by the straggling moonlight, was the figure of a man obscurely visible. Martin thought at first it was
one of the party, but when he came out from
beneath his shelter and stood erect, the man, or
whatever it may have been, had disappeared.
Thinking he might have been mistaken he
crawled into the dog tent again, when behold 1
the object again appeared. He glanced at the
skull; the stereotyped smile seemed to broaden,
while the cricket in a murmuring chirp seemed
to chuckle at the ghostly joke. As Martin described it, a sort of electric chill—a compound
of the shock of a battery and a shower bath—•
paralyzed him for a moment. Closer inspection
revealed the fact that the man appeared to be

Yorick's Skull.

71

standing with his legs wide apart, his arms extended and somewhat upraised, as if hurling an
anathema, but his head was wanting. In a sort
of desperation he seized his pistol and crawled
out again, but the instant he stood erect the
phantom vanished. Fully convinced that
Yorick had come back after his skull, he was
about to invite him to advance and take it, when
the suspicion of appearances, characteristic of
men who have been much on the frontier and in
hostile Indian countries—and Martin had been
many years there—restrained him. Horse
thieves or Indians might be prowling around
and he determined to reconnoitre. In his excited condition it would have been scarcely
healthy for any one, friend or foe, to have come
on him suddenly, as he would certainly have
shot him. After a careful survey nothing
nearer human than a mule was found, and he
returned in a very perturbed state of mind.
As he stood near the skull, a wolf on an adjacent
rock gave a piercing howl, which for the moment seemed to proceed from Yorick's lips.
The cayotes took up the cry and far in the distance the dismal m@lody echoed and re-echoed
through the mountains. Horrors began to

72

Yorick's Skull

accumulate. A lonely owl joined in the chorus
with his melancholy hooting. "Well, this
beats hell a mile," ejaculated the sentinel.
"What's that ? " said a hollow voice which appeared to issue from the skull under the wagon.
It was Griffith whom the cayotes had awakened.
"I'll tell you," replied Martin as he crawled in
under the dog tent. No sooner had he reached
the couch than the "spook" appeared.
"Griffith, look out under the wagon and tell
me whether you can see anything ?"
He did as desired. "Yes! I see some one
standing out there."
" Whatfs he doing ?" asked Martin.
" Nothing except holding out his arms and "
—He suddenly stopped. His eyes seemed ready
to burst out of their sockets. Without removing them from the object of his gaze he began
to feel around for his pistol.
" Well, what's the matter with you ?"
"Nothing is the matter with me," replied
Grffith, "but that fellow out there's got no
head ! I'll be blowed if it aint Yorick!"
"You're shouting," gasped Martin. "He's
come back after his head!"
" By thunder, he won't get it/' muttered Grif-

Yorick's Skull.

73

fith grabbing his pistol. " I want it in my
business worse than he does."
" Whenever I go to look for him he vanishes,"
said Martin. "See if you have any better
luck." Griffith went outside, but the goblin
disappeared as before.
"Well," he exclaimed when he returned, " I
don't believe in ghosts, but this lays over anything I ever saw."
"It's an optical illusion, or else a mental delusion," replied Martin, " and taken in connection with that skull, if I was here alone I don't
think my sand would hold out long enough for
me to investigate the phenomenon, but as I
have a company at my back, if he, she, it, or
whatever the dickens it is, should lock horns
with me, come to my rescue before it walks my
log. Griffith, sit on the bed while I walk out
in the direction of the mysterious visitor." As
before, the goblin vanished when he started
for it.
"Do you see him, Griffith?"
"Yes,"
" Has he moved ? "
"No."

74

Yorick's Skull,

" I can't see hide nor hair of him," continued
Martin. " Am I in a line with him ? "
"Yes, keep straight ahead, your going for
him." Martin continued on until Griffith
shouted," You've got him! He's right in front
of you!"
As Martin confessed, when he heard this announcement, his heart almost quit work and
his lungs were seized with ague. With revolver
on full cock he looked cautiously around but
could see no one, although the foggy light gave
the shrubs and rocks a weird unnatural appearance ; nothing like a headless man was apparent.
" I can't see anyone," shouted Martin.
" He's there beside you! " returned Griffith.
"Is this him?" replied Martin, pointing to
two small trees near at hand.
"That's h i m "
"Griffith, come here," shouted Martin. Griffith came clad in the picturesque costume of
an ancient Roman citizen—a short shirt and a
pair of slippers.
" Make a note of this on the tablets of your
memory," said Martin.
" While memory holds her seat in this dis-

YoricWs Skull.

75

traeted globe, I shall not forget to remember
it," he replied.
" These unconscious trees are Yorick's ghost,
the first and last ghost you will probably ever
see."
Two small trees had grown across each other,
which formed the illusion of the legs, two
branches on either side represented the outstretched arms, their tops had been broken off,
and thus the head of the phantom was wanting. When we were lying down the shrubs
were directly on the line of sight and really
had some resemblance to a h u m a n figure;
when wre stood up and looked over them the
ghostly effect vanished, We returned to our
dog tent, the moon was just sinking behind
the mountains, and the darkness which preceded the morning was falling. I cast a glance
at the skull, the white teeth shone in the uncertain light, and the broad grin fixed forever,
seemed to emphasize the joke that our imagination had played us.
A few years later thegreater portion of this
company became members of the stock company at Wood's museum, Chicago, Griffith and
the skull among the number. It is a custom

76

YoricWs Skull.

among property men in the diiBFerent theatres
to help each other out by lending and borrowing. In this way the skull did duty whenever
Hamlet was played in Chicago. Davenport,
Barrett and Booth in turn patted the bony pate
of the Montana Yorick, and pointed to the
teeth "where hung those lips that I have
kissed, I know not how often," and told how
" he hath borne me on his back a thousand
times," and asked, " where be thy jibes now ?"
Could each have known the history of that
" prop," how interesting it would have been to
have had each pen the inner thoughts that
stirred him as busy fancy conjured up a story
of its life and death. Perhaps when Booth
" played at loggats" with that grinning skull,
some fond mother, thousands of miles away,
was watching, waiting and praying for that
wayward boy, who left her in a fit of passion,
and perished at the hands of murdering savages, before sending one word of tenderness or
contrition. When matchless Davenport kissed
the cold ivory of those teeth, perhaps in a
quiet home in some New England village, a
pale wife, kneeling at the bed side was holding
together two chubby hands and teaching two

YoricKs Skull.

77

baby lips to lisp: "0 God, dear God, please send
my papa back again." When Barrett stared
into the crumbling cavities through which there
once had looked a soul, and wondered whether
Alexander " smelt so," perhaps in some modest
home across the seas a bethrothed wife watched
for a form that would come no more, and listened
for a step that had crossed the trackless river,
while seeking in the new world for fame and
fortune with which to crown his bride.
Then came the great Chicagofire,and Yorick's
skull was destroyed in the theatre. Certainly
no fiction could be stranger than the fact that
while the body of the unknown was consumed
in the wilds of Montana, the skull, the throne
of reason, should be reserved for cremation in
the greatest conflagration the civilized world
has ever known.

W

HARD TIMES.
ARD TIMES!" exclaimed the leading man, " The hardest times any
of you ever encountered were seasons of profusion and prodigal waste compared
to an experience I was the victim of many
moons ago. I had just emerged from the
humble grub "Bootjack" into the gorgeous butterfly "Walking Gent"—
"No Walking Gents now," murmured the
Comedian, "all Juveniles and Leading Men."
" Correct! Utility men! By all the Gods, the
race is so entirely extinct that not even a fossil
is left. But," continued the speaker, addressing the Comedian, " in all your peregrinations
over this sublunary sphere, you have, of course,
endured the felicity of having a landlord become so infatuated with your effects as to declare an attachment for your trunks, You
have enjoyed the luxury of traveling "tandem"
one foot before the other over the unconscious

Hard Times.

79

sleepers of a railroad track. You have had the
snide manager evaporate, while the "mourners
went about the streets." You have been broke
—in fact you've never been otherwise. But
you know nothing of hard times, nor can you
know, until I relate what befell myself and
sundry companions in misfortune in the winter
of 1860-61, at Central City, Colorado.
There was a large dramatic company, a
variety company, a minstrel company, and
enough "tan bouncers" to make a fair circus,
caught without a dollar in the bowels of the
mountains, six hundred miles from a railroad
or navigable stream, with a frozen desert and
at least three blood-thirsty tribes of real oldtime Indians between them and the States.
Incidentally we had gone there to pursue our
various professions. Primarily, to dig for gold.
Digging for gold is one thing, and finding it is
another. We tried on Clear Creek, Spanish
Bar, Boulder and elsewhere, but failed to connect. The good mines were very few. I mean
placers. This was before the great Lode mines
were discovered, or at least worked, The whole
country was broke—there was no such thing as
show business. The entire crowd were penni-

80

Hard Times.

less, provisionless, and would have been house*
less, if Bill Norwood, stage carpenter of the old
National Theatre and a good Comedian besides, had not discovered two miners from his
town, Baltimore, who were going down to
Mexico for the winter. They let him have a large
cabin. Bill put up about thirty bunks and invited the crowd to come in. The ladies of the
companies were either sent to the States or
comfortably provided for elsewhere. The invitation was unanimously accepted. The actor
and the acrobat, the minstrel and variety man,
all laid down together, in a delightfully lion
and the lamb sort of a manner. But there was
not five dollars in the crowd. We had shelter,
but no larder. The establishment was christened the Chatew De Grab, with the sub-title of
"Tough Times Ranch." Of those who wintered
there, the majority have joined the great majority across the dark river—rest their souls,
I hope they've found a brighter shore. There
was:
Harry B. Norman,
Sam D. Hunter,
Mike J. Dougherty,
James C. Whitall, and

Hard Times.

81

John Jack, not the talented representative of
Falstaff, but another man, only known to the
far West. Originally he was a Missouri river
pilot and personally was a great character, as
he was excellent as a peculiar character actor.
There was also Dick Wilmot, Ind. Carter, and
others, that I know are dead. Chas, BL Irving,
Geo. Pardey and Harry Collins, I believe, are
alive. I am certain Jas. M. Martin, known in
the Western camps as Jimmi Martin, is, as I
met him recently on the square. Tom Duncan,
a minstrel, was living in St. Joe, Mo. All the
rest are scattered or gone.
As I said, we had no provisions, neither had
we the wherewithal to purchase the same. Lunch
routes were unknown, store-keepers lacked confidence in our ability to pay. A crisis came.
The problem wTas, " die dog or eat a hatchet."
It was a case of starve or forage. We decided
to forage. Particular people characterized our
conduct by another name. Let moralists experience the anguish of such total abstinence
as we suffered for a few days, before they begin
to fire cobble stones.
Necessity developed the highest order of inventive genius. Chickens and ducks wandered

82

Hard Times.

around the camp, but it wouldn't do to capture
them in broad daylight. Their cries, if we
laid violent hands on them at night might result seriously.
But science surmounted obstacles. The weather was cold, the poultry
lodged in trees. Two holes were bored in the
ends of a light plank and two long poles inserted in them. The board was then heated
before the fire. Two of our number, usually
Martin and Duncan, who were light and active,
would emerge at midnight, bearing aloft the
hot plank.
This they hoisted beneath the
limb on which the slumbering poultry perched.
The grateful heat would inveigle the confiding
birds from the cold limb to the comfortable
plank. I n a moment they would be asleep
again. The marauders would quietly march
away bearing their trophies aloft in triumph.
In the sanctuary of the Chateau the spoil was
dispatched, the feathers and compromising evidences cremated, and the feast prepared.
" Nothing very tough about that," remarked
the Lyceum man. " You never tackled those
chickens. People took to locking up their
feathered stock of nights and we were reduced
almost to the verge of cannibalism, when a

Hard Times.

83

positive inspiration entered the brain of Charley
Irving. The fowls roamed at large during the
day. A hook and stout fishing line were provided, the hook was baited with meat. John
Jack, being a sailor man, was entrusted with
the practical application of the great discovery.
He cast ihe baited hook into the back yard, or
wherever a chicken or duck appeared. The
guileless fowl would gobble the bait, the man
at the line jerked, the prey was hooked, hauled
into the cabin and sacrificed. But man cannot
live on meat alone; he must have bread.
There was but one way to get it—raid the
bakers' ovens. They were there built outside
the shops. Norwood was selected for this desperate work, because he was a thumper from
the old house, and could prevail by mere force
of arms. Norm, and Hunter were detailed, on
account of superior eloquence and address, to
amuse the victim in his shop while Norwood
performed the confiscation act. He did his
work conscientiously and well—the whole batch,
an entire oven full, often rewarded his labor.
The rear and knees of his pantaloons often
melted off through the fervent heat of the interior of the oven. But we got our daily bread.

84

Hard Times.

When spring came the owners of the cabin
returned.
" How have you fared ? " they asked.
" Very rocky; been broke all winter," we replied.
" You'r foolish! Why didn't you make a
raise ? "
" Where could we make a raise?" we asked.
" Here," replied one of them, seizing a shovel
and digging down beside the earthen fireplace.
In a minute he hauled out two large oyster cans
filled with gold dust, which they had hidden
there before they had departed.
A dismal howl shook the roof of the cabin.
Some fell back in their bunks and fainted.
Talk of hard luck!!!

PENALTY BLOGGS.
F course, you know Bloggs; everybody
knows Bloggs—that is, everybody
who is anybody. Bloggs is the man
who knows everybody who is anything of a
celebrity, and who slaps you familiarly on the
back, and calls you by your first name on the
slightest provocation, Bloggs in the abstract
is to be found in any community of three
thousand or more. Bloggs is at his best in
small towns, for the reason, I suppose, that
small communities can afford but one of him,
and he flourishes by reason of his singularity.
The particular edition of Bloggs now under
consideration I met in a small Texas town,
some years ago. He was on the platform at
the station as the train pulled in, and by his
general air of bustle and officiousness impressed
me as being at least a division superintendent.
He smiled affably as I passed to a carriage,
opened the door pompously, asked, calling me

86

Penalty Bloggs.

by name, to what hotel I was going, gave orders
to the driver, and then rushed over and grabbed
the conductor by the hand, slapped him on the
back, said something evidently amusing, as he
laughed very loudly himself, although the conductor didn't seem particularly impressed. I
was not sure then whether he was division
superintendent or only station agent. I had
scarcely written my name on the hotel register
when Bloggs swelled in. He posed gracefully
against a corner of the counter, cast an eye over
the signature, and just missed the cuspidor with
such remnants of a mouthful of tobacco juice
as escaped his shirt and vest in transit. Then
he leaned over and whispered to the clerk, who
was trying to room me. No, T thought, he is
not a railroad man; he is proprietor of the
hotel, and he is telling the clerk to give me the
bridal chamber. "Front," said the clerk,
" twenty-six."
Turning as T reached the stairs, I discovered
that my exit was followed by the amiable
smile and watery eyes of Bloggs.
Descending to the office a half hour later I
discovered that Bloggs was still there. He was
leaning against the cigar stand talking to the

Penalty Bloggs,

87

newsboy. Yes, I thought, I was right, he is
the proprietor, or at least partner, or manager
of the hotel. Bloggs "set" me the moment I
entered, and smiled affably. I nodded, and
passed some remark about the weather. That
was enough, for Bloggs, and it was the one
thing, as I soon learned, which I should not
have done. Bloggs grasped me by the hand
effusively; then he slapped me on the back and
whispered something in my ear, intended, I
suppose, to be funny, for he laughed a long,
loud laugh, ending with a cough. By this
time I had discovered that in the matter of
strength it was a stand-off between his grip and
his breath. Before I could protest he had
yanked me around the office and introduced
me by name to five or six people. Then he
pulled me into the private office and introduced me to the proprietor of the hotel. When
I discovered that Bloggs was not the proprietor,
I concluded that he must be the mayor of the
town, or at least city marshal. The manager
of the opera house entered the office, but before
he could reach the register Bloggs had pulled
me up in front of him and introduced me after
this fashion : " Walker, this is my friend Nobles

83

Penalty Bloggs.

—noble by name, noble by nature." I had
been listening to this wretched attempt at a pun
for so many years by men of the Bloggs calibre
that I knew instinctively he was going to say
it and was prepared, as usual, to ignore it, but
Bloggs felt that he had made a ten strike, and
he laughed a loud and fragrant laugh. Walker
called me aside to talk business of a private
nature, but a little thing like that had no effect
upon Bloggs. As we sat down Bloggs stood
familiarly in front of us, interjecting comments
and witticisms at regular intervals. Walker
suggested an adjournment to the bar; this
caused Bloggs to positively glow with amiability, and as we started he wrung in one to the
effect that he had "quit drinking—in a measure." On the strength of the laugh with which
he accompanied this ancient gem, we were
wafted gently to the bar. I observed that
Bloggs took it straight, and in sufficient quantity to show that he wasn't afraid of it. He also
smiled affably at the barkeeper and called him
by his first name. I thought the barkeeper
did net seem to pay that deference to Bloggs
due to the mayor or city marshal, and I fancied
that Walker made no special effort to be enter-

Penalty Bloggs.

89

taining. Walker drew me aside for a moment
Presently a group of gentlemen entered, and
before they had time to decline, Bloggs had
grabbed each effusively by the hand, rushed
him over and introduced me, calling me familiarly "Nobles," or "Milt." Bloggs never
missed a round, and I also noticed the regularity with which he failed to "shout" when his
turn came, but, glass in hand, endeavored to
get into the crowd and join in the conversation.
But the gentlemen seemed to ignore his existence. Still, in spite of what appeared to me a
studied slight, Bloggs maintaiujd his good
humor, occasionally threw in a verbal gem over
the backs of the party, and then laughed long
and loud, and looked over in our direction to
let us see that they were having a "hell-roaring"
time. Presently the party, lifting their hats,
withdrew. Bloggs followed to the door, which
was accidentally allowed to bang in his face.
Bloggs opened it unconcernedly, waved his
hand and yelled, "So long, boys," then swelled
across the room to entertain us. He apologized
for leaving us, but said his old friends would
have felt hurt if he hadn't joined them, and
then insisted on taking me over to the City

90

Penalty Bloggs.

Hall and introducing me to his old friend, the
mayor. So, after all, I thought, Bloggs is only
city marshal, or may be clerk of the district
court. I pleaded other business, and Bloggs
said he must give me a letter of introduction
to his old friend Col. Tom Ochiltree, of Galveston, and then he proceeded to tell me how often
himself and "Col. Tom" had incarnadined the
walls and fences of the Texas metropolis. He
fumbled in his pocket for the last letter he had
from the Colonel, but said he must have left it
home on the piano. Then he told me how he
had made it lively for his old friends Billy
Florence and Fred. Warde in Dallas once.
" Just say 'Bloggs—Dallas' to Florence, and see
what he will say." Then he slapped us both
on the back and laughed until he coughed in
our faces. By this time Bloggs had made an
impression upon me that I shall carry through
life. The impression was not so much upon
the sense of reason as of olfaction. The bare
remembrance of those outward manifestations
of internal decay fill me with feelings more of
sorrow than of anger.
The offence to my nostrils I could have endured in silence, but this thing hurt my eyes.

Penalty Btoggs.

91

Two gentlemen entering the bar rushed Bloggs
for them, intending, doubtless, to introduce
them, but Walker quickly pulled me through a
side door, and so we escaped to the main hall
and hurried off to my room. Once safely inside
with the door locked, Walker asked :
" Where did Penalty strike you ? "
" Where did who strike me ? "
" Why, Penalty—Penalty Bloggs."
" Oh," I said, " the man with the 'aromatic
respiration and the agricultural finger nails ? "
" Exactly," replied Walker.
" He was at the depot when I arrived and in
the hotel as soon as I was. What is he, town
marshal ? "
"What! Bloggs! Town Marshal! Why,
that fellow never did an honest day's work in
his life. He blew in here from Indiana with
the carpet-baggers just after the war. He
tried to run the town for about a month, but
he was not long in finding his level. Then he
married a soldier's widow who keeps a railroaders boarding house down by the depot,
and he has been living off her ever since."
" Why do you call him Penalty ? "
" Well, you see, Bloggs has a weakness for

92

Penalty Bloggs.

celebrities. Actor, railroad magnate, bishop
or baseball player are all meat for Bloggs.
One summer a temperance lecturer dropped in
on us. A temperance lecturer is pretty small
game, but it was the dull season, and everything goes with Bloggs. After the lecture,
which took place in the basement of the Presbyterian Church, several leading citizens and
church members remained to congratulate the
lecturer. Bloggs hadn't been able to beat his
way in, but he was on hand for the congratulations. He pushed through the crowd, grabbed
the lecturer by the hand, put an arm around
his neck and told him that his lecture was
equal to his dear old friend Gough's. Then he
wrung his hand and told one of Gough's funny
old chestnuts and laughed until he coughed.
The cough hit the lecturer full in the face and
he fainted. Bloggs evidently thought he had
killed his man, for he slipped out, and when
the lecturer recovered he looked about wildly
for a moment, then he gasped and then sneezed.
The mayor helped him to a chair, and looking
about inquiringly, the lecturer asked if the
storm was over, and whether that clap struck
the assafetida works or only the guano factory.

Penalty Bloggs.

S3

Then the mayor explained to him Bloggs'
great weakness for public men and his great
strength in the other direction. ( Oh, I see/
said the lecturer,i Bloggs is one of the penalties
of fame.' < Exactly/ said the mayor, and Bloggs
has been called Penalty ever since."

THE ISAACS-GRUMMELS' BOOM.
COMPILED FROM DOCUMENTARY E V I D E N C E .

[Advertisement from New York Heralds May 5,1835.]
A YOUNG, GIFTED AND BEAUTIFUL SOUTHERN BELLE,
- descended from an aristocratic Georgia family, having met
•with unexpected reverses, has determined upon adopting t h e
d r a m a t i c profession as a means whereby to retrieve the shattered fortunes of her honorable family, elevate the stage, and
utilize those God-given histrionic powers which her friends feel
aaeured she possesses in an e m i n e n t degree. Responsible
m a n a g e r s , with capital, desiring an a t t r a c t i o n for the coming
season, may address
MAMIE CRUMMELS,
847i4 Lexington a v e . (over Drug Store)
X1

[Advertisement from the Weekly Blast. May 28,1885^
A BE ISAACS, YE WORKING AGENT AND PRES3-MANIP
•"• ulator. disengaged. Btlgeville c o r r e s p o n d e n t Weekly Blast
Address this office after J u n e 1st.

[ Weekly Blast, June 4 ]

We desire to call the attention of managers
to the card of the new and brilliant star, Miss
Mamie Crummels. This lady comes of a wealthy
California family, and has recently returned
from Europe, where she has undergone three
years' severe study under French, Italian and
English masters. Who will be the lucky manager to secure her?

The Isaacs-Grummets1 Boom.

95

[Weekly Blast, June 4-1

That shrewd and energetic manager, Abe
Isaacs, is looking about for a strong attraction
for next season. It is whispered Abe has his
eye on the beautiful young society star,
Mamie Crummels. This would make a strong
team!
[New York Correspondence Bilgeville {Iowa) Breakwater,
June $].

I yesterday met on Union Square that handsome and popular young Bilgeville boy, Abe
Isaacs. Abe is being lionized by the theatrical
profession here, among whom he is very popular, having been for some time the Bilgeville
correspondent of the Blast, the principal theatrical journal. Abe had no sooner arrived in
New York than he was besieged on all sides by
managers urging him to manage leading combinations. Abe said nothing, but kept his eyes
and ears open, and while three other managers
were outbidding each other for the new society
star, Mamie Crummels, Abe quietly slips in and
secures the prize. Miss Oummels is to be congratulated. Abe is a " boomer."

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

97

[ Weekly Blast, June S, Editorial]

We call the attention of managers to the
mammoth full page advertisement (with portrait of Manager Abe Isaacs), announcing his
engagement of the peerless Mamie Crummels.
This company will take the read in August,
playing the Western and Southern circuits.
Mr. Isaacs is negotiating with several New York
managers for spring dates. Abe is getting out
a jnagnificent stock of lithographic printing
through the well-known house of Ketchum &
Holdem. Brains, money and energy will win
every time. Abe will wake up some of our
Rip Van Winkle managers.
We present this week an admirable likeness
of the brainy manager, Abe Isaacs, as he may
any day be seen at his office on Twelfth street,
working up the approaching tour of his star,
Mamie Crummels.
[ Weekly Blast, June 11>]

The beautiful society star, Mamie Crummels,
is quite ill at her exquisitely furnished fiat on
Lexington avenue. Abe Isaacs, her tireless
manager, says it is prostration from over-excitement in recently rescuing the child of a poor

98

The Isaacs- Crummels* Boom,

family whose life was endangered by a runaway
Bleeker street car.
*
[Long Branch Correspondence New York Courier,
June 12.]

The great emotional actress, Mamie Crummels, wears a unique and striking tight-fitting
bathing suit of pink and olive-green. Her exquisite figure is much admired, She was visited yesterday by her wide-awake manager,
Abe Isaacs,
*
[From the New York Correspondence of the Penn Yan
Bladder.]

Miss Mamie Crummels, the famed emotional
artiste, yesterday rescued three children from
drowning at Coney Island, On the same evening she horsewhipped the clerk of the hotel for
being a little too previous. Her tireless manager, Abe Isaac's, says the fellow merited his
punishment.
[From the Harlem Correspondence of the New York
Vindicator.]

Abe Isaacs, the tireless manager of the young
and dashing Southern star, Mamie Crumnxels,

The Isaacs-Grummets* Boom.

99

has filled thirty-eight weeks in the leading
Southern and Western theatres.
*
*
Abe Isaac's has purchased from the eminent
New York journalist and dramatic critic, Col.
Mulligan Bilkes, (late of the Globe), his powerful emotional and society drama, entitled The
Love of a Lioness; or, Blood for Blood. Abe
says the leading role will fit his star like a glove.
Abe ought to know.
[From the Weekly Blast, June 18 ]

Abe Isaacs, accompanied by the beautiful
Mamie Crummels, will sail on the A laska. They
will spend a month in Paris, procuring a set of
costumes from Worth for Miss C's approaching
starring tour.
[From the Weekly Blast, June SS."]

Editor Nero York Weekly Blast:
DEAR SIR :—Please allow me space through
the columns of your widely-read journal (the
only original recognized organ of our profession), to contradict the annoying rumor about
Miss Mamie Crummels going to get married to
a Cuban Duke. She has got no such intention.

100

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

I have got her on a four year's contract, forbidding either one to marry.
Yours in haste,
A B E ISAACS,

Manager of the Great Mamie Crummels, Long Branch.
The printing and lithographic work for
Mamie Crummels' starring tour, designed by
Abe Isaacs, will beat anything on the road.
Abe says he intends to paralyze the gawks.
[From the Blast, June 28.\
CALL.
The ladies and gentlemen engaged for the
great Abe Isaacs' Combination, supporting the
bewitching Mamie Crummels, are notified that
the season will begin at Bilgeville, la., August
22. Rehearsal August 15. No fares advanced.
A B E ISAACS, Manager.

Sol. Cohen, Programmer and Press Agent.
*
[From the Bilgeville Breakioater, August 15."]
Our enterprising fellow townsman, Abe
Isaacs (late clerk at Openheimer's clothing
house), has arrived from New7 York. Abe has

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

101

become one of the leading lights in the show
business. He is busy arranging for the opening of his season in this, his native city, on the
22d. The principal members of the company
have arrived, including the young and beautiful star, Miss Mamie Crummels (a Southern
belle), who is quartered at Ben Bragg's Delmonico Hotel. Abe is chuck full of business.
[From the Bilgeville Evening Bugle, August 16.]

An unusual number of queer specimens of
the genus humo in long hair, soft hats, linen
dusters and seedy pants, leads us to surmise
that "the great aggregation of New York star
artists" (from the Fifth Avenue Theatre) has
arrived.
*
[From the Bilgeville Breakwater, August 23.]

ABE ISAACS' COMBINATION.
MAMIE CRUMMELS, AMERICA'S GREATEST TRAGEDY
QUEEN, AT

OPENHEIMER's

GRAND

OPERA

BOUSE, LAST NIGHT.

The elite of Bilgeville assembled last night at
the Grand to welcome America's greatest ar_
tiste, Miss Mamie Crummels. The show was
first-rate. Some of the actors were not "up" in

102

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

their parts, and the sceneries did not work
very well; but everything went off in good
style. The play was Shakespeare's Humpback,
and all hands done first-rate, especially Billy
Morton, who acted Fathom, and just brought
down the house. Miss Crummels done firstrate as Juliet, excepting that it was quite hard
to hear what she said. Her dresses (purchased
by Abe Isaacs from Worth, of London (were
splendid. The lamps nearly went out in the
last act, but this will be remedied to-night.
Owing to the threatening weather and the
festival at the Presbyterian Church, the crowd
was small; but the hall will be jammed tonight to see the last New York success, called
Romeo and Julia. Secure seats at Openheimer's great clothing store and avoid the
rush.
„.
*
[From the Bilgeville Evening Bugle, August 28.~\

ANOTHER IMPOSITION ON THE PUBLIC.
SHEENY ISAACS' MOB OF SUFES AT THE OLD HALL
OVER

OPENHEIMER's

SLOP-SHOP

CLOTHING

STORE.

Bilgeville has been called upon to endure
many afflictions in the shape of alleged shows,

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

103

but last night's fizzle " yanked the bun," From
America's greatest down to the humblest supe,
not one person ou the stage knew their part.
The curtain persisted in falling at all sorts of
odd time, excepting the right time. The lights
went out in the last act, instead of the first, as
they should have done, in charity to the audience and actors. That epitome of monumental gall and superfluous idiocy, Abe Isaacs,
attempted to make a speech, but was appropriately squelched by the three boys on the
front bench. The young, beautiful and accomplished star of the evening proved to be an
unmitigated fraud—dark, fat and forty-odd,
with a matronly and Hebrewic cast of features.
There were about twenty men and boys in the
house all told. This was to be expected, when
we remember that the enterprising (?) manager
failed to advertise in the Evening Bugle, the only
paper read by the better class of Bilgevillers,
and to which they refer as an authority on
show matters. This, however, has had no influence upon our criticism.
[From the Bilgeville Breakwater, August 24."]

ANOTHER DRAMATIC TREAT AT THE
OPERA HOUSE.
Romeo and Juliet was acted last night by the
great Mamie Crummels in first-class style. The

104

Tlie Isaacs-Crummels* Boom.

indefatigable Abe Isaacs had secured four additional lamps for the stage and two for the hall,
thereby adding greatly to the brilliancy of the
scene. The sceneries worked much better, excepting where the board representing the balcony scene fell over, exposing the construction
of the scene. Miss Crummels acted Juliet to
the life. We can well believe Mr. Isaacs when
he says on his bills, printed at this office, that
the great English tragedian, G. Golding, pronounced Miss Crummels' Juliet a startling exhibition. In the graveyard where she talks
about her father's bones and things, she beats
Maggie Mitchell, whom the writer saw act the
same play at Des Moines, last winter. As she
fell on Romeo's prostrate form, Judge Suggs,
who had entered and taken a front seat, exclaimed, impressively, " Great God I " Everybody done first-rate, especially Billy Morton,
who acted out Peter in a way to bring down
the house. Billy is a button-buster, sure. The
crowd was not quite so large as on Monday,
owing probably to the illness of Colonel Bloodgood's infant son, which has cast a temporary
gloom over our best society. We are pleased
to add that Willie is better. In addition to this

The Isaacs-Crummels1 Boom,

105

there was a meeting of the Democratic campaign committee, at the office of Judge Suggs,
candidate for legislator, over Malloy's sample
room. The hall will doubtless be crowded tonight, when the same great play will be repeated by special request.
[From the Bilgeville Evening Bugle, August 2fy ]

There was another amusing exhibition at
Openheimers old hall last night. We thought
we had seen the acme of badness on Monday
night, bat last night discounted it. We dcubt
if so much gratuitous imbecility could be got
together in any community in America outside
of the idiotic asylums. The appearance of the
very fat and very middle-aged lady (America's
greatest) who acted the young and tender Juliet,
was the signal for a wild laugh from the three
boys on the front bench, who distributed the
vilely-printed programmes during the day.
But an awful stillness reigned when Mr. Sol
Cohen, the "press manipulator" of the company, came forward to announce that owing to
the sudden indisposition of Mr. R, Macready
Spofford, the character of Romeo would be assumed at a moment's notice, by the Bilgeville

106

The Isaacs-Crummels1 Boom,

favorite, Mr. Abraham Isaacs, of the Hebrew
Thespian Society, This announcement was
followed by a rush for the door of thirteen of
the eighteen composing the audience, the writer
among the number. We felt instinctively the
need of a stimulant. We got back just in time
to see the balcony (two of Openheimer's shutters) fall over, lighting on Abe's ample feet, and
exposing the fat and formidable Juliet standing
on a flour barrel, the head of which suddenly
refused to sustain its lovely load, precipitating
the massive Juliet as far into the barrel as her
aesthetic development would permit. The curtain fell upon this unique tableau, and we departed, satisfied that if Shakespeare could see
that performance he would be glad that he was
dead. We are informed that the three programme boys, the critic of our esteemed and
harmless contemporary, and Judge Suggs, who
was sleeping off his "ratifications/' remained
to the bitter end. For the sake of art we hope
that Abe will not be discouraged by this incident. He is not the first great artist who has
failed in Romeo. In fact, there has not been a
really successful Romeo in the show business
since the famous elephant died.

The Isaacs- Crummels' Boom.

107

[From the Bilgeville Breakwater, August 29J]

A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT.
The audience that assembled at the Opera
House on Saturday night to witness the closing
performance of the great emotional artiste,
Mamie Crummels, were doomed to disappointment. The play to be acted was called " The
Love of a Lioness," or, " Blood for Blood,"
written by the eminent New York journalist,
Col Mulligan Bilkes, editor-in-chief of The
Herald. At about a quarter before nine Mr.
Isaacs came out and announced that owing to
the non-arrival of the elaborate new sceneries
and costumes from New York, the play could
not be presented. This closed the season of
the company in this city for the present. They
go from here to Rogers7 Corners, where it is to
be hoped they may do well. Mr. Ben Bragg,
proprietor of Bragg's Delmonico Hotel, has
been so deeply impressed with the great histrionic powers of Miss Crummels that he has paid
Abe Isaacs a handsome bonus for an interest
in the company, and will send Bob along to
represent his interest. Mr. Isaacs has given
ample security for his printing bill, and we

108

The Isaacs- Grummels7 Boom.

commend this company to the press and public
of Rogers' Corners.
[From the Bilgeville Evening Bugle, Aug. 29.~\

LAST SCENE OF ALL.
THE

GREAT ISAACS-CRUMMELS'

BUBBLE

HAS

BUSTED.

The internal troubles that have been brewing
during the week culminated on Saturday night,
when several members of the company refused
to play unless they saw the color of Abe Isaac's
money. The audience were told that such as
had purchased their tickets could get their
money at the door; but as all ten of the audience were deadheads, the ceremony was dispensed with. It is rumored that the remnant
of this demoralized army will attack Rogers'
Corners next week. This is a good thing for
Bilgeville, but it's rough on Rogers' Corners.
Fortunately (for the company) the distance to
Rogers' Corners is short and the walking good.
Mr. Macready Spofford, the leading heavy actor
of the company, will remain in this city and
give a reading next week, after which he will
instruct our local amateurs. He says he will
rejoin Edwin Booth as leading support next

The Isaacs- Crummels' Boom.

109

season. " Billy " Morton, who is a better typo
than actor, will " siib " on the Bugle until he is
telegraphed for by Mary Anderson's manager.
Ben Bragg has become greatly attached to this
company. In fact, he has several attachments,
and Bob will go along to Rogers' Corners to
assist Abe Isaacs in relieving them—by selling
tickets while Abe tends door.—Sic transit gloria.
[Bilgeville Correspondent Weekly Blast, August 26.~]

Abe Isaacs' great company, supporting the
great Mamie Crummels, has taken Bilgeville
by storm. Abe is a Bilgeville boy, and a
worker. In less able managerial hands the
success of the season would have been doubtful,
as Bilgeville has been overrun with snide
shows. Abe has been offered the management
of several leading combinations, but says he has
a fortune in his present attraction. Abe swears
by the Blast.
Bob Bragg has returned to the city.—Bilgeville Breakwater, Sept. 5.
The veteran theatrical manager, Abraham
Isaacs, Esq., is among the latest arrivals in
Bilgeville. Abe's No. 6 hat and No. 11 boots

110

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom,

will in the future adorn their old familiar
haunt in front of Openheimer's clothing store.
Never mind, Abe. Tis better to have loved
and lost than to be euchered on a bob-tail flush.
—Bilgemlle Evening Bugle.
[A few cards from the Blast, Sept. 15.]
"D MACREADY SPOFFORD, H E A V Y L E A D , DISENGAGED.
-LV* Address this office, or Bilgevilie, l a .
T3ILLY MORTON, LOW COM. B I Z , DISENGAGED.
1J
dress this office, or Bugle, Bilgeville, l a .

AD-

Tl/TR. AND MRS. SEPTIMUS SAUNDERS, FOPS AND IN•L*x g e n u e , disengaged. Address this office, or Rogers' Corners, l a .
TJORATTO CLIFFORD, J U V E N I L E ; BESSIE ALMONT, WALK•*••*• ing lady, and little Eva and Sadie, the juvenile wonders,
disengaged. Address this office, or Rogers' Corners, l a .

[From the New York Globe, Editorial, Sept 15.]

Miss Mamie Crummels has been compelled
by failing health to relinquish her starring
season in the West and South, which began
most auspiciously. Miss 0. arrived in this city
during the present week and will take a much
needed rest. She speaks in glowing terms of
her reception in the principal cities of the West.
She will resume her season about December 10
with a stronger and better support, and a new
drama of thrilling contemporaneous interest by
an eminent Western journalist, entitled: " Little

The Isaacs-Grummets' Boom.

Ill

Rose-Bud, the Lily of the Plains, or, The DewDrop of Gory Gulch."
[Advertisement from the New York Herald, Sept. $$.]
T H E eminent, emotional and tragic star, Mamie Crummels,
x
will give instructions to ladies and gentlemen in elocution
and stage art. Metropolitan engagements guaranteed. Call at
847J4 Lexington Ave., over Drug Store.

And the woods are full of 'em.

"GEORGE."
EORGE was a dog. There is nothing
^ particularly new or startling in the
mere statement, but there are dogs
and dogs. George wTas not particularly distinguished from other dogs in point of physical
beauty. Candor compels the admission that in
the matter of personal appearance George was
plebeian. In point of fact George was what
would be vulgarly called a "yaller dog."
George's great specialty was mind, and it was
in this particular that he rose superior to other
dogs of my acquaintance. George was one of
my "palmy day" companions. I have many
remembrances, pleasant and otherwise, of my
"palmy day" experiences, but none more vivid
or interesting as a retrospect than my too brief
acquaintance with George. We met each other
in Denver, in 1869. On the corner where the
famous Tabor block now challenges the wonder
and admiration of the tourist, stood an old two-

" George^

113

story frame hotel, known as the Boardwell
House. On the corner directly north, where
another structure rears its seven granite stories,
there was a sand-hill, and on the top of that
sand-hill was a long, low frame structure
known as the Denver Theatre. A merry band
of players was holding forth at the Denver
Theatre, and such leisure as study and rehearsals left us was devoted to foot-racing,
quoit-pitching, riding the festive bronchos, or
luxuriating on the benches in front of the old
Boardwell, swapping lies. It was while developing my imagination in the latter occupation that my acquaintance with the hero of this
true tale began. The chance acquaintance,
which afterward ripened into intimacy, began
entirely sans ceremonie. It was this way: I was
on the outer edge of the board sidewalk,
propped back against a tree-box, telling Jimmie
Martin and George Waldron of my early St.
Joe and Omaha triumphs, when I was interrupted by a fearful "yelp," and simultaneously
a mangy, colorless cur dropped into my lap.
My seat was directly opposite the open door of
the bar-room. The dog, driven desperate by
the cravings of the inner dog, had sneaked

114

"Qtorge."

into the bar-room to snatch a piece of cracker
from the floor, when the eagle eye and number
nine boot of the bar-keeper fell upon him, with
the result above described. My chair careened
gracefully, depositing me in the gutter, from
which vantage-ground I could see and hear my
canine surprise party flying up the road on
three legs. A half hour later I was going
through a "carpenter scene" with the low
comedian, when the familiar " y e l p " again
greeted me. I rose instinctively to see my
mangy friend flying for his life from a big
overgrown cur dog. The race ended by my
hero taking shelter under the wooden steps of
the theatre, where his pursuer could not follow
him. The following day, at about the same
hour, the familiar signal of distress again rent
the air, this time accompanied by the rattling
of an oyster can attached to the end of the dog
opposite to the yelp. Again the theatre steps
afforded an asylum of refuge. By this time I
had become interested in this dog. I coaxed
him from under the steps, divided him from
the can, took him into the theatre, and for the
first time had a good look at him. That dog
was a study. Could his pedigree have been

" George."

115

traced, I have no doubt it would have revealed
the mingled bloods of the entire canine family.
His legs were short and his body was long. His
head was abnormally large, and his body was
thin. About the head and face he had the
shaggy yellow hair of a terrier. One ear had
evidently been chewed off, and the other stood
erect or lopped over, as moved by the mood of
the wearer. One eye was white and the other
pink. He was a type of the homeless, unfed
cur. Every element of dogly pride, courage,
or resentment had been kicked or starved out
of him. I deposited him in my dressing-room,
and that night I gave him a royal feed. He
wras beyond comparison the ugliest dog I ever
saw; but as he devoured his food, with his
white eye furtively watching for the expected
kick, he won me with his unique hideousness.
I resolved then and there to adopt him—to link,
as it were, our destinies.
I loved him for the wrong's he had endured,
And he loved me for the victuals I procured.

I first set about trying to learn his name. I
saluted him by every name known to dogology,
but none seemed to produce the desired caudal
oscillation. So I christened him "George,"

116

" George."

principally, I think, because he was particularly
obnoxious to George Waldron.
Of course I
knew that George was different from other dogs'
names; but, then, George was different himself.
George soon became as well known on the
street as the other members of the company,
and the hand that affixed the fragrant oyster
can, or playfully hurled the idle brick, was
stretched forth to gently stroke the erstwhile
vagrant cur. George's development was rapid.
He soon knew each member of the company,
and declined to be patronized by anybody else.
Tn one thing George at first caused me a pang.
When I looked at his long, lank body and his
big head, I anticipated the pleasure I should
experience in seeing him expand under the influence of kind words and cold victuals. I knew
that eating couldn't make his head any bigger,
and I fondly hoped that it might so develop
the body as to more nearly preserve the unities.
But the more he ate the more he didn't seem
to expand. This worried me. I feared that
long fasting and much kicking had permanently
disarranged his digestive organs. One day I
took him to a barber who was well up in dogs,
and asked him why George didn't get fat. The

" George"

117

barber looked at him thoughtfully for a few
minutes, and then said he guessed George was
the other kind of a dog. Of course this hadn't
occurred to me, as George was my first dog.
About this time George's mind began to give
those evidences of development which gave him
his subsequent fame. With his mental expansion came also a wonderful moral courage. He
knew the oyster-can boy instinctively, and on
two or three occasions made his presence unpleasantly felt. The boys recognized the change
in their relative conditions, and sought to conciliate him; but while George was progressive
in most things, in the matter of forgetting oyster cans he was a Bourbon, and so the small
boy collectively gave him a wide berth. And
so with the big cur dog, who had made life a
burden. The manner in which George would
sit in the door of the hotel and glare defiantly
at his old and powerful enemies was wonderful.
By the end of the first week he would venture
unattended to the outer edge of the sidewalk,
and bark fiercely at his former tormentors. In
two weeks he would recklessly dash to the middle of the street with revenge in his voice and
blood in his eye whenever he saw a big dog

118

" George"

passing. Should the dog incidentally turn to
see what it was, the short space of time in which
George would cover the ground between the
middle of the street and the bar-room door was
simply incredible. About this time occurred
an incident that for a time threatened to destroy
George's usefulness by making him ridiculous.
Jimmie Griffiths, Ned Shapter and Jim Martin
one afternoon coaxed George into the theatre
and sheared him after the manner of the circus
lion, excepting that they left the long hair only
on his head and face and the tip of his tail.
They then proceeded to fresco him. They
painted his whiskers an ultramarine blue, his
shaggy eyebrows received a coat of emerald
green, his solitary ear a covering of lampblack,
the tip of his tail was a flaming red> his protruding ribs were brought out like bas-reliefs
with lines of chrome yellow. His feet and legs
had the colors of the rainbow, and a line of
dark brown the length of his backbone completed a make-up that gave him the appearance
of a skeleton decked for the Jubilee. I had been
out for an airing on my favorite broncho, and
on my return to the hotel this apparition confronted me. I shaJl not attempt to describe my

"George*

119

feelings. Even now, with nearly two decades
of years intervening, I feel my utter inability
to treat the subject dispassionately. There are
emotions in the lives of dogs and men, for the
suitable expression of which the compilers of
our language have made no adequate provision,
and so I will pass in silence the brief interval
immediately following this meeting. I am sure
that my indignation was no greater than George's
mortification. There was certainly an absence
of the customary spontaneity in his greeting.
True, his close-shaven tail, with its flaming tip,
wagged a welcome, but it was not the free, joyous wag of yesterday. I fancied also that he
ate three or four pounds less than usual for
supper that evening. Still this may have been
an illusion on my part, as three or four pounds
one way or the other would scarcely have been
noticeable in George's ordinary meal. It was,
of course, impossible for me to learn for some
days who perpetrated the outrage. No one
knew anything about it. George soon became
reconciled to his changed appearance, and in
the increased popular favor which the incident
secured to him, I buried my resentment. But
George was rudely shorn of those elements of

120

" George"

dignity which he had been so rapidly acquiring.
He had suddenly become a comedian, and had
only to show his painted mug to " set the table
in a roar,"
Notable incidents in George's career now followed in rapid succession. We produced "Under the Gaslight," and on the opening night
George was in the dressing-room sweetly dreaming on my dress-coat, The pier scene was on,
and in the character of Trafiord I made the
desperate plunge from the pier into the Denver
version of the East River to rescue the heroine.
Some one—I could never learn who—had rudely
wakened George and brought him upstairs just
in time to see me make the leap. With a howl
of recognition George flew out on the pier,
paused just long enough for the audience to
get a good look at him, and plunged in after
me. As I raised the heroine from the angry
waves, and supported myself against Snorkey's
boat, I could see George's blue whiskers and
pink eyes climbing over the top of a set water.
Of course there was an encore, during which
George succeeded in levelling the two rows of
set waters, exposing the running-gear of the
profile boat, and finally joining me on the old

" George.1'

121

mattress which constituted the turbulent waters
of the East River. It is needless to add that
George's debut created a sensation. The audience regarded it as a part of the play, and
when on the following night he failed to make
his appearance, there went up a protest so vigorous that Jack Langrishe gained my reluctant
consent to an announcement of George's positive appearance each night the piece was played.
As George's physical eccentricities and facial
make-up were not particularly suited to the
heroic rescue business, we put a yellow cap and
red flannel jacket on him and sent him on in
the police court scene as the Italian organgrinder's monkey. That week we received full
salaries. While George never personally protested, I have always believed that he felt hurt
at being taken out of heroics and put into low
comedy. True, certain natural and artificial
conditions over which he had no control may
have made him look the latter character best,
but he had a mind superior to monkey business. George had now arrived at that stage of
development when he would fearlessly make a
bluff at the biggest dog in town. But with
that rare forethought characteristic of himself,

122

"George."

he bluffed only at such times as members of
the company were at hand to cover his retreat.
This trait in George's character I greatly admired. In common with other of his prominent traits, it afforded me an insight into the
far-seeing wisdom of Pythagoras. George soon
reached the transformation period of his eventful career. In spite of my watchfulness he
would appear almost daily in a new set of colors, or, rather, in a new distribution of the old
ones. One day it would be red whiskers, blue
ribs and a green tail; the next, green whiskers,
red eyebrows and a blue tail. One morning at
rehearsal he walked on to the stage entirely
washed of his gaudy colors. At last, I thought,
they are going to give him a rest; to allow one
appearance in natural tints. Vain delusion!
As George was making a dignified exit I heard
a roar of laughter, and looking carefully for the
cause, I discovered that the gay tints had been
removed in order to bring out in bolder relief
an artistic bit of partial gilding.
With the warm April clays there came a
change in George's habits. He would frequently absent himself from the dressing-room
during the evening—an unusual proceeding.

" George"

123

During the last act he would crawl or sneak
into the room, looking up sheepishly at me
through his shaggy green eyebrows, and half
crawl and half slide like a guilty thing into
his corner. By a reflection from the mirror I
could see that he was stealthily watching me,
but when I turned suddenly, his eyes would be
closed in profound slumber. One night I
called Jimmie Griffith in to watch the pantomime. He carefully observed the proceeding,
and explained with a laugh that George had
evidently got a sweetheart. From this time on
there was an absence of that entire cordiality
in our relations that had formerly prevailed.
We remained on speaking terms, to be sure,
but I could see that, on his part at least, there
was a divided affection. These strained relations continued for a week. The time was at
hand when we were to take the coach for a ride
over the Rockies to Central City. I had intended taking George with me. I had fondly
hoped that a change of air and scene would recall him to some sense of his duty to society;
but the siren's spell had bound him. On the
last day of April we mounted the old Concord,
bright and early. I looked vainly for my

124

"George?

protege, upon whom I had lavished so much, but
the base ingrate did not even come to whine a
parting or bark a God-speed, and so we parted.
And as I rode sadly out the old Golden road,
that bright April morning, I doubt not that
selfish voluptuary, true to the Pythagorean instinct, was snugly couched in pleasure's lap.

(From an old Interview).

HE American character is kaleidoscopic. It is safe to assume that onehalf of our population have at some
period of their existence conceived the idea they
were undiscovered geniuses or predestined dramatic managers. The idea that the drama is

126

Stage Aspirants.

a profession requiring a novitiate they do not
for a moment entertain. They ignore the fact
that Davenport, Booth, Barrett, Jefferson, in
fact, about all successful actors, served many
years' apprenticeship at utility, for starvation
salary; or that Lester Wallack played walking
gents at $15 a week. These reflections were
suggested during a talk held last week by a
Mirror man and Milton Nobles, in which Mr.
Nobles gave the following documentary evidence of the above statement. The letters appended are bonafide,and speak for themselves.
" Here is a bright one," said Nobles.
PHILADELPHIA, June 6,1881.
MILTON NOBLES, ESQ., CARE N E W YORK MIRROR:

SIR :—The season of '81-82 promises to be one of unusual success and prosperity to managers having
worthy attractions. I t is essential and prudent for
them to engage only reliable and experienced people;
therefore the services of a first-class press and advance
agent are indispensable. You will consult your interest if original methods in advertising are an object.
I claim all the above, and guarantee success if your
u
ads." are placed in my hands. Please state salary
and address
A. H.,
Advance and Press Agent, Lawrence St., Philadelphia.

" This letter," continued Nobles, " was from
some fellow never heard of in the profession,

Stage Aspirants.
or out of it. Did I answer it?
Here was my reply:

127
Of course.

BROOKLYN, N. Y., June 8,1881.
A. II
.
M Y D E A R SIR:—Your modest letter of advice is received and duly placed upon the " gall hook." What
you lack is confidence. You're too modest. I want
just such a man as you are, but I know they couldn't
get along without you in Philadelphia. Still, we can
be of use to each other. My experience in my profession is limited—a trifle of fifteen years or so, and I
need counsel such as yours. Some time when you
have leisure, say about a couple of years from now,
write me at length. Tell me about how you think I
ought to run my company, and what you think the
public want. Don't be diffident. Let yourself out
and send in your bill. But, above all, caution. Be
secret, because if Goodwin or Mrs. Drew suspected
that you contemplated leaving Philadelphia, they
would get an injunction and prevent it, and then I
should lose you.
Gratefully thine,
MR.

M I L T O N NOBLES.

" I havn't heard from him since," continued
the actor, " but I presume the next mail will
bring an acceptance of my terms and a contract
to sign."
"Do you ever get applications from stagestruck females ? " asked The Mirror man.
" I)o I ? Well, maybe I don't! Here is one

128

Stage

Aspirants.

from a W e s t e r n town t h a t came this very m o r n ing:
TOPEKA, Kan., June 5,1881.
M R . NOBLES, CARE 1ST. Y. M I R R O R :

You will doubtless be surprised at receiving this
letter from an entire stranger, but me and my sister
want to go on the stage. I enclose our pictures. We
have played often with amateurs, and have considerable experience. I have acted Pauline, also Camille
and Juliet (Shakespeare). My sister, wTho is two (2)
years younger than I, and said to be very beautiful,
has only played once, but she has great natural talent
for comedy characters like Lotta. Many of our friends
and the critics here say she is superior to Lotta or
Maggie Mitchell. My relatives are bittedy opposed
to our going on the stage, as our family are well connected, and my intended, who is a critic, too, says
that if I will wait until after our marriage (next year)
he will write a piece for us, but I want to begin right
away and learn, and as yours is the only compaoy with
which I would wish to travel, 1 will accept the leading
business, and my sister the soubrettes. Please answer
by return mail, stating what you will pay, and when
you want us to join you. Excuse bad pen.
ANNIE FILKINS.

Stage name, Leo Leoni. Sister's stage name, Madgin
May.
" S t r a n g e to say, t h i s letter was written in a
clean, graceful h a n d , a n d the enclosed

photo-

g r a p h s revealed two p r e t t y faces, b e a r i n g u n m i s t a k a b l e traces

of

intelligence.

I

wrote^

Stage Aspirants.

129

expressing regrets that they hadn't written
a week earlier, as I had heard of them,
and knew they were just what I wanted. In
fact there was a public demand for them. I
enclosed them letters of recommendation to Jim
Collier, Bob Spiller, Jimmy Dickson, Tony
Denier, Maggie Mitchell and Buffalo Bill. I
shall watch the career of these young geniuses
with interest."
" Here is the best specimen of cheek that I
have seen lately: "
COHOES, N. Y., May 9,1881.

Mr. milton Nobles
deer Sir—My Friends advise me to go on the Stage
i thought i would right you about it and for your Advise, i am 5 ft 9 in tal, black curley hare and large
mustach. i would like to play lovers or comic parts,
can likewise sing a fine Irish song imitating pat
Rooney. if your company is full can recommend
some responsible manager who wants an actor of my
style.
Anser by return male
R. EMMET GRATTAN,

P. O. Cohoes N. Y.
" I wrote Grattan, enclosing a book of the
'Iron Chest/ and told him to go at the character of Mortimer at once, as I expected to do
the piece in Cohoes during the coming season,
and I would bring him out, I expect he is at
it,"

130

Stage

Aspirants.

" Y o u h a v e a k e e n sense of h u m o r , I perceive,"
said t h e reporter.
" My dear boy, before y o u are i n t h i s business
long, you will h a v e j u s t as k e e n a one as I h a v e .
B u t I want to show you t h e letter I received
from Miss S m i t h
T h e shock struck m e while
I was i n S a n Francisco last fall. H e r e it i s :
CINCINNATI, Ohio, Nov, 8,1880.
D E A R M R . NOBLES:

You will be surprised at receiving this letter from
a lady who is an entire stranger to you. But though
personally unknown to you, you are no stranger to me,
for I have seen your acting, and night after night have
sat enraptured beneath the spell of your genius. Have
I not seen your graceful form surrounded by cruel, devouring flames, dragged from my sight by the brave
little flower girl, while my whole being burned with a
secret desire to be in her place. But this is girlish
folly. Mr. Nobles, I believe that I was born for the
stage. I write to you thus boldly, as I am sure that
you are as good as you are handsome, and there are
not many companies that I would care to travel with.
I am not old, rather tall, brown hair, blue eyes, good
figure, and by some considered handsome. Mr. Nobles,
you are a single man—but why, this is girlish folly—I
trust you will not betray my confidence, as my family
oppose ray being an actress, especially my younger
brothers; one of them is a printer, and the other keeps
a saloon on Vine street. I have acted with amateurs,
and my friends on the papers, Mr. Charlie McLean, of

Stage Aspirants.

131

the Commercial, and Johnny McCormick, of the Enquirer, like me very much. They gave me good notices.
I enclose my picture. I t is not a good one, and my
friends think it does not do me justice. I shall never
allow that man to take me again. You can keep the
picture.
Please, dear Mr. Nobles, do not keep me long in
suspense. I feel that I must become an actress. I t
is my duty.
Affectionately yours,
J A N E A. S—ITH.

P. S.—-My stage name is Olivia Montrose.

JANE.

" I played t h a t n i g h t , b u t really h a v e n ' t felt
j u s t r i g h t since. However, I was able to write
Olivia as follows, t h e n e x t d a y :
SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Nov. 16,18c0.
D E A R E S T OLIVIA:—Why did you not write before ?

I knew that it was coming. I felt it. I had seen you
for months in my dreams. I thought at first it was
cholera morbus. Some of my friends thought I had
'em again, but when your picture came all doubt was
removed. Some men are born to these things, others
acquire them, but mine is thrust upon me. When can
you come ?
Thine ever,

MILTON.

" H e r e ' s h e r answer to t h e above o n e :
CINCINNATI, NOV. 23.1880.
D E A R E S T M I L T O N : — F o u r cherished missive is be-

fore me You forgot to send a ticket. But as I see
you are to play here in two weeks, you can send me
your plays, and I can pick out the characters I like

132

Stage Aspirants.

best, and join you when you get here. I hare a
splendid memory, and could study the flower girl in
two or three weeks easy enough. I think I would play
that, as my friends would object to my acting the one
that wears the boy's clothes. Send the play quick.
What do you pay ?
As ever,
OLIVIA.
" I replied by express. I sent her a San
Francisco directory for 7 2 , a MSS. of ' T h e
Wreck Ashore," a bottle of gargling oil and one
of Bob Ingersoll's lectures. I told her I wanted
her bad; f to hitch onto hope' and wait for
me. In this world or the next, she must be
mine. I rejoiced that it was a pure love of art,
and not drink, that had driven her to the stage.
I told her to meet me in front of the postoffice
at 2 A. M. Sunday, February 30, 1887. This
arrangement evidently was satisfactory.
I
haven't heard from her since."

A CHAT WITH THE BRAKEMAN.
E took the west-bound train at
Cedar Rapids on a bitter night
in January. I seated myself in
the smoking room for a little chat with the boys
before seeking my berth. The brakeman, well
dressed, intelligent fellow of about thirty, slipped
in and took a seat on the edge of the wash
basins after the train had pulled out. From
my seat in the smoking room I could see his
face. It was a remarkable bright face. Full
of intelligence and with a merry twinkle in the
eye, which often revealed itself as he caught
the points of the chestnuts which the boys were,
as usual, retailing between cigar puffs. Presently he took a camp stool and seated himself
by the door of the smoking room. I liked his
face, and, during a lull in the story-telling, asked
him how he could stand brakeing in such
weather without an overcoat. " 0," he replied,
" I'm dressed warm underneath, and these uni-

134

A Chat with the Brakeman.

form coats are very heavy and warm, as they
don't allow overcoats."
" It's pretty rough weather for railroading," I
suggested.
" O, yes, but then some one has to do it. We
wouldn't appreciate the good weather if we had
it all the time."
" Have you been railroading long ? "
"Yes, sir, all my life, and my father railroaded before me. I don't know why—it's hard
work and small pay—but there's something
about it that holds a man there once he gets
there." Just then we pulled by a long freight
train wliich was side-tracked. The night was
bitter cold, and the brakemen on the freight
train were hurrying from car to car, swinging
lanterns, setting brakes, and climbing up and
down the sides of the ice-covered cars. " Look
at those fellows out there. They get forty dollars a month, barely enough to keep them from
starvation, for many of them have families.
They scarcely know what it is to have a good
night's rest in a comfortable bed, or the luxury
of a square, wholesome meal. Yet there they
are year after year, facing the hail, sleet and
blizzards until they break down, get marked

A Chat with the Brakeman.

135

up, or lose a leg or an arm, and then they disappear, the Lord only knows where, and their
children follow in their wake. But you couldn't
drive 'em into anything else, that's the funny
part of it. I suppose every freight brakeman
thinks that sooner or later he will be a conductor, and eventually get a passenger train. We
all know that there are railroad presidents and
superintendents who began as brakemen, and
the biggest lunk head in the world is entirely
satisfied with himself, and hangs on waiting for
his chance to make himself solid with the
superintendent. But railroading ain't what it
used to be."
I ventured that I fancied there had been a
wonderful advance toward perfection in railroading during the past twenty years.
" 0, yes, of course," replied the brakeman,
" in the way of speed, comfort, elegance and all
that, but what I mean is that the position of
conductor on a passenger amounts to nothing
now. In the old days once a man got a passenger train on a good Eastern road he could
make himself solid for life in a year or two.
Of course, the stockholders didn't do so well,
but the conductor, if he was clever, always

136

A Chat with the Brakeman.

turned in enough to make a good showing, and
the superintendent would stand it rather than
risk a change. Sometimes one of the old conductors would get so avaricious that he couldn't
bear to divide, and off his head would go, but
he was pretty sure to have a snug home in the
city and a fine country seat and a few thousand
in bank, before he tried the grand wolf act.
You'd be astonished if you knew the number
of old New York Central conductors who are
now retired capitalists, raising large families
and attending church and prayer-meeting regularly twice a week, and all saved on seventy-five
dollars a month. But the new fangled notions
that came in with the Vanclerbilts and Goulds
knocked blazes out of the old style of getting
rich quick. The slip system was a good thing
for the stockholders, but it was rough on the
conductors. You see the great incentive that
drew a splendid body of men into the service
was removed. That's why you find so many
insignificant chumps running passenger trains.
Anybody is good enough for a conductor now."

"SARY."
KNEW her name was Sarah by reason
of the proprietor calling out " Sary I "
when I entered and seated myself at
the table. It was just after daylight, on a
bright October morning. We had come down
on the early train from Eureka, Nevada, to
Palisades, to take the overland train on the
U. P. for San Francisco. Across the road from
the little station house was a rough board
shanty where the Eureka passengers could
breakfast before the arrival of the overland. I
was first to enter, and, seating myself near the
open door, looked about for the inevitable
Chinaman, and was somewhat surprised when
the burly proprietor called out " Sary," If the
calling of her name was a surprise to me, the
appearance of "Sary" herself was in the nature
of a revelation. After an intervening period of
seven busy years I approach Sarah with terpidation, a lack of confidence, as it were, in my
ability to do full justice to the subject. Sarah

138

"Sary."

entered through a rough board door in the
rear of the room, and I had an opportunity to
measure her graceful outlines as she approached. She was about five feet eight inches
in height, and pretty much one size the entire
length. This much I saw at a glance. As she
busied herself at an adjoining table, collecting
a plate, knife and fork, glass of water and a
paper napkin, I had time to take a furtive inventory of her various effects. Her hair was a
dead, dusty red, parted in the middle and
combed straight back with great care and
scrupulous neatness, and tied in a miniature
Psyche knot. Her face was a mass of freckles.
Her nose was very short, and a pronounced
pug. Her cheek bones high, large chin, and
small, almost colorless eyes. Her lips were
very thin, giving a severe business-like expression to her face, and Sarah was "business"
from the word go. Her hands were large and
bony. She wore a calico frock, gathered at the
waist, but owing to Sarah's peculiar physical
proportions, the gathering wTasn't much to
speak of. A novice could readily discover that
Sarah scorned those matters of artificial adornment common to her sex. Aside from the

" Sary."

139

calico frock, Sarah's wearing apparel was of
the most primitive and economical character.
Corset and bustle represented unknown quantities in her make-up. At the first glance
I thought her a man in petticoats, or rather in
a calico slip. But I was wrong. She banged
the plate down in front of me, chucked the
knife, fork and spoon after it, dropped the
tumbler of water on my starboard side (such of
it as escaped my lap and the oil-cloth table
cover), and then she spoke. Whatever years
may do in the matter of effacing the minor details of scene, natural and architectural surroundings, time can never obliterate from my
memory the impression made by Sarah's voice,
and the expressive eloquence of her first vocal
effort. It struck me as though shot from a
Derringer, This is what she said :
" Beef steak er hammen neggs er liver'n
bacon?"
I paused a moment to collect my scattered
thoughts and said, mildly, " hammen neggs."
"Straight up er turned over ? "
" I beg your pardon ? " I said, apologetically.
"Straight up er turned o v e r ! " repeated
Sarah with added severity.

140

Svry."

"Which? Where? What is i t ? " I asked diffidently.
"EggsI eggs! Wantcher eggs straight up
er turned over ? "
"I—oh, yes, I see, boiled please, straight
up."
With a look of withering contempt Sarah
strode to the rear door, and I heard my order
delivered as follows : " One hammen neggs 'n
coftee. By this time several others had taken
seats at the various tables. Poor Lonny
Schwartz, who was very fat and very sleepy,
selected a seat at a table directly opposite to
mine. Sarah returned and commensed shooting off her little speech at each. The expressions on the different faces as Sarah's
" beefsteak er hammen neggs er liver 'n bacon "
struck them was an amusing study. But the
second shot, the " straight up er turned over,"
was the one that seemed to rivet the attention of
all. Each repetition would be followed by a
momentary pause. Then the victim would
look up amiably, but meeting the awful severity of Sarah's countenance, the smile would
fade away and an order would be given in a
lamb-like tone. There was a provincial bridal

"Sary."

141

couple at the opposite side of my own table,
and I shall never forget their embarrassment
when Sarah sprung hei second question
on them.
Schwartz had dropped his chin
upon his breast and was sweetly sleeping when
Sarah opened with her " beefsteak er hammen
negs er liver 'n bacon." But Lonny was too
far gone, and Sarah jabbed him in the neck
with the butt-end of a fork and shot it off
again. Lonny looked up indignantly, but one
glance at Sarah's face banished his indignation, and he ordered "liver and bacon and
eggs."
" Straight up er turned over ? "
" E h , what's t h a t ? "
" Straight up er turned over ? "
" W h o ? When? What for? What do you
mean ? " asked Schwartz, now fully awake,
" Howje want yer eggs, straight up er turned
over?"
" Oh! Straight up."
An oppressive stillness now prevailed. The
waiting guests exchanged glances with faint
smiles. The humor of the situation had forced
itself upon all, but none seemed to have
the courage to laugh outright and so relieve

142

" Sary."

the feeling of painful restraint. The silence
became more oppressive with each succeeding
moment, and was only relieved by the arrival
of Sarah with my order, which she dumped in
silence and strode to the kitchen for the next.
Swartz's order had been given last, and long
before it arrived he was again sleeping soundly. Finally it arrived and was safely landed.
The rattling of the dishes woke the comedian.
" Here's your breakfast, wake up," said Sarah
savagely.
Lonny cast a hurried glance at the dishes
and missed his principal order.
"Hold on," said the comedian," you forgot
my liver and bacon."
" Sarah gave him a savage look and started
for the kitchen. The stillness was now partially relieved by the rattling of the knives
and forks. Presently Sarah returned with a
solitary plate in her hand and dashed it down
in front of the fat comedian, exclaiming:
" There's your bacon and the cook says he'll
have yer liver'n a minute."
Lonny's eyes opened wildly and the longsuppressed volume of laughter burst forth in
mighty roars.

THE MISSION OF THE THEATRE.
H A T volumes of high sounding
nonsense have been written and
spoken upon " The Mission of
the Theatre," " T h e elevation of the Stage,"
" The Purification of the Drama, etc." For a
half dozen centuries, more or less, the subject
of the true function of the Drama has been revived with a regularity so chronic that it may
be said never to have ceased. A few years
since some eminent canons of the Established
Church and some equally eminent actors, among
them Henry Irving, met in friendly discussion
in Manchester, during which the former expressed a willingness to patronize and encourage
a " purified drama " as a " high moral teacher."
And in my humble judgment, right here is the
gulf into which the self-constituted "reformers"
of the drama plunge. The idea that any sane
person goes, or ever will go, to the theatre to
listen to a moral lecture or theological essay is
simple rot. The drama belongs essentially to
the domain of art, not ethics. People don't go

144

The Mission of the Theatre,

to church to laugh (I am not shaken in this
conviction by the fact that one eminent Brooklyn divine does not share it); neither do they
go to the art galleries or the theatre to pray.
The actor and his art have their sphere—a
sphere that has nothing in common and nothing necessarily in conflict with the theologian
or the inculcator of moral philosophy. The
church is an inherent part of our civilization,
the drama and kindred arts are the necessary
products of our culture. The representation of
the beauty, the pathos, the sublimity in nature
and in human character is the legitimate aim
of art, and when this is successfully consummated there must of necessity be a moral of
greater or less significance—but when the artist
deliberately constructs his work with a view of
pointing a moral, he violates the canons of art.
" If," says Emerson, " the eye was made for seeing, then beauty is its own excuse for being."
And in like strain Tennyson sings:
" O, to w h a t uses shall we p u t
The wildwood flower t h a t simply blows,
Or is t h e r e any moral s h u t
Within t h e bosom of t h e rose ? "

I think it an assertion susceptible of proof,
that no truly great work of art, whether in

The Mission of the Theatre.

145

painting, sculpture or literature, has for its purpose and main characteristic a definite moral
lesson capable of being expressed in didactic
form. All such works appeal directly to the
sense of the beautiful or sublime. A great
tragedy moves us to wonder, pity or terror; it
excites strong emotion and produces a peculiar
exaltation of spirit, which may indeed exert a
powerful moral effect; though that was not the
immediate end proposed by the dramatist. People go to theatres for amusement, diversion, excitement. They want to be lifted for the moment out of the dullness and pettiness of routine, out of the atmosphere of daily life, into a
region of poetry, romance and adventure. They
want to escape for a time from dull commonplace realities, and to be refreshed by glimpses
of an ideal world, fairer and brighter than that
in which their daily lot is cast. If it is the
legitimate object of art to strengthen or to
teach, that object must be attained indirectly.
Its first and nearest object is to charm and to delight. That dramatist or "reformer" will live
unrecognized and die unsung who writes and
argues from the mistaken thesis that a play
should be a sermon in disguise.

"AND THE VILLAIN STILL PURSUED HER."
ROB ABLY no current catch phrase has
been more widely quoted during the
past fifteen years than the above quotation. It is safe to say that it is in daily use
at the present time wherever the English language is spoken and, like many popular quotations, it is used by hundreds of people who
are in ignorance of its source. In 1875,
in Philadelphia, my play of T H E PHCENIX was
originally produced. It was a dramatization
by myself of a serial in one of the flash story
papers. It had previously been dramatized by
the author, and played throughout the country
under different titles until it was supposed to
have exhausted its usefulness for dramatic purposes. At this time, January, 1875, I held the
position of "leading m a n " at Col. Wood's
Museum, then one of the leading theatres of
Philadelphia. Owing to a week's bad business
the "Col." notified the company that salaries
were to be reduced. I resigned my position

" A n d the Villain Still Pursued Her"

147

rather than accept the reduction, and arranged
amicably for a " farewell benefit." At this benefit T H E PHCENIX, originally christened " Jim
Bludso," had its first representation. The caste
included as principals, beside the writer, Annie
Ward Tiffany, Emma Maddern, Agnes Proctor,
Robert Wilson, George Charles, William Davidge and J. H. Anderson. The story-writing
incident—the one original thing in the play (if
we except the young stage Hebrew of to-day,
who owes his dramatic existence to this old
play), was entirely an afterthought. The absurd
language and grotesque situations evolved by
the writers of dime novels had always seemed
excruciatingly funny to me, and I had often
thought them a fine subject for stage satire of
a broad kind, but not until twenty-four hours
preceding the production of the play had I
thought seriously of utilizing it. Indeed, the
Bohemian had not even figured in the construction of the play, my character in the first
act being instead, that of a seedy, dissipated
lawyer, a character entirely serious. Uncle
Ben Baker was our stage manager and, during
the second rehearsal of the piece, I called him
aside and read him the stuff I had got together,

148

" And the Villain Still Pursued Her.'9

to see what he thought of it. As I proceeded
Uncle Ben's genial smile broadened into a grin,
which ended in a genuine laugh. That settled
it. That afternoon I re-wrote my character in the
prologue, making him a tipsy, seedy Bohemian
story writer, for the purpose of ringing in the
little experiment, for so I still regarded it. The
rest is stage history. The old play, in its
new dress, was a pronounced success, owing,
everybody declared, to the story writing incident. The Grand Central Theatre (Philadelphia) gave me a handsome sum for a
two weeks' run, and put the play on in
fine shape. Before a week was over the
street-gamins had taken up the refrain "and
the villain still pursued her." The reporters, who seldom visited the Central to see a
drama, were soon out in force, and the local
colums of the press caught up the phrase. It
drew thousands of people to the theatre who
had never before entered a " novelty " theatre.
I received offers for engagements, which followed rapidly in New York, Brooklyn,
Baltimore, Washington, etc. Simmonds &
Slocum's Minstrels, a permanent enterprise,
were at the time located at their Arch

" And the Villain Still Pursued Her"

149

Street Opera House. George Thatcher was
a member of the company. George was
young, intelligent, ambitious, and always on
the lookout for local topics to utilize in
his quaint songs and sayings. He promptly
seized on "the villain still pursued her," and
worked it into a song, which he has made
famous. Two or three years later he went
overland with Haverly's Minstrels, and when
I took the trip with my own company the year
following, Colorado and California papers asked
why I gave Thatcher's gag line so much
prominence in my printing. Numerous other
minstrel men followed with noisy, witless imitations of Thatcher's quaint song. I remember
one of them, named DeVere, met me in a
Brooklyn street car while I was playing an engagement in that city, and asked me if I was
singing his song in my piece, as he saw it
mentioned in the synopsis. Only four or five
years ago I went to Montreal for the first time.
A local critic, a very wise and patronizing young
man, asked my agent, Mr. Murray, why I
quoted the line so extensively in my printing.
He laughed inordinately when modestly informed that I was generally supposed to be the

150

" And the Villain Still Pursued Her"

author of the phrase. " What nonsense," he
exclaimed, " why I have been using it in my
locals for ten years." "Yes," replied Murray,
"that's about the age of it." The reporter
laughed heartily, and said he had met and read
about cheeky agents, but this was the climax.
" By the way," asked Murray, " if Nobles didn't
write it, who did ? " A painful stillness ensued
during which the reporter discovered that he
didn't just remember. "However," he said,
" 'tis as good as sure that it's somewhere in
Dickens'. I'll look it up before your star gets
here and be ready for him." " Do," said the
agent, " and spring it on him the morning after
he opens. Nobles will enjoy the joke as heartily as any one."
As it was not " sprung " on me during my
Montreal engagement, I presume the reporter
didn't find time to run through his Dickens.

STAGE ANECDOTES.
WELL known actor named Ljj^ was some years since a member of
the stock company at Mrs. Drew's
Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia. On a certain occasion he was very imperfect and substituted much of his own language, of rather a
poor quality, for that of the author. He got
through, however, and went into the greenroom to shake hands with himself. Mrs. Drew,
who had been in her box during his worst
scene, quietly followed him into the room unperceived. L—
swelled up in front of the
mirror, stroked his black moustache, and delivered himself something after this fashion:
" £,—
y 0 U handsome cuss, you always get
there, don't you ? Can't stick you. You didn't
speak much of the author, but you gave them
plenty of L
, and they didn't know the
difference." " Do you think so ? " came in the
tragic tones of Mrs. Drew from the open door.

152

Stage Anecdotes.

L—
turned around aghast. " I desire to
congratulate you, Mr. L—
." " Oh, indeed,
thank you," replied L, now quite at ease.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Drew, " I desire to
congratulate you upon the fact that Lindley
Murray was not in front," and she swept out of
the room.
" Lindley Murray," repeated L — — - turning
to Mrs. Jamieson, " who the dickens is Lindley
Murray, one of the stockholders?"

"PICKLES."
THE late Barney Macauley was a man of
strong individuality and pronounced traits.
Barney's profanity was a specialty. About
1874, among the army of supers at Wood's
Theatre was a long, lank six-foot gawk, known
to the stage hands as Pickles. Pickles graduated from supe to assistant "props." Pickles
was as slim as a rail. His hair was red and his
face freckled. His eyes were small and his nose
was large. He wore a 6J hat and a No. 10
boot, and his hands looked like a pair of hams.

Stage Anecdotes.

153

But Pickles soon developed a specialty. He
had a genius for falling over furniture during
quiet scenes. The stage at Wood's was small,
and Pickles' feet were out of proportion to his
surroundings. Pickles particularly distinguished himself on the first night that he assisted " props." Clara Morris was playing Camille, the dishes, wine glasses and remnants of
the supper scene had been carefully piled on a
large tray, and placed in the property room.
During the closing scene of the play, and at
the moment when the dying Camille, with a
convulsive sob sinks upon Armand's breast, the
death-like stillness of the scene was broken by
an unearthly crash. Pickles had gathered up
the tray of dishes to return them to the restaurant, and as Camille through her flowing tears
cried, " 0 Armand! Armand ! you have come?"
Pickles fell over one of his feet and was buried
under the wreck of broken china. Macauley,
who was in a box crying like a big school-boy,
rushed back to Mehen. "What in h—1 was
that ? " thundered Macauley. " What ? " asked
Mehen, who was crying over the prompt book.
"That d—d crash, that earthquake," yelled
Macauley. " Oh, I guess it was Pickles," said

154

Stage Anecdotes.

Mehen. "Pickles?" roared Macauley, "who
in h—1 is Pickles ? " " Why, he's Props' new
assistant." "Where is he? where is h e ? "
shouted Barney, rushing for the property room,
but Pickles had heard the signals of danger,
and made his escape to the fly-gallery.
A few weeks later, a new emotional drama
was being played. Macauley was in the cast,
doing the wronged husband business. At the
end of one of the acts, there was a child's death
scene. The little flaxen-haired candidate for
angelic honors had just began to see and hear
things after the manner of all well-regulated
stage deaths. Barney as the wronged husband
and suffering father, was kneeling by the bedside. " See! papa, see! " said the dying innocent, " 0 , what beautiful children with long,
golden hair, and wings like the rainbows, and
" now they sing so sweetly—listen papa, listen!
and tell me what you hear." **At that moment,
Pickles, who had been struggling to get an old
bureau down stairs into the store-room, got his
feet tangled and fell down stairs backwards and
the bureau after him. Barney raised himself
to his full six feet two beside his dying child
and answered, " Pickles, by the Gods 1"

Stage Anecdotes.

155

MR. J. DUKE MURRAY, the popular business

manager, who, as is well known, is the lineal descendant of a line of Scottish kings, was an
actor before joining the great army of " press
workers," " star makers," and " fame builders."
When I say that he was an actor, I should
probably qualify the statement, as there seems
to be conflicting opinions upon the subject—
however, Duke used to play parts, principally
low comedy. About twenty years ago Duke
was working " props " and doing " utility " with
a western traveling company.
The management put up thg SEA OF ICE, and found themselves short of a Captain DeLascour.
Duke was six feet three, and as thin as a rail,
but the manager concluded that with judicious
padding Duke would make an imposing figure
as the heroic captain of the Urania. It was the
most important character " p r o p s " had ever
been cast for, but his ambition was equal to the
emergency. The company had three or four
days in which to study and rehearse the piece.
The captain has one speech that always, in the
language of the rural critic, " brings down the
house." When he learns that his crew has
mutinied, and that not only his noble ship

156

Stage Anecdotes.

but the lives of his wife and child are at the
mercy of the young Spanish adventurer, in
wild desperation he cries, " Monster, take my
life, but spare, 0, spare my wife and child! "
Duke, whose efforts had up to this time been
confined to making announcements and doing
the big policeman who comes on when the row
is over and drags off a small boy, felt that his
opportunity had come at last, and visions of
"leading juveniles" at McVicker's floated
dimly before him. The leader of the orchestra
was Duke's room-mate, and like all leaders he
knew all about acting, or thought he did, and
began coaching Duke for the great event.
They were playing in Iowa City that week at
the old Ham's Hall. Duke and the leader had
a room on the top floor of the St. James Hotel,
and when they got in at night and commenced
rehearsing the great scene, the landlord thought
the house had been struck by a blizzard. All
of the guests on the second floor came down to
the office in their night shirts, and one nervous
man made a rope of the bed clothing and let
himself down to the street. The landlord got
a step-ladder and looked over the transom.
Hogan, the leader, was seated on the window-

Stage Anecdotes.

157

sill, book in hand. Two candles and five empty
beer bottles were ranged across a corner of the
room to represent foot-lights, and the embryo
tragedian (clad in a solitary garment, abreviated
as to length), was striding wildly about the
little garret after the manner of a caged lion.
The eventful night arrived. Hogan had impressed his pupil with the importance of not
acting at the regular rehearsals. "Walk
through at rehearsal" he would say, "hold
yourself for the night, and then paralyze 'em."
Duke felt his fame assured. At the last
rehearsal he called the manager aside and
asked: " If I make a success of this part will
you raise my salary ? "
" I will try to raise a part of it for ye, me
boy," answered the manager.
The curtain rose on the play fraught with
fate. Hogan was on an elevated seat ready to
start the applause whenever his pupil scored a
point. Duke held himself for his great speech.
The cue came. The leader laid down his
fiddle and got ready to start the applause.
Duke gave him a look which said plainly,
"Keep your eye on me, here's where I hog
'em."

158

Stage Anecdotes.

"Monster," he roared, "Monster! spare my
life, but take, 0 , take my wife and child !"
Hogan fell off his seat and upset the bass
fiddler, the audience yelled, and the tragic scene
became a howling farce.
MR. JOHN ROGERS, the " hustling " manager

of Minnie Palmer, was about twenty years ago
call boy at Wood's Theatre, Cincinnati, under
the management of the late Barney Macauley.
John tried to be an actor once, and only once.
A drama was put on which required the full
strenghth of the company, and at rehearsal it
was found that a small servant's character was
still unprovided for. Harry Mehen, who was
stage manager, summoned Rogers and told him
to rehearse it. He had but one entrance and
one line to speak, which was, " My lord, a messenger from your honored father desires to see
you." Rogers was dumped into a livery about
four sizes too large for him. The collar of the
coat completely hid his ears, and his hands were
lost in the sleeve somewhere between the cuff
and elbow. The vest just reached to his knees.
John paced up and down behind the scenes for
an hour, going through his solitary line. Just

Stage Anecdotes,

159

before the time for him to go on, Macauley
came back upon the stage and caught a sight
of him. " What's that ? " said Barney. "What's
w h a t ? " asked Mehen. "This," said Barney,
taking hold of Rogers' coat collar and pulling
it completely over his head. Just then "My
lord" gave Rogers his cue. " That's you,"
shouted Mehen, " go on," and Rogers with the
line frightened out of him was pushed on the
stage. Working his head up through his coatcollar, John with his knees knocking together,
tried to speak his line, but his tongue seemed
glued to his mouth. Finally, after three or four
desperate efforts, he stammered, " My lord—my
lord—my lord, I—I—I knew d
d well I'd
stick," all in one tone. Macauley, who had
been standing in the entrance observing the
exhibition, picked up a ten-foot scene brace and
reached for Rogers, fixed the hook in the end of
the brace firmly in his coat collar and yanked
him off the stage, his head entirely disappearing under his coat. That ended Rogers' career
as an actor.
JOHN E. OWENS used to tell the following
good one, at his own expense. Many years
ago he was touring the West, The night fol-

160

Stage Anecdotes.

lowing a performance of Solon Shingle and
the Live Indian in an Indiana town, the company took the train for Indianapolis. A hayseed, who had evidently witnessed the performance the night before, spotted Owens, and,
after sundry remarks about the weather, asked
whether he belonged to the "show." Owens
answered that the " s h o w " belonged to him,
which amounted to the same thing. Hayseed
remarked: " I thought I knowed you, that's
why I spoke. You acted the clown fust rate.
I've got a boy to h u m that 'ud make a fust rate
clown, and I just thought I kinder inquire if
you couldn't give him a job. He's just full of
comic capers, and last night when me and the
old woman was a lookin' at you cuttin' up
monkey-shines, Martha said to me: ' Reuben,
that's wot our boy ought to be a doin.' An
that's why I mention it. I'm sure Rube would
make a fortin' among you clowns, for he's a
reglar sort of a natoral born dam fool anyway."
M C K E A N BUCHANNAN was quite famous as a
tragedian of the barn storming order some twenty
years ago. " Mac," as he was familiarly called,
was a very successful poker player. It was his

Stage Anecdotes.

161

custom after paying salaries to his company to
organize a friendly game of " draw" after the
play. It's needless to say that the salaries
always found their way back to their original
source. It is said that this peculiar managerial
tactics enabled the tragedian to keep on the road
in the face of very bad business. C. W. Couldock once met the tragedian at a small town in
Ohio, and engaged in a friendly set to "after the
show." Mac won Gouldock's last dollar, then
lent him twenty to continue his journey and
took his note. As they were parting at the
depot, Buchannan said: "Charley, I want to
play in New York. I want to show 'em there
what acting really is. Can't you give me a
letter of introduction to some of the managers ? "
" Why certainly," replied Couldock, and taking
from his pocket the blank leaf of a letter, he
penciled the following:
WM. WHEATLEIGH, ESQ., MANAGER, NEW YORK
CITY:

:—This will introduce the eminent Western tragedian, Mr. McKean Buchannan. He wants to
play in New York. I have seen him play Macbeth,
Richelieu and poker. He plays the latter best.
DEAR SIR

C. W . COUL.DOOK

162

Stage Anecdotes.

the Montana manager,
was some years ago manager of the theatre in
Portland, Oregon. Maguire had succeeded in
making an engagement with Lawrence Barrett
to visit Portland. The week: preceding Barrett's
engagement, Maguire had his annual benefit.
His individual part of the performance was a
recitation of " The Charge of the Light Brigade."
At the end of his "wild charge" John was
called in front of the curtain, of course, to receive his gold-headed cane, etc. After thanking the mayor and fellow-citizens for this " u n expected testimonial," etc., John proceeded to
announce the Barrett engagement, and concluded by saying that " owing to the great expense attending this engagement it would be
necessary to charge two dollars for reserved
seats." Maguire started to bow himself off,
when a rich brogue from the gallery shouted,
" 0 , the woild charge tha ? m a d e ! "
M R . JOHN MAGUIRE,

LOCAL rivalry is supposed to have reached a
climax when the Minneapolis man got up and
left the church because the preacher took his
text from St, P a u l A rivalry about gis intense

Stage Anecdotes.

163

has for years existed between Syracuse and
Rochester, N. Y. George Miln, the tragedian,
was recently playing " Damon and Pythias " in
Rochester. In his first soliloquy, Damon says,
"There is no public virtue left in Syracuse,"
the sentence had barely escaped his lips when
a small boy in the gallery asked, " Wot's de
matter wid Rochester?" "O, she's all right,"
echoed the entire gallery, and then the play
proceeded.

WRECKED GENIUSES.
LGERNON A R T H U R returns to his
native town fresh from college, with
his mind resolved and his hair
banged. He has written three poems and several essays for the college monthly, and the
professor of Greek has assured him that he is
destined to shine in literature or journalism.
He drops into the office of the Tri-weehly Palladium and reads his poems to the editor. His
father is mayor of the town and holds a mortgage on the Palladium press, so of course the
editor treats him civilly. During the summer
he grinds out three or four yards of doggerel,
writes some society personals, evolves two or
three alleged humorous paragraphs and touches
up the tariff. He is now a journalist. A Rochester daily desiring at short notice to replace
a dead liver-pad " ad.," has inadvertently copied
one of his poems. The editor of a small magazine stumbled across it, and having probably
^

Wrecked Geniuses.

165

been out late the night before, fancied he detected a thotight in it and run it in on the last
page to fill an odd space adjoining a soap " ad."
From here it naturally gravitated to the Palladium columns, where it was reproduced with a
glowing eulogy of the world-famous author.
Algernon now moved on the metropolis, his
head stuffed with thoughtless flattery, and his
valise stuffed with thoughtless manuscript. He
was a little surprised at first to find that his
fame had not preceded him to that extent which
he had supposed. His card did not create the
flutter in the magazine offices which he had a
right to anticipate. Indeed, some editors sent
out a boy to ask who he was and what he wanted.
After two or three months spent in the vain
endeavor to secure a hearing in the magazines,
he commenced to work the dailies with little
better success. Algernon now frequently sought
consolation in that refuge of weak minds, the
winecup. Occasionally he worked a few verses
one of the Sunday weeklies—then he began in
doing space work on street fights, small burglaries, wife beaters, etc. He also neglected his
linen and shaved only semi-occasion ally.
The end of a year found him seedy, tipsy,

166

Wrecked Geniuses.

dead broke, and a chronic beat, and his honest,
hard-working associates were always ready to
give him a lift. " Poor fellow, what a pity! "
" Wonderfully bright, if he could let liquor
alone." " H a s written verses worthy of Swinburne." " Has the wild gifts of Poe, but can't
keep sober." These are the kind of remarks
frequently lieard. In fact, Algernon is now a
fully equipped Wrecked Genius.
I n a year or two he will die in the hospital
or inebriate asylum, and if his body escapes the
dissecting knife, his good-natured companions
will " chip in " all around, and stow him snugly
away in Cypress Hill, and hold him down with
a broken column.

AT the tender age of six years, Raphael
Dusenbury gave evidence of the possession of
those gifts which were to make his name famous
in the world of art. Attention was first attracted to those gifts by a few humorous drawings on the fly-leaf of his mother's prayer-book,
executed between the "firstly" and "lastly" of
one of the Rev. Podgram's sermons. At ten,
Raphael had so far developed as to make copies

Wrecked Geniuses.

167

of the most striking figures on the circus posters.
His mother bought him an outfit of colors and
he filled in the figures. Nothing could have
been more striking than the pink eyes, green
legs and blue hair with which he adorned the
young lady who was jumping through the hoop
of fire. This bit of art gave Master Raphael
great celebrity, and probably had much to do
with the shaping of his career. He took all the
prizes for drawing at the public school, and
during his first term at college, two of his landscapes were exhibited and raffled off at the annual church fair in his native town. One of
them was won by the clerk in the post-office,
and as he slept in the office and had no place
to hang it, lie lent it to the postmaster (who was
also president of the National Bank), and he
h u n g it in his parlor. The Young Ladies' Aid
Society bought the other from the colored man
who won it, and voted it to the editor of the
Weekly Vindicator.
The prominence thus given to his earliest
ambitious efforts no doubt greatly enhanced his
already growing reputation. He received several orders for pictures, among them one from
the editor of the Clarion, and another from the

168

Wrecked Geniuses.

vice-president of the bank. With this powerful recognition of his genius, Raphael now felt
his fame assured, and at the end of his first
term quit college and devoted himself entirely
to art. Raphael's great specialty was rapidity,
and during the three months following his
withdrawal from college he had painted several
yards of pictures; but the demand for green
cows, blue trees, chrome yellow water and pink
grass was rather dull, so he cut the pictures off
into different sizes and moved on the metropolis, where he felt sure of appreciation.
He was somewhat astonished upon his arrival
to find the market flooded, and he was hurt
when the art stores didn't seem anxious to frame
any of his pictures, and give them conspicuous
places. He hired a small room and stored his
treasures under the bed, meantime continuing
to spoil more nice, clean canvas. He made his
headquarters at a neighboring beer saloon, and
as the good-natured Teuton had allowed him
to run a bill, he finally got even by having
Raphael fresco the walls. His red windmills,
green sky, blue peasant girl and babbling brook
of old-gold water made a sensation, and secured

Wrecked Geniuses.

169

him several orders for similar specimens of
decorative art.
But the enemy of genius had marked him
for her own. Tortured by lack of appreciation
and stung by the prosperity of inferior rivals,
his brilliant mind was almost constantly obscured by mortification and beer. He allowed
his hair and beard to grow, and with a portion
of the proceeds of the beer saloon frescoes he
bought a velvet coat and a big hat. He also
got a shirt with a large rolling collar, and began
gradually to work himself into that state of
mental imbecility necessary to the successful
representation of a Wrecked Genius. His inevitable approach to this state could be readily
detected by his absent-mindedness in forgetting
to change his shirt, and his evident repugnance
to soap and water on all occasions. The end
of the second year finds him back in his native
town—his velvet coat is faded and brown, his
beard is long, his hair is matted and his proboscis blossoms like the rose. His poor old
mother, who is now a widow, manages to keep
the wolf from the door by taking boarders in
the heavily mortgaged homestead. If Raphael
is occasionally caught sober, he does an odd bit

i70

Wrecked Geniuses.

of sign-painting or frescoes the hotel omnibus,
but his principal energies are devoted to holding down a chair in the beer saloon, and posing
as a Wrecked Genius.
MR. WILLIAM MCSWEENEY (Stage name T.
Garrick Burke), during the "palmy days" of
the drama held, with credit, a minor position
in stock companies, playing in Pittsburg, Cincinnati, Louisville and Cleveland. Mr. Burke
was a young man of fair intelligence, limited
education and talent enough, properly applied,
to have kept him steadily employed at a good
living salary, with certainty of advancement to
the limit of hi& ability, Mr. Burke had a little
vein of humor which occasionally cropped out
in light comedy characters. But Burke had
one great talent, which was also his greatest
misfortune.
He was a capital story-teller off
the stage. He was what in the profession is
known as a " bar-room comedian," a style of
comedian who is immensely entertaining off
the stage, but seldom funny on it. But his
story-telling and funny recitations gave him
great popularity with the " gang."

A new drama was produced in which a char-

Wrecked Geniuses.

171

acter fell to Burke that seemed to have been
written to fit his peculiarities of figure, gesture,
manner, speech and gait. It was a dramatic
affinity and he made a great success. It was
the turning point in his career—it was such an
occasion as has often happened and will continue to happen to stock actors. If the actor
has some real ability and a level head, it of
course will make his reputation and in many
cases his fortune. If, on the other hand, as
often happens, he has little or no real ability
and a head susceptible of spontaneous enlargement, the chances are that it will eventuate in
making him a Wrecked Genius.
Burke captured the town and was the theatrical hero of the hour. No thought was given
to the experienced dramatist who had written
the bright lines, conceived the striking situations and formulated the intricate stage business—it was all Burke in more senses than one,
for as a matter of fact he had simply played
himself. But the general public, who knew
nothing of the man personally, accepted it as
a creation, and the little inner circle had " always said Burke would get there if he got half
a chance."

172

Wrecked Geniuses.

The piece ran for two weeks, at the end of
which Burke had actually supplanted the " first
comedian" in fickle popular favor. During
the second week he asked for a raise of salary
which was refused. Then he gave two weeks'
notice. During his last week, in different
characters, his work ranged as usual from
mediocre to bad. But it was Burke and it
must be funny, so everybody laughed. Burke
published his press notices in the theatrical
journals, which consumed his season's savings.
He also announced that he was open for
starring engagements. There was no great
struggle among managers or capitalists as to
who should secure his services, but he had
letters from several authors who had plays to
sell.
Burke had now been on a spree for about ten
days, and his particular friends and admirers
had been helping him along. He finally brought
up in the station-house, where he sobered up
and found that he was penniless. He tried to
borrow a few dollars from the "gang," who
had been laughing at his stories and swelling
his head with flattery and bad advice, but they
were all terribly hard pushed for ready money

Wrecked Geniuses.

173

just at that time. One or two doled out a pittance as though giving alms to a beggar. Then
one of them suggested that he take a benefit.
The friend waited upon the manager and the
latter reluctantly gave up a night for bare expenses, rather than antagonize Burke's 'friends/
Then the papers began to work up the benefit.
Of course Burke's great success and sudden
popularity was so recent that the theatre would
not hold the people and the great local favorite
would start for New York in flying colors to organize his starring tour. Just six weeks from
the night of his great professional triumph his
benefit occurred. Alas! how ephemeral is
fame. The house was one-third filled. Such
of the "gang" as had received free tickets for
working up the benefit formed a noisy and conspicuous group in a proscenium box—the rest
were conspicuous by reason of their absence.
The benefit left Burke in debt to the manager
just seventy-eight dollars. Then his fellowplayers, who were not geniuses, but plain everyday actors, who attended to their business, supported their families and avoided bar-rooms
and the " gang," chipped in five dollars a piece
and shipped him off to New York in respect-

174

Wrecked Geniuses.

able shape. He had letters of introduction to
"critics " and "journalists " galore. In a week
or two his great talent as a " bar-room comedian" had made him very popular with the
" gang. Then he got a chance to do a recitation and tell a few funny gags at a big charity
benefit. The paragraphed picked him up and
kept his name constantly going the rounds
after this fashion:
"The inimitable comedian, Garrick Burke,
will shortly start on his starring tour. This
famous comedian has had several offers to appear at a local theatre."
" The original humorist and comedian, Burke,
will shortly star in a farce-comedy from the pen
of a well-known New York journalist."
Finally an " angel" was found in the person
of a very young man whose mother had recently died and left him three or four thousand
dollars. The poor boy was talked into paying
some miserable scribbler a thousand dollars for
a lot of rot concocted from old farces, and which
any stage manager would have thrown together
in two days for twenty-five dollars. The "star"
received an advance of five hundred. Mr. Ike
Rosenbud, "ye hustling agent and press worker"

Wrecked Geniuses.

175

was engaged at a salary of seventy-five dollars
a week, receiving two weeks in advance. (Mr.
Rosenbud had formerly been a circus programmer at twelve dollars a week). Then came
printers and lithographers — there were ten
highly colored lithographs of Burke in as
many different attitudes. In one he held a
high hat in his left hand with an overcoat
thrown carelessly over his arm, while his right
held a cane. In another he wore the cap and
bells of Touchstone, his hand resting on an
open volume of Shakespeare.
(Mr. Burke's
acquaintance with Shakespeare was limited to
a few performances of the second grave digger,
which he doubled with Bernardo, and like
characters in the old acting editions. Aside
from these he had probably never read a line
of Shakespeare in his life).
A third represented him in full evening dress, posed in
heroic attitudes on the stage, with a monstrous
theatre crowded in every tier, and in the boxes
faces of well-known statesmen, soldiers, poets,
politicians and club men. There was also a
full sheet lithograph in five colors of Mr. Ike
Rosenbud, with a small medallion of the
managerial victim in the lower corner.

176

Wrecked Geniuses.

Rehearsals had now commenced and the
various " artists" had bled the embryo manager
for sums varying from ten to a hundred dollars
each. Before the opening date had arrived the
manager had spent his last dollar, and mortgaged his little homestead in New Jersey.
Burke kept himself half-full day and night, but
continued to tell funny stories to the " gang,"
and the paragraphs continued to circulate.
Owing to circumstances beyond their control, the
company did not open in a New York theatre,
but gave their first performance in Elizabeth or
Trenton. The Associated Press dispatches recorded the affair in all of the New York papers.
" The play and star made a tremendous success.
The house was not large but was very enthusiastic. The piece was rather draggy at times,
but this was owing to incompetent people, who
would be replaced at once, when with a little
judicious pruning it would prove a laughing
'cyclone/ " etc., etc. Yet, somehow, Friday of
the first week found Burke and his companions
back in New York. Then followed the war of
cards in the theatrical papers: " Incompetent
manager;" "drunken agent;" " printing not up
in time;" "press not properly worked;" "Burke's

Wrecked Geniuses

177

portraits nowhere to be seen, but the agent's in
every window;" " wretched support;" " will
re-organize under able management;" " playto be extensively re-written by Col. Mulligan
Bilkes," etc., etc. Meantime the poor managerial
victim having had his experience, and being
of the right sort, took off his coat, buckled
down to work and got even. Otherwise he
would have become a sot, a criminal, or a
suicide.
Two or three responsible managers offered
Burke a good salary and a better position than
he had ever held or ever could have held on his
merits, but no—he had been a "star" and could
not afford to sacrifice his position. Another
" angel" was found who took out the reorganized company with a result similar to his pred ecessor's. Then Burke, after working the lunch
routes for a few weeks and borrowing odd half
dollars from the plain, every-day actors, accepted an engagement in a responsible company with the understanding that he was to
have his lithograph in the windows and his
name starred in the cast.
The manager advanced money to get him
a decent suit of clothes and settled his board

178

Wrecked Geniuses,

bill. He had never seen him act, but he
had heard him tell some funny stories and read
so much about him that he knew he must be
great. But somehow Burke didn't catch on.
The business manager wired the manager asking where he dug it up. On the third night
Burke was too " indisposed " to appear, necessitating a substitute at short notice. The few in
the audience who discovered the change thought
it a decided improvement to the cast, but still
Burke's "eccentricity " added to his reputation
as a genius. Then the manager went on to
Rochester to see the show. His experienced
eye took the measure of the man in his first
scene.
" How shall we get rid of h i m ? " asked the
manager.
11
Leave that to me," said the business manager. " I'll bill him very heavy, with big puffs
in the country papers, and by the time he gets
two weeks' salary his head will begin to swell.
Then I'll stop using his lithographs and put
his name in small type like the rest, and he
won't be seen.
Then he will kick and wire
you, back-capping me for not billing him. Then
you wire him that I am the manager, and he

Wrecked Geniuses.

179

must fix it with me
Then he will resign—
see?"
The experiment worked exactly as the shrewd
business manager had prophesied. Then came
a few more cards in the theatrical papers,
Burke was back in his old haunts telling his
chestnuts, and the paragraphs were again working his next starring tour. Burke now began
to affect the cynic and sneer at the "variety
hams," "one-part actors," etc. He would also
ask, "where did he come from ?" "J never heard
of him !" " I'd like to see him in a stock company doing the line of work I did." "Actor ?
Actor nothing! he is simply a specialty performer—they don't want actors now" Burke
had now entered upon his career as a Wrecked
Genius. He went out with several "snaps,"
sometimes holding out for two wreeks, but oftener
for two nights. With each return to the metropolis his cynicism became emphasized, his coat
shinier and his nose became redder. He also
became noticeable by that trademark of all
Wrecked Geniuses, soiled linen.

RUNNING CONVERSATIONS.
HERE is something radically wrong
with our humane societies," said the
fat comedian, " when a chicken that
has reached this age is not safe from the rude
clutch of the lunch counter dyspepsia propagator. Two weeks ago we made this run, and
I spent the entire ten minutes over that drumstick. The girl took my half dollar like a little
man, however, and just as we pulled out I saw
her dump the unscarred drumstick on a clean
plate and shove it over to a drummer, who ran
in from the East-bound train. The latter evidently had no better success with it than myself, as I see it is still on deck."
" Sixty-five cents, please," said the young
woman with watery eyes and red hair.
"What for?"
"Chicken, coffee and bisquit."
" But I didn't eat any chicken."
" Well, it was there in front of you, wasn't it?"

Running Conversations,

181

" Yes, and so was the water-cooler and show
case, but I didn't eat 'em, did I? Besides I
paid you for that piece of chicken when I was
here two weeks ago, and I dare say you've been
getting fifty cents for it an average of three
times a day ever since. Some people are never
satisfied."
" How do you know it's the same one ? "
" Because I drove a tooth-pick into it with my
umbrella handle, and there it is—see it? "

" ALL out for Schenectady! " yelled the brakeman.
"Has the Skeneatelas accomodation gone
yet? " asked the fat comedian.
" Yes, ten minutes ago."
" I thought this train connected?"
" So it does, some days,"
" Well, why didn't the trains connect to-day?"
" What's that about Schenectady ? r
" Who said anything about Schenectady?"
" You did,"
" No, I didn't."
" Well, what did you say ? "

182

Running Conversations.

" I simply asked an explanation of the failure
of the trains to connect to-day/*
"There ain't no failure of the train to Schenectady. This is the train and we're forty
minutes late—all out for Schenectady."
" Did you say this was Schenectady ? "
" Yes—didn't you hear me ? "
" I thought I heard something like it. Hold
on! don't pull the bell."
" What I Do you get off here ? "
"No; I just want to change my watch to
Central time."
" WOOSTER ! All out for Wooster I " cried the
brakeman.
"What town did you say this was?" asked
the fat comedian.
" Wooster."
"I don't see any such name on this timetable."
"Then you had better learn to read. What
do you call that right there?"
" I call that W-O-R-C-E-S-T-E-R, and Fd like
to know how you make Wooster out of it."
" Maybe you'd better get off here and teach
'em how to pronounce their own name,"

Running Conversations

183

r

- I'll write to 'em about it. What time are
we due in Rooster ?"
" Due where ? "
" In Rooster."
" There ain't no such town on the road."
"Then what do you call this—R-O-C-HE-S-T-E-R?"
" I call that Rochester/'
" Why don't you call it Rooster ? "

"Do WE make a close connection at Salamanca ? " asked the fat comedian. >.
li
Yes, I guess so," said the brakeman.
" Why don't you know ? " asked the fat man,
" I do know, only I forget. Time changes at
Salamanca and I always get mixed on the Central and Eastern time."
" What time do we run on ? "
" Central."
" And what time does the R, & E. run on ? "
" Eastern, I think—no; Central, I guess, or
else—damifino."
" Well, I see we arrive in Salamanca at 8:37
and leave at 8:15 for Corry, so we must lay there
all night."

184

Running Conversations.

" Lay where all night—in Corry ? "
" No; in Salamanca."
"What do you want to lie in Salamanca all
night for?"
" I don't want to; that's what I'm saying.
I'm due in Erie at 10:45."
"Then you change at Salamanca and Corry."
" I know that as well as you do."
" Then what did you ask me for ? "
" I didn't ask you about changes. I asked
about connections."
"Well, I told you, didn't I? Salamanca/
Ten minutes for refreshments! "
FAT comedian (at lunch counter, to hardlooking citizen with dirty hands, in attendance):
" What kind of pie you got? "
" Apple and mince."
" Make the mince-meat yourself? "
"No, I didn't."
" Then gimme some."
Brakeman to fat comedian: " I was right
about that; time changes here and you lay
over fifty minutes."
"Then what in blazes made you say ten
minutes for refreshments."

Running Conversations.

185

" You don't want fifty minutes to eat a piece
of pie, do you ? "
" That depends on the pie. I can eat Salamanca pie in ten minutes, but I need the other
forty for thought; and then again it gives me
time to wire ahead to Erie whether they are to
engage a doctor or notify the coroner."
" All aboard for Bradford."
" EXCUSE me for a minute," said the brakeman, with a suddenness that wakened the fat
comedian from a comfortable nap; " but we're
just making the Wild Gulch trestle, and I want
to stand on the platfoym until we are safely
across." The fat comedian jumped nimbly
into the isle and held onto a seat until the train
reached terra firma. " Do you know," continued
the brakeman, returning and seating himself
nervously, "whenever the train touches that
trestle, my blood seems to stop circulating, my
skin gets clammy and my back seems to kinder
open and shut like."
" Is it considered unsafe ?" asked the comedian anxiously.
" No, not that exactly, but I had a terrible
adventure on that trestle about a year ago,"

186

Running Conversations.

" What kind of an adventure ?"
" Did'nt you read about it in the papers?"
" I expect I did, I read everything, but I
don't just recall this one. What was the nature
of i t ? "
" It was headed l Remarkable Presence of
Mind of a Brakeman.' It was in all the papers
and the Police Gazette had a full-page picture
of it."
" Guess I must have missed it," said the comedian, "got a copy of one of the papers? "
" No, I only bought one copy. I sent that to
the step-mother of a girl I was spooney on, to
make an impression, and before I could get
another copy, they were all bought up."
"To bad," said the comedian. "But can't
you tell me about it ? "
" Yes, I can, but my nervous system gets all
upset whenever I get to thinking about it."
" Take a mouthful of tonic before you commence," said the fat comedian, reaching for his
overcoat. The brakeman disappeared between
the seats for a moment, and then rose to the
surface with the tears streaming from his eyes.
" Great Jonah," he gasped, " where did you

get that?"

Running Conversations.

187

" Brought it from New York with me. How
is it ? "
"Immense," said the brakeman, gasping
wildly.
"Don't get that sort of stuff very often, do
you?" asked the comedian.
" Not very," said the brakeman, reaching for
the water cooler, as the comedian replaced his
b@ttle of liver regulator in his overcoat pocket.
" But about your terrible adventure ?"
" 0 yes. Well you see, it was this way. It was
a blizzard night in February. I never experienced anything like it. Several trains in
Kansas were blown completely off the track.
I was braking on a freight then, and we reached
that trestle about three o'clock in the morning.
I had crawled into the caboose to thaw the
icicles off my hair and nose, when the engineer
sounded down brakes. 1 jumped on top of the
rear car and we got her stopped just before the
engine touched the trestle. I ran along the
tops of the cars up to the locomotive. There
had been a heavy storm and the gulch was
terribly swollen, with a raging torrent of water
and ice, and the engineer stopped before going
onto the trestle, as a sort of precaution. Just as

188

Running Conversations.

I reached the front car he sounded off brakes,
and threw her wide open and started over the
trestle wild. The train was a corker—thirty-eight
box and nine platform cars. I started to run back
as the train moved forward. It was a sharp
down-grade onto the trestle, and in about a
minute she was flying. The tops of the cars
were covered with ice, and the wind and sleet
was blowing afeout sixty miles an hour I
slipped and fell two or three times, but caught
myself each time; once I fell between the cars
head first, but caught the ladder with my toes
and crawled back again. That was where my
old circus experience came in handy, I had just
reached about the middle of the train when a
blast of wind and sleet struck me as though it
had been shot out of a cannon. It blew me
clean off the train. You see it is a flat trestle,
with no frame-work above the track to catch
me, and I started for the torrent below. Now
here is where the presence of mind comes in :
I had got about half way to the water, going
down head first; I could see the broken ice and
drift-wood tearing and roaring under the
bridge. A sense of the awful death before me
suddenly dawned on me, and so gathering all my

Running Conversations.

189

strength I turned and jumped back just in
time to catch the rear platform of the
caboose."
"Chestnuts! roasted chestnuts!" called the
candy butcher, while a well developed snore
from the big overcoat indicated that the fat
comedian was sleeping sweetly.
"Too bad, too bad, too b a d ! " said the fat
comedian, a half hour later, as he dropped the
newspaper on his knee, and put his hand over
his eye as though to shut out a painful vision.
" What's too bad ? " asked the brakeman,
slipping into the vacant seat.
" Those terrible storms in Dakota. A man
actually perished between his own barn and
hen coop, and another lost between the house
and well, and his frozen body found within
twenty yards of his own door. But that school
teacher was a brick who tied the little children
together with their apron strings and got them
all safely sheltered, though badly frozen herself. 1 suppose," said the comedian, thoughtfully, " n o person can possibly realize the terrors of a northern snow storm from a mere cold
word painting."

190

Running Conversations.

"Ever seen one yourself?" asked the brakeman.
" What! me ? Well I should think so."
" I n Dakota?"
"' No, in Montana, way back in the sixties. Before the days of railroads, when we traveled in
mud wagons and Concord coaches instead of
palace cars. I was a member of Jack Langrishe's Dramatic Company then. One ciisp
morning in January, 1867, we started in an old
mountain coach, drawn by six bronchos. We
left Helena just at sunrise for Central City.
There were five ladies and four gentlemen of
the company inside the coach, and four more
of us—the youngest and toughest—on top. It
was a beautiful morning, and we started out as
jolly as a party of picknickers. About noon
the sun became obscured and scattering snowflakes began to fall. An hour later we were in
the midst of a fully developed snow storm. We
were now nearing the divide, and the cold became intense. The snow began to drift
heavily, and as we approached the old
Googer grade the air was so thick that we
couldn't see the leaders, Old Bill Yokum,
a famous driver in those days, had us in

Running Conversations.

191

charge, and "Sandy" McGuire, who had probably killed more ruffians, greasers and Indians than he could count, was seated beside
him with his sawed-off shot gun, as guard, As
we rounded a sharp angle in the grade we
struck a drift that took the leaders in to their
shoulder blades and brought the old coach up
short, with snow up to the windows. "Sandy"
McGuire ordered all hands on top of the coach
to climb down, and then ordered the men
folks inside to crawl out, and informed us that
we must all foot it to the top of the grade. With
the coach thus lightened, the bronchos again
got under way, and the children of Thespis
trudged along behind, blinded by the wind and
drifting snow. There were nine of us all told,
headed by " Sandy," and we mechanically fell
into Indian file, I, scarcely knowing it, bringing
up the rear. It was impossible to see five feet
ahead, so we kept calling out to each other and
answering back, down the line. I have always
been fat and my legs are very short, and gradually I began to drop behind; I couldn't see
any one, but I knew I was losing ground by the
sound of the voices in front growing fainter
with each call. Presently they ceased entirely

192

Running Conversations.

and then a terrible fear seized me. I tried to
call with greater strength, and realized that I
could not make a sound. Terror had robbed
me of the power of speech, I was unable to
move. Presently I began to feel n u m b and
sleepy, and all pain and fatigue left me, but I
had just sense enough left to remember hearing
old prospectors tell that these were the final
symptoms when people are freezing to death.
Then I remembered my pocket flask, and
forcing my hand through the snow into my
pocket I brought it forth and drained it — a
full pint of tanglefoot. The whisky seemed for
a moment to give me superhuman strength,
and I darted forward like a yrild man; but I
had completely lost my bearings, and in the
blinding snow, with darkness just setting in, I
plunged directly over the edge of the cliff along
which the road ran."
" Great Heaven I " cried the brakeman, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his
leather glove, " t h a t was awful! How far did
you fall ? "
" Wait and see. I thought I would never
stop. You see this was the north side of
the mountain ; the peaks above had protected

Running Conversations,

193

it entirely from the snow then drifting, but the
old bed of snow that had been there for years
was frozen as solid as a mountain of ice, After
falling through the loose drift on the edge of
the cliff, I struck this solid sheet of ice and
commenced rolling down the mountain side.
You see we were above timber line and there
was'nt as much as a brash to grab at."
"Heavens! 77 gasped the brakeman, "where
was the rest of 'em ?"
" W a i t ! wait! Down! down! down I went,
gathering velocity as I sped. I could see the
jagged rocks and tops of the scrub pines protruding through the mountain of ice below me
at the timber line. Suddenly I lost conciousness, then I struck something and stopped. I sat
bolt upright; my hair, which had turned snow
white, was standing like a barbed wire fence on
my head, I could hear a wild confused sound
of bells and bugles. In one second I lived over
my twenty-two years, and all of my transgressions stood out like sign boards by the way.
Aha! I thought, 'tis judgment day, and Gabriel's
trumpet is not a myth. Then the whole world
seemed to be tumbling about my ears, I jumped
to my feet and tried to yell, then the bell came

194

Running Conversations.

again and then the trumpet, and then the familliar voice of the red-headed chambermaid, who
made life a burden and sleep a delusion by
singing "Just before the battle, mother," just
before daylight every morning, assaulted my
door with her number six foot, and my ear with
her number twelve voice, thus-wise: " Hello!
there I you fatty! Git out o' that, or ye'll git
no brickfast. The coach starts for Cintral City
in foive minutes."
" The funniest thing about that story," said
the brakeman, as he moved toward the coal
box, "is the way you got that pint of tanglefoot mixed up with the dream part of it."

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM.
THE DESCENT OP THE MANTLE.

OU are right, my son; it was a great
mistake for Forrest and McCullough
to leave their mantles floating around
loose-like. It's odd, too, that their executors
should have been so remiss as to make no suitable provision for the proper descent of the
same. The woods are full of mantle-grabbers,
and between the desperate clutches of this army
of grabbers it is to be feared that the poor mantle will become unrecognizable. You are right
—it is odd that it has not occurred to some fellow to get a mantle of his own and just vary
the pattern a little. It has always seemed to
me that the stupid public cares very little about
mantles, anyway. It paid little attention to
McCullough's struggle with the mantle until
Forrest had been dead so long that the great
majority of theatre-goers had never seen him,
or, having seen, had forgotten just how the old
man's mantle did hang, anyhow. " Do many

196

Flotsam and Jetsam.

people go to see Hamlet now ? " No, my son;
very few. But thousands flock to see Booth.
That's the difference
That's the point that
mantle-grabbers seem to lose sight of or ignore,
until the empty chairs and emptier purses set
them to thinking.
Yes, indeed, my son, it is one thing to be a
popular leading actor, and quite another thing
to be a profitable star. This is a point that it
takes many of us years to masticate. Personal
popularity is good material to start with; then
offer the public the kind of goods they want,
and, knowing you to be a trustworthy salesman,
they will buy, But make up your mind, to begin with, that they are not hankering after any
new brands of fair to middling Othellos or
Richelieus—at least not just now.
FORKESTONIAN HUMOR.

Yes, indeed, my son, the great tragedian had
a wonderful sense of grim humor. I was playing with the "old man" in Pittsburg in '71 in
Jack Cade. The Lord Say of the cast was a
man with a poetic name and a pronounced
Irish mug, and a no less pronounced brogue.
His dressing of the part was a nightmare of

Flotsam and Jetsam,

197

gaudy tints; no color escaped him. The whole
was surmounted by a ruff, with a small cap
and a bunch of straggling cocks-feathers. Altogether he was about as unlike the sombre
Lord Say as he could well be. In the closing
scene of the play, instead of armor he still clung
to his rainbow-hued raiment. As Lord Clifford
I had been decently killed in the third act, and
I was haunting the entrances listening to the
"old man's" reading. (At that time it was
painful to see him in Cade). Newt Gotthold was
the Friar Lacy, and as he stood beside Forrest
at the back of the stage, while the pink and red
Say was wildly gesticulating in the right corner, I heard the great actor growl in gutterals
to Gotthold:
"Iv'e been trying all night to think what
that d—d creature looks like ; I've just got it."
" What is it ? " queried Gotthold.
"Punch's dog," growled Forrest.
And he did. Look at the title page of Punch,
and you will appreciate the joke.
DEGENERACY (?) OF THE STAGE.

No, my son, I am not one of the croakers
about the "degeneracy" of the stage. There is

198

Flotsam and Jetsam.

a good deal of unadulterated rot in the "palmy
day" chestnut. At the present day actors are
better paid and plays are better acted and better
produced than at any time during my two decades of professional life. More than that, the
actor is constantly progressing in every direction. The man who could night after night
disappoint and insult the public, and still retain favor, is known no more among us.
The "wrecked genius"—that is, the man who
never amounted to anything until he became
notorious through drunkenness—was one of
the conspicuous figures of the " palmy days,"
now happily almost extinct. Still, my son, I
do consider that in certain characters, notably
Lear, Richelieu and Virginius, Edwin Forrest,
in his old age, was so much greater than any
other actor I have ever seen, that there is absolutely no plane of comparison ; while to the
thoughtful actor and student of Shakespeare
his reading of Hamlet was a revelation. But
you needed to close your eyes. The grand old
man became a student at fifty, and died with
the pages of the Master open before him.

Flotsam and Jetsam.

199

BLACKSTONE AND THESPIS

Yes, my son, that modest little man, with an
jxpansive forehead, who hailed us from his
family carriage on the New Orleans shell-road
the other day, was Charles F. Buck, an eminent
and successful lawyer of that city, and that
handsome lady at his side was Mrs. Buck, and
that group of merry little ones were all little
Bucks. And that carries me back to September, 1867, and Leavenworth, Kas., when and
where Charley Buck and myself began to learn
the trade of acting. It was not a bad company.
Charley and I were the utility. Susan Denin,
rest her soul! was the manageress. And here,
my son, let me pause to pay the poor tribute of
a tear to the cherished memory of one of the
noblest souls, one of the greatest actresses and
one of the most beautiful and unfortunate
women of our generation. If, on the other side,
there are crowns for those whose lives on this
were periods of martyrdom and self-sacrifice,
then poor Susan Denin's halo rivals the spheres
in splendor.
Those were the " palmy days," my boy. My
salary was (to be) fifteen dollars a week ; Buck's
tlie same. We got it one week. The next

200

Flotsam and Jetsam.

week we got a reduction; the next we got a
promise, and the next we got turned out of the
boarding-house. Then poor Mme. Scheller
eame on for a star engagement. By some mysterious process we contrived to get down to
Kansas City, then a little clump of houses clustered around the old Market Square, We
played in Frank's Hall, an old up-stairs rookery,
seating about three hundred people. From
here we managed to make St. Joe, and here it
was, in the old Odd Fellows' Hall, with an iron
post running up through the centre of the stage,
(howthe low comedians used to love that post!)
that the great " Nobles-Buck Tragic Alliance "
was formed. We had been watching Chaplin
and Tannehill wrestling with Pizarro, Macbeth,
Melnotte, etc., and we knew that all we wanted
was a chance to show the public how much
greater we were than either of them. The opportunity came sooner than we anticipated. I
think we wrestled with Fate for about three
weeks in St. Joe. The time is impressed upon
my mind by a little incident. Buck and myself, preparing for our tour, used to wander
along the old steamboat wharf, spouting scenes
from Othello and The Wife. It was while

Flotsam and Jetsam.

201

engaged in this occupation that we one night
discovered the principals of our company quietly
stealing aboard a steamer. In plain English,
the manager, star and principals skipped between two days, leaving numerous creditors to
mourn their untimely departure. Buck and
myself being only the " utility," were not taken
into consideration; our places could be easily
filled by pick-ups in Omaha, to which point the
midnight decampers were bound. The next
morning found the embryo tragedians wrecked.
Then the landlady told us that we owed eighteen
dollars each for board, at six dollars a week, and
that's how I know just how long we were in
St. Joe.
Genius is not easily crushed at twenty, and
so we organized a benefit. We were perfectly
confident that the humble positions we had occupied in the company had not obscured from
a discerning public the fact that we were really
the magnates of the organization. Besides, I
had recently had several low comedy parts in
the farces, and had extracted several full-grown
laughs from the entire audience (usually about
twenty-five people, trying to keep the big stove
warm in the lower end of the hall). A little

202

Flotsam and Jetsam.

eloquence, a silver watch and a plain gold ring
convinced the newspaper man that our personal
popularity was sufficient to " pack the house."
So he gave us a send-off and five hundred
quarter-sheet programmes. The hall man
agreed to take his chances in the box-office, and
we began to " work her up."
The people of St. Joe who stayed away from
that benefit (and I may say in parenthesis that
they constituted the entire population) will
never know what they missed. But we were
there, and the programme was there, with our
names in big letters. It was a bitter night, way
down below zero, and a blinding snow-storm,
but the little group around the stove in the
L. U. E. of the ball cheered us to the echo.
Buck was crummy on his Iago; he had played
it with the amateurs in New Orleans. I had
never done Othello, but I had seen three or four
leading heavy men struggle with him, and I
was confident that I couldn't do anything worse.
And so we howled through the great jealousy
scene,
Buck punched the animal and I did the
howling Of course, we howled ourselves hoarse
in two minutes, and reduced the rest of the

Flotsam and Jetsam,

203

scene to facial contortions. Then Buck rung
in Collins' "Ode to the Passions." Then I gave
'em "Shamus O'Brien." (My first trial of it).
Buck sang a ballad without music; I sang a
topical song, slathering our late absconding
stars and managers, of course. Then we gave
them Box and Cox, minus Mrs. Bouncer. I
don't know how we did it, but we did. Eleven
o'clock came and then the hall man came and
said he had taken only $16.75, and the rent
was $20.00. He asked what we were going to
do about it, and we asked what he was going to
do about it. We offered to divide the gross and
call it square, but that didn't seem to strike
him right, so he kept it all
Yes, my son, it is a fact that just thirteen
years after that I hunted up that good-hearted
boarding-house keeper and paid him that bill,
with interest. If you don't believe it, ask him.
His name is Bacon, and I think he has a hotel
bearing his nams in St, Joe now.
*
And so, my son, you see the player's life is
not all tinsel and sunshine. The ideal Prince
©f Denmark has fought poverty and worked
the lunch route in his day. The Prince of

204

Flotsam and Jetsam.

Como has burned midnight oil mastering the
description of his palace by the Lake of Cotno,
and darning his princely silk stockings.
The
haughty slayer of the tyrant Richard, doffing
his spangled armor, has hurried from Bos worth
Field, and the ringing plaudits of a crowded
theatre, to a half furnished garret, where, book
in hand and a moistened towel on his head, he
has labored with Macduff till gray dawn came
peeping through his narrow window; then with
scant rest and scantier breakfast, he is off to rehearsal; back a.gain at three, a cold remnant
for dinner, three hours spent in "fixing up
togs " and cramming the lines, and off to the
shop again. So has he seen the days go into
weeks, the weeks into months, the months into
years.
This is no ideal picture, my son.
That
haughty queen, surrounded by courtiers, serfs
and flatterers, has gone from that scene of tinsel and royalty to a wretched boarding-house,
and spent the night fixing up the "old m a n ' s "
toga, and changing the tinsel and puffing on
her own royal gown, which she must wear the
next night for a maid-of-honor.
The nimble
Touchstone and the jolly, drunken Toodles,

Flotsam and Jetsam,

205

with the laughter still ringing in his ears, has
hurried home to relieve a patient wife in the
care of a dying child. We are human, my
son—human, men and women, like the rest of
the world. True, there are those among us
who have found a royal road to fame and fortune, but their number is limited. They are
the exceptions, not the rule.
But, stock or star, rich or poor, every old actor
is proud to have it known that his early professional life was one of struggles, hard work
and constant self-denial, and no period of his
career is so dear in treasured memories as the
d v/a of his vagabond novitiate.

F A S T

Limited Solid Vestibule
Express Trains Daily
Between CHICAGO a n d DES MOINES, COUNCIL
BLUFFS, O M A H A - B e t w e e n CHICAGO
and
S T , J O S E P H - B e t w e e n CHICAGO a n d KANS A S C I T Y - B e t w e e n C H I C A G O a n d DENVE.R
and
PUEBLO
via
COLORADO
SPRINGS.
S p l e n d i d l y E q u i p p e d E x p r e s s T r a i n s , als©
Ldaily] b e t w e e n C H I C A G O a n d M I N N E A P O L I S
a n d ST. PAUL, with T h r o u g h FREE Reclining
C h a i r C a r S e r v i c e b e t w e e n K a n s a s C i t y artel
t h o s e points via

A L B E R T X*m&. R O U T E
T h e f a v o r i t e t o all t h e S u m m e r R e s o r t s a n d H u n t ingr a n d F i s h i n g G r o u n d s of t h e N o r t h a n d
Northwest.

MAGNIFICENT PASSENGER EQUIPMENT.
Palace B a y Coaches, Pullinann Sleepers and (east of t h e Missouri River) Dining- Cars—FREE Reclining- Chair Cars between
CHICAGO and ST. JOSEPH, ATCHISON, LEAVENWORTH and
KANSAS C I T Y - T H R O U G H t o DENVER and PUEBLO via
COLORADO SPRINGS. Splendid Dining- Hotels west of St.
Joseph and Kansas City. OUR FAST LIMITED TRAINS are
cool, well ventilated, free from dust in summer, and warmed
by steam from the locomotive in winter. They have ALL t h e mosfc
modern appliances a n d improvements t h a t conduce t o safety,
comfort a n d luxury.

CONNECTIONS IN TERMINAL UNION DEPOTS
With F a s t Trains of continuous lines for Og-den, Salt Lake
City, Helena, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles and San
Diego, affording- Choice of Routes a t Lowest Rates to and
from all Points on t h e Pacific Coast, a n d in t h e intervening
States a n d Territories.
Save TIME and MONEY and see that yonr TICKETS BEAD via ths

CHICAGO, ROCK ISLAND & PACIFIC RAILWAY.
For Tickets, Maps, Time Tables, Land Folders, copies ot
Western Trail, or information in reg-ard t o rates, routes and connections West, Southwest a n d Northwest of Chicago, apply to
any representative of this road, or address,
E. ST. J O B N ,
J p U l f 1 APft
I J O H N SEBASTIASf,
General Manager
I U l l I u M u U j | Gen'l Pass. & Ticket Agt

OHIO AND
MISSISSIPPI
RAILWAY.
A well equipped and popular line connecting the
three important Commercial Centers —• St. Louis,
Louisville and Cincinnati.
The Ohio & Mississippi was the first railway constructed between St. Louis and Cincinnati, and its
history of a third of a century is one of steady improvement in physical condition and traffic resources.
At the present time four through passenger trains
each way between St. Louis and Cincinnati are necessary to accommodate its large and constantly increasing volume of travel, and two between St. Louis
and Louisville.
The time of its fast daylight train between St.
Louis and Cincinnati, a distance of 341 miles, is but
ten hours, an average speed which is not surpassed by
any railroad in the united States.
Its trains all enter Union Depots in Cincinnati,
Louisville and St. Louis, conveniently located near
the centers of business. Transfers to other lines are
thus avoided. Through Sleeping Cars are run by this
line between St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York.
Travelers going to any point East, West, North or
South, should make it their business to ask for tickets
via the O. & M. Eailway.
For further information in regard to the route,
apply to ticket agents of connecting lines or address
the undersigned.
W , B S H A T T U C K , Gen'l Pass'r Agt.
C I N C I N N A T I , O.

THE EAST TENNESSEE,
VIRGINIA & GEORGIA IT.
The Great Tpunk Itine of the South.
*

The Best Line ior Theatrical Companies.
-*DOUBLE DAILY TRAINS ON ALL
LINES.
TRIPLE DAILY TRAINS ON MANY,
UNDER ONE
MANAGEMENT.
£

NORFORK, YA. and HAGERSTOWN, ID.,
TO-

MEMPHIS, TEE, in the Southwest,
MERIDIAN, MISS, and MOBILE, ALA., in the South,
BRUNSWICK, GL in the Southeast.
.—g
Before making your arrangements for transportation, correspond with or call on the undersigned,

B. W . W R E N N ,
General Passenger Agent,

3 0 3 Broadway, N e w York,
O r KNOXVELL.E, T E N N ,