Where Love Is Secondary.

1895

A conspicuous difference between the English and Chinese dramas is explained by the fact that, whereas in the former love holds a leading part, in the latter it is relegated to a secondary place. In England it is a passion, in China a sentiment only; hence the thousand intrigues love gives rise to are, in the latter country, either thrown into the shade or tabooed entirely. Without their ardent passions many of our theatrical productions would lose their interest and most of their merit. An English, or, to use a wider term, a European playgoer, requires a due quantum of love.

In China, on the other hand, this demand finds little echo, since love there is not the chief theme of bard and painter. Convention and the strength of parental authority have crushed in a great measure those amorous longings which exist in the human heart, and as love, courtship and matrimony are even more prosaic in the far east than in our part of the world the first of these feelings, if handled as a passion, cannot powerfully arrest the attention of the multitude. — Nineteenth Century.

A DEAL IN CUT RATE TICKETS.

1895

Two Theater Goers of Unequal Purses Accommodated by a Broker.

A young man entered a shop which displayed the sign, "Theater tickets at cut rates," on a Saturday afternoon about 2 o'clock and said to the ticket broker:

"What have you for matinee at Palmer's?"

"Dollar an 'af orchestry for $1," replied the proprietor, a sharp looking man, with a large diamond stud in his shirt.

"Haven't you a 50 cent admission? I only want to spend a quarter."

"Nope. Give you that orchestry for 75 cents."

"No," said the young man as he scanned the blackboard on which were chalked the attractions at the different theaters.

"Say," argued the speculator, "how much you got in yer jeans?"

"Fifty cents," was the reply after a little hesitation.

"All right," came back from the cage. "I'll go you. You just wait here for a pardner."

The young man walked nervously up and down the shop anxiously watching the clock, the door and the proprietor. Whenever a customer came in he listened attentively to the conversation. On the other hand, the speculator didn't seem in the least impatient.

At 20 minutes past 2 a tall man stalked in and asked:

"Have you an orchestra chair for Palmer's?"

A look of hope spread over the young man's face as the proprietor answered in the affirmative, and the tall man asked the price. But his look turned to consternation as the speculator answered:

"One dollar."

"Why, I thought you said 50 cents," the young man blurted out.

The speculator gave the young man a wink that would have done credit to a devil fish.

"Oh, I thought you meant those others," the young man stammered as he comprehended the meaning of the feat of facial contortion.

The tall man was satisfied and took the ticket and was told to go with the young man, as the ticket admitted two and couldn't be separated. Then the speculator took the dollar bill of the tall man in his left hand, while with his right he dextrously received and concealed the young man's two quarters.

As they hastened to the theater the tall man remarked in a patronizing way:

"I tell you what, it's a great thing to know all the ropes."

And it was with a smile that the young man assented to the proposition. — New York Sun.

Ferocious Friendship

1895

A Peculiar Incident in the Life of the Tragedian Macready.

Between Macready and my brother Charles existed a kind of ferocious friendship. Macready, whatever he may have been in private life, had at the theater a simply horrible temper, and he was in the habit of using at rehearsals and even in an undertone when acting the most abusive language — language which my brother sometimes passed by with a smile, but which he occasionally hotly resented. He did not mind Macready constantly addressing him as "beast," but he objected to having his eyes, his limbs and his internal organs coupled with invective terms. Yet, oddly enough, the great tragedian, with whom he was constantly quarreling, had a grim respect and liking for him. He knew him to be a gentleman and a scholar and one who was a competent judge of picturesque effect and an acute dramatic critic.

On one occasion Macready having to play "Othello," and my brother not being included in the cast, the tragedian thus addressed him: "Beast, I want you to go in front tonight and give me afterward a full and candid opinion as to the merits of my acting. Omit nothing. Tell me how I played and how I looked. I have an idea that I shall surpass myself this evening." Now, the great actor used to go through a tremendous amount of realistic effort in the part of Othello, and toward the close of the tragedy would get into such a disorganized physical condition that he was all perspiration and foaming at the mouth and presented a somewhat shocking spectacle.

My brother duly occupied a seat in the front row of the dress circle and narrowly watched the performance from beginning to end. Then he went behind the scenes and repaired to Macready's dressing room. The artist was being disrobed by his dresser and was panting with excitement in an armchair.

"Well, beast, what was it like?"

My brother told him that he had derived the highest gratification from the performance and he had never seen him play Othello more superbly. He was magnificent in his speech to the Venetian senate, the jealousy scenes with Iago were splendid, the murder of Desdemona was superb, and he died inimitably. Macready's face lighted up more and more as my brother answered his many queries.

"'Tis well, beast," he observed at last; "'tis well — very well, and, now, what was my appearance — how did I look, beast?"

My brother cogitated for a moment and then, with perfect candor, replied, "Like a sweep, sir!" — G. A. Sala's "Recollections."

Note: "Sweep," someone who cleans soot from chimneys.

Hard on Forrest

1895

Forrest, the actor, once visited a lunatic asylum before producing Lear to study the insane. He watched one of the male patients for some time, during which the man kept saying: "I wonder how long? I wonder how long?"

Finally Forrest interrupted him. "What is it that you wonder so long?"

The man turned on him, with a laugh, "I wonder how long a fool like you will stand here looking for something he can't see!" — Amusing Journal.


Silk Mills Robbed Again

The Rhenania silk mills, College Point, have been robbed again. At 10 o'clock Thursday night, after Watchman Jockers had left the place, thieves entered through a window and took away $300 worth of raw silk. Two potato bags which the burglars left is the only clue.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, April 5, 1895, p. 4.

Met the Emergency

1895

A melodrama of the most stirring kind was being given in a theater in a small provincial town. In one of the critical scenes the hero suddenly became aware of the fact that he had come upon the stage minus his poniard. Without a moment's hesitation he made a dash at the traitor, exclaiming: "Die, villain! I meant to strike thee with my dagger, but I left the weapon in my dressing room and will therefore strangle thee in the presence of this indulgent audience."

It is scarcely necessary to add that this variation from the original brought down the house. — London Globe.


Trivia

The Jewish feasts, those of Tabernacles, of Pentecost, of Trumpets and Passover, were instituted by Moses, B. C. 1490.

Santa Fe was originally named La Ciudad de la Santa Fe de San Francisco.


A Dry Land Fish

The periophthalmus, one of the most remarkable of the several species of dry land fish catalogued by the naturalists, is a native of Mauritius. He is only 4 or 5 inches long, but has a big head, very prominent eyes and side fins which bear a strong resemblance to legs. They have the curious habit of leaving the water in the evening and spending the entire night hunting the nocturnal insects which inhabit the muddy flats near tide water. A similar species of New Zealand are called "running fishes" by the natives. — St. Louis Republic.


Adversity

Adversity yields benefits to those only who bring a willing heart and an intelligent mind to co-operate with fortitude and resignation. As Emerson has well said, "Men are ennobled by morals and by intellect, but those two elements know each other and always beckon to each other until at last they meet in the man, if he is to be truly great."

"Fat Parts" in Plays

1895

Positions That Require Little Ability, Yet Always Secure Applause.

Rebellious Susan had said good night, and the audience was leaving the Lyceum theater, when a tall, slender, brown bearded man, who had witnessed the play critically, said to his companion:

"What good luck Kelcey has!"

"What do you mean?" asked his friend.

"Why, I mean that he is the lucky actor of that company. You probably don't understand, but if you had been on the stage, as I have, you would know that he has what actors call 'the fat part' — that is, he has a part which it is easy to fill and is sure to win applause. Of course he is very clever, but even a man of less ability could not avoid carrying off honors in that part. Everything he does carries with it the approval of the audience. That is due not nearly so much to the way in which he does it as to the action itself. He is the man who is constantly interfering to prevent others from making mistakes, and his success makes him the hero of the audience.

"Such a part almost plays itself. All that the actor has to do is to be calm, avoid breaks and remember his lines. A great many plays — in fact, most of them — have at least one such part, and the actor who gets it is always the object of his companions' envy. Such is Hawkshaw in 'The Ticket of Leave Man' and Sampson Brass in 'The Old Curiosity Shop.' I speak of those particularly because I have filled them myself and know how much I was envied by my fellows and how greatly out of proportion to the effort was the reward. It is awfully easy to appear at a critical moment and say, 'I am Hawkshaw, the detective,' and yet every time that was done the audience went wild with delight, and I knew that every heart was grateful to me and every eye was beaming kindly upon me. It is one of the easiest things in the world to express contrition and promise to be good in the future, and yet whoever plays Sampson Brass knows that every time he does this he wins the friendship of his audience and is the object of pity thereafter. On the stage, as in other callings, the rewards are not always earned. When you see a villain who wins the approbation of his audience, you can make up your mind that he is a pretty good actor. The hero may have very indifferent ability and yet win thunders of applause." — New York Sun.

Tony Pastor's Theatre

New York, 1895

A visit to New York City is hardly complete without a visit to Tony Pastor's theatre, the popular family resort of those who enjoy rare good fun and the very best specialty entertainment that can be presented. Mr. Pastor informs us that in obedience to the desire of his suburban patrons he has increased his matinees to four each week, and they will be given hereafter on each Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Our citizens when in New York should give Tony a call and they will be well repaid by an afternoon of rare enjoyment.


New Hotel in Brooklyn

The Arlington Hotel is a new and attractive house that has just been opened by Mr. C. A. Merritt at 317 to 321 Fulton St., Brooklyn. Mr. Merritt is a thorough hotel man, and our readers will secure the best of attention from him. This house is conveniently located for shopping expeditions.


Beware of Swindlers

We have exposed, during the last year, many swindlers who advertise, under the name of medicine, vile compounds which only increase human suffering. To all who need a pure medicine and blood purifier, we can honestly recommend Sulphur Bitters. — Editor Sun.


Demand for Small Houses

There is a big demand in Jamaica for small houses, but few, if any, are to be had. T. F. Archer's Son's on Wednesday had twelve applications for houses that would rent from $20 to $25 per month.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, March 8, 1895, p. 8.

Absurdity of Stage Deaths

1895

Nature Outrageously Violated Instead of Being Shown a Mirror.

A French dramatic critic, with some show of medical knowledge, represents that nearly all actors and actresses outrageously violate nature in their imitations of death. He cites, in corroboration of his charge, the customary theatrical death of "Camille," in the younger Dumas' favorite emotional play of that title. According to the author, his heroine is affected with pulmonary consumption, and an incidental attack of hemorrhage of the lungs extinguishes her life.

There is absolutely nothing dramatic to be made out of this mode of dying, if fidelity to fact be obeyed. The gushing of a stream of blood from the mouth would be realistic, but the imitation of such a phenomenon is never made by actors, male or female, nor would any discreet manager tolerate such a piece of stage business. Again, the overwhelming suffocation which produces the rapid death in Camille's case is never accompanied by convulsions, such as her dying representatives on the stage almost always assume. In natural death from this cause the sufferer simply collapses from failure of the vital powers.

Theatrical poisoning scenes are also usually untrue to nature. It is popularly believed that when a fatal dose of laudanum or morphine is swallowed the victim immediately sinks into a deathlike sleep, as is commonly seen on the stage, whereas the first effect of this poison taken in like quantity is invariably to excite and enliven. Nor is the mode of dying after the hackneyed cardiac stage stab in conformity with the laws of nature. The actor simply falls at full length or in a heap, whereas the everyday member of society gives a spring when the heart is struck before entering eternity by this unhappy gate. Even the modern Othello has not inherited enough of Shakespeare's wonderful fidelity to truth to die naturally after a stab through the heart. — Baltimore Gazette.

Crane in "His Wife's Father"

1895

William H. Crane scored another success in New York on Monday in his production at the Fifth Avenue Theatre of "His Wife's Father," the latest comedy from the pen of Martha Morton. There never was an instant when the fate of the play was in question, and in it Mr. Crane is seen in another of his most characteristic representations — characteristic, because it shows not only the quality of his humor but the gravity of his mind, the depth of his feeling and the ample resources of his felicitous art.

This character is that of a lovingly meddlesome father, whose kindly meant interferences with personal affairs of his daughter and her husband, made him a nuisance. He is not like the traditional mother-in-law in acerbity of faultfinding, he is far too good natured to scold any body, or to purposely raise a row about anything, but he is meddlesome nevertheless, and thereby causes as much domestic trouble as any mother-in-law ever did.

All of the critics were unanimous in their praise of the play. The Sun said "It was markedly successful." The World calls it "A pronounced success." The Tribune said "Mr. Crane and his company were received with the heartiest favor. Mr. Crane made an unequivocal hit with his audience." The Times had to say: "In this manifestly congenial part Mr. Crane was constantly amusing. He played it with appreciation of all its possibilities, forced none of its peculiarities into the grotesque, and was always alive and possible." The Press said "The Play seemed to have achieved a success before the conclusion of the first act." The Journal said "It was a tale of family complications, that is full of humor well presented, and the Mercury said it was a great success. The other papers were equally strong in praise of the work and its stay in New York promises to add to Mr. Crane's reputation and popularity.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, March 8, 1895, p. 2.

Catalani and Goethe

1895

One of the best stories told of Catalani is associated with an occasion when at Weimar she was placed next to Goethe at a fashionable dinner party. Catalani knew nothing of Goethe, but being struck by the fine appearance of the poet she asked the gentleman on her other side what was his name. "The celebrated Goethe, madam," was the reply. "Ah, yes. Pray on what instrument does he play?" was the rejoinder. "He is not a performer, madam, he is the renowned author of 'Werther!'" "Oh, yes, yes, I remember," said Catalani, and, turning to the venerable poet, she addressed him, "Ah, sir, what an admirer I am of 'Werther!'" A low bow followed in acknowledgment.

"I never," continued the lively lady — "I never read anything half so laughable in all my life. What a capital farce it is, sir!" "Madam," said the poet, looking serious, "the 'Sorrows of Werther' a farce?" "Oh, yes. Never was anything so exquisitely ridiculous," rejoined Catalani, still laughing heartily. It turned out that the lady had been talking all the while of a parody of "Werther," which had been performed at one of the minor theaters of Paris. But fancy the mortification of the poet! — Cornhill Magazine.

Life Worth Living

1895

An Original Mind That Was Great In Getting Rid of Rats.

John Kernell, the well known comedian, tells a story that might very well be true.

"I'll never forget," said John in the deep bass that is familiar to all fun loving playgoers, "a kind of dramatic situation in real life that occurred at Steve Brodie's place on the Bowery one night while I was in New York rehearsing.

"Well, while we were sitting in the little back room listening to the pianist a stout looking old man came in and began to be sociable with us. He said he was a milkman from Hoboken and the maddest man in America.

"'This is why I'm sore,' he said. 'I own a nice little house, which I left in charge of an Irish hired girl while my wife and I were in Chicago. One day a man came and asked the girl if there were any rats in the house. He said he was a rat killer by trade and would guarantee to rid the house of any number of rats. We'd never had any rats in the place, and the girl told him so. He loitered around awhile and then went away. In a week the house was alive with rats. The man called again and offered to remove them for $10. The girl wrote me simply that the place was full of rats, and that the rat killer would destroy them for $10. I sent her the ten, the man came with a dog and made a bluff at slaying the rats, and she gave him the money. She's never seen him since, and I've never seen him at all. Our house is now a hotel for rats. I tell you, gentlemen, if I could only lay my hands on that rat man!'

"The Hoboken man took a big drink of whisky, and we changed the subject.

"Presently in came as hard a looking bum as I ever saw. He ordered whisky and looked around at us. Brodie knew him and asked, 'What are you doing for a living now, Muggsy?'

"'Nawtin,' said the bum. 'I don't have to work. I'm rich. I played a new gag dis summer. I went over into New Jersey and stocked houses with rats and den went back and made a bluff to clean 'em out for $5. Some places I got ten. Der was one jay of a milkman in Hoboken' —

"He never got any further. The Hoboken man was at him with a wild yell, and the bum's whisky glass struck the ceiling. For three minutes we could see nothing of the milkman or the bum but a confused mass of clothes, legs and arms rolling on the floor. When the milkman was through, he dragged the bum to the door, dropped him out on the sidewalk, strutted up to the bar with his clothes in disorder and cried out:

"'Have one with me, gentlemen? Life's worth living after all. Make it wine, barkeep!'" — Philadelphia Times.

New York Theatres

New York, 1895

Three Melodramas Which are Delighting the Public.

Melodrama has New York in its spell now. "The Fatal Card," which is a play of modern life full of all the pulsing issues and flesh and blood of the big world around us, has now been running at Palmer's theatre for three weeks to thronging fashionable audiences and is one of the three enormous successes now holding the attention of metropolitan theatre goers, the other two being "The Masqueraders" at the Empire theatre, and William Gillette's new farce "Too Much Johnson," at the Standard theatre. Singularly enough, too, these three great successes all belong to Charles Frohman, who has given New York all the big dramatic and comedy hits of this and last season.

"The Fatal Card" belongs to the sturdiest and most wholesome class of melodramas. It is stirring and full of thrills like all plays that sharply contrast vice and virtue and whose mission it is to strongly picture the punishment which follows sin and the reward that awaits the virtuous and upright, but its fascinating story is told in a novel and delightful manner, and no better acted play was ever put before the New York public. The great critic, Nym Crinkle, says that Mr. Frohman has again given to the stage "the tumultuous romanticism of intense action and once more planted melodrama squarely and successfully in the teeth of dilettanteism and prominent humor." And of the play he writes that it is "an intensely interesting story of a struggle. It tells it by action more so than by dialogue and it moves logically and directly to a crisis, carrying the sympathies with it. The actors as if enfranchised spring to their work with a vital impulse. It brings back masculinity to the stage and the manager insists on having it to the full possibility of a splendid company." This splendid company is the finest ever seen in melodrama. Manager A. N. Palmer who produced "The Two Orphans" and "The Lights of London" says it surpasses any of the great casts of olden days and the public has been most enthusiastic in endorsing all the loudest praise that has been written and spoken about the performances.

Four of the greatest character actors of the day, W. H. Thompson, W. J. Ferguson, J. H. Stoddard and J. O. Barrows are in the cast, while May Robson, Agnes Miller of the Empire theatre stock company have agreeable roles, and E J. Ratcliff, late hero of Shenandoah has romantic prominence as the lover whose life is saved at a horrible and critical moment by the father of his sweetheart. All the exciting action revolves around and then centres itself in this love story, Ratcliffe saves the girl's father's life from lynchers in the Rocky mountains and the father gives him one half of the ace of clubs for future identification. A band of robbers afterwards kill Ratcliffe's father and the son having tracked and discovered them is himself caught in their rendezvous and sentenced to a terrible death. He has but a minute or two to live when his executor finds the half of the ace of clubs. Ratcliffe is released and the chief robber, his sweetheart's father perishes in his stead. All this story is told in seven realistic and thrilling scenes. Amy Busby who was Richard Mansfield's leading lady plays the sweetheart.

The "Masqueraders" is another magnificent production. It cost Manager Frohman $40,000 to put it on the Empire theatre stage. There are fifty beautiful imported dresses in it that cost $20,000. Mr. Frohman's stock company gives a polished and brilliant performance of the play and Mr. Henry Miller and Miss Viola Allen, the leading man and woman of the organization, were never seen to better advantage histrionically. There is a great gamble scene in which Miller stakes $1,000,000 on the turn of a card against the wife and child of his successful rival and wins. Great crowds flock to the Empire to see this wonderful play.

"Too Much Johnson" is William Gillette's new farce in which Mr. Gillette appears as an exquisite liar from Yonkers and the most artful mother- in-law bamboosler that the funny men have yet produced. This hero is almost caught in an interesting flirtation and carts his household off to Cuba, where he borrows a stranger's plantation and fools everybody in the friskiest and most cold blooded way imaginable. "Too Much Johnson" is even a greater success than "Charley's Aunt" was last season. Fashionable audiences fill the Standard theatre at every performance and hundreds who come late are turned away.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, Feb. 8, 1895, p. 2.

Broadway Glacier

1895

A FAMOUS OLD HOTEL AND THEATER SUCCUMB TO IT.

Memories of the Glorious Career of the Old Metropolitan and Niblo's Garden. Reminiscences That Will Interest Others Besides New Yorkers.

Thirty years ago the Metropolitan hotel was the focus of the town. The gilded youth went there for late suppers. The most noted politicians of the Tweed ring poured out champagne there. Its birds were always well cooked, its steaks were marrowed to a turn, its oysters had the call, and its whisky was famous.

It was the plaza for the actors until long after the war. They stood in clusters all round its steps and held council in its vestibule, for all the noted chophouses were in the neighborhood.

Round the corner, in Houston street, were the House of Lords and Clifton's, and up on the other end of the block was the Revere House. From that corner down you could meet on a pleasant day all the famous actors in town — E. L. Davenport, Tom Placide, Burton, Dion Boucicault, James W. Wallack, Charles Fisher, John Brougham, Rufus Blake and a double score of others. If any of them got up as far as the Metropolitan Opera House, it was behind a fast team, and they found themselves in the country.

When the Metropolitan was opened in 1852, it was the town talk. It was inaugurated with a stupendous banquet. Stephen A. Douglas and Tom Benton and Sam Houston were there. Voluminous descriptions of the hotel appeared in the newspapers of that date. People stood in crowds and looked up at it from the other side of the street. It was thought by conservative people to be a most unwarranted piece of extravagance. But the Metropolitan became at once one of the most popular hotels in the city. And its complement of 1,000 guests did not fall off while the Lelands had charge of it.

Before and during the war it was customary for the reporters to go to the Metropolitan every night to get the news. It was jammed with people on the night of the cable celebration and on the day that Sumter was fired on. There was, in fact, no such center above it on Broadway, and its walls must have rung with the voices of many great captains and celebrated beauties.

There are people in New York who can remember when Niblo had a garden there. There are many more who can remember the first theater which went by the name of the garden, and how the American institute was wont to hold its fairs there, and the original Christy minstrels, before they got into Mechanics' hall, really caught the small town there, and how for several seasons the concert hall was the resort of our small musical population.

Then later the theater spread out into a great auditorium, and Mr. A. T. Stewart bought the property and had a private box connected with a parlor, and finally came Jarrett and Palmer to take the management, and then bloomed upon the world the "Black Crook" and the "White Fawn," spectacles whose like had never been seen, and which rolled up fortunes for everybody connected with them.

But at this time the theater was in the full swing of popular success. The enormous success of the "Black Crook" had secured all the commercial visitors in town. It was denounced by the pulpit, but never waned in attractiveness for years. Agents were kept in Europe to snap up every specialty they could find, and such was the pliability and capacity of the performance that it swallowed up everything, from a performing goat to a prima ballerina assoluta.

Bonfanti was then in her prime and became the rage of the town. Pauline Markham was in full girth of glory and led the Amazons.

If some one will lay hold of the still virile beard of the venerable Commodore Tooker, he will reminisce for an hour on the palmy days of Niblo's. All the historic Thespians of the pave will tell of the days of William Wheatley and the production of the "Duke's Motto," a play which made the most extraordinary kind of a hit, and how after that Forrest came with the "Broker of Bogota," one of the best original American dramas of its era.

When Jarrett and Palmer took hold of Niblo's Garden, a change came over the house. Then opened the era of Terpsichore, and for years the place was given over to a voluptuous orgie of bacchantes and spectacle. There were long rows of the handsomest women in the world in the corridors on Tuesday mornings to draw their salary.

After the "Black Crook" wore itself out there were spasmodic efforts to call back the old dramatic prestige of the house. Charles Fechter made his American debut there, playing Hamlet in a blond wig and failing to please the public. It was there that Boucicault brought his "Formosa" from London after declaring that he was going to open "a new path for the drama through the sewers," and the play was damned on the first night.

The Metropolitan has succumbed to the inevitable. Broadway is a glacier, not a rock. It moves slowly north with all its gayety, its groups, its centers. Everything historic melts and vanishes. Every old stager has marked the shifting of the centers. Thirty years ago the focus of Vanity Fair was there between Houston and Prince streets. When Rachel came to this country, she got no higher than Houston street. And when the war was over the meeting place of all the lions, the swells, the flaneurs, was between the St. Nicholas and the Metropolitan.

Those blocks thundered and palpitated with the life that has gone up to Thirty-ninth street. First the crowd jumped to Union square, then it went to the Fifth Avenue hotel, then to the Hoffman House, then to the Coleman, then to the Grand, then to — well, you will have to take a cable car to find it now. — Nym Crinkle in New York World.

The Fat Woman's Revenge

1895

Her Victim Did Not Get a Chance to Greet His Friends.

Apropos of the theater, I saw something one other night Within the last seven that filled me with a totally unholy glee. A woman sat in front of me. She was decidedly plump. In fact, she was what Illinois people call corn fed. She was bareheaded, too, by the way, and before the play began and after every act she had to stand up and let a man who sat near her pass out. It was a tight squeeze every time, and as the man did not say, "Pardon me!" or "Beg your leave!" or anything else to show the faith that was in him I could see the tide of that fat woman's wrath rise till its crimson edge made the straggling fringe below her back hair bristle indignantly.

At last the play was over, and the man wanted to rush out to join two women friends — undoubtedly he'd have called them "lady friends" — whom he had noticed near. But did he rush? Well, if he did, his rush wasn't visible to the naked eye. That fat woman sat down and put on her rubbers. Then she replaced her gloves, which she had taken off. Then she stood up, blocking the passage, while she put on her hat, adjusted her veil and buttoned her cloak. And all the while the man was dancing with impatience, unable to get out, and the "two lady friends" were passing out the door. At last the fat woman moved, and the man — well, inasmuch as nothing so much angers a man as a punishment he knows he deserves, you can imagine how he looked. For my part, I thought it was delightful, and if ever I meet that fat woman I mean to tell her so. — Washington Post.

The Ruling Passion

1895

The ruling passion gets away with woman every time. At the theater the other night a lady appeared suddenly at the box office and asked the manager for an admission ticket.

"Don't you wish a seat?" the ticket seller asked. "We have a few good seats in the balcony."

"I haven't time to sit down," said the lady. "My husband is waiting for me outside, and besides I have seen the play already."

The ticket seller didn't know what to say to this.

"I only want to go in for a few minutes," the fair visitor continued. "I saw a lady pass in a few moments ago, and she was so elegantly dressed that I wanted to have a good look at her and see exactly what she had on. That's all."

The manager, to whom this explanation was made, escorted the dress fascinated woman into the auditorium, and she went around to a side aisle and made a thorough observation of what the ultra fashionable dame "had on."

"Oh, it was perfectly lovely!" she exclaimed as she joined her husband at the door. — Boston Globe.


Boswell's Wife

Boswell's "Uxoriana" is a collection of his wife's sayings to him, which does no little credit to her abilities as a scold.

Dilworth Family Tagged By Murder

1916

NEW YORK LAWYER FIFTH IN LINE TO BE SLAIN.

Mother of Man Murdered in East Tells of the Series of Violent Deaths.

KANSAS CITY, Missouri — The murder of Dwight P. Dilworth, a New York lawyer, formerly of this city, while driving his motor car thru Van Cortlandt Park in New York City, is the last of a series of five murders in the Dilworth family that began in Civil War times. All of the deaths have been caused by assassins. Three of the murdered men were uncles of Dilworth and the other his father.

Mrs. William P. Dilworth, mother of the man murdered in New York told about the hand of fate that has pursued her husband's family and that has almost wiped out the masculine line of the family. Mrs. Dilworth has been visiting her sister, Mrs. Chas. Clark of this city.

"It began during the Civil War," Mrs. Dilworth said, "when George Dilworth, a lieutenant in the Federal Army, was shot by a 'sniper' while he was delivering a message. He had never been injured in battle, and the war was then about over. He was killed while on a mission of peace. We never learned who killed him. That was the first of the series of fatalities that nearly wiped out my husband's family.

"James Dilworth, a ranchman in Montana, was the next to die. He had upbraided one of his cowboys for failing to cut some hay, and that night the cowboy half crazed with liquor, waited for James and killed him. Thomas Dilworth walked into a hotel at Fort Scott, Kan., one afternoon to attend a meeting.

"Two men were quarreling and one drew a revolver and fired at the other. The bullet missed the man shot at and struck my brother-in-law. He died immediately.

William Slain by a Robber.

"My husband, William P. Dilworth, was next. On Thanksgiving morning, ten years ago, he went to his store to open it. We were living in Oklahoma City then. He was counting his cash when a man walked in the store and commanded him to throw up his hands. There never was a Dilworth living that could ever raise his hands above his shoulders, and my husband was killed as a result. The man who killed him is now serving a life term in the penitentiary.

"The only one of my husband's family now living is Richard Dilworth, a minister in Pennsylvania. He escaped death by a miracle. He was a missionary in Alaska years ago, and was a very bitter enemy of the whisky element. He always talked prohibition. After an extremely bitter attack on liquor in a small mining town one night he was waylaid and assaulted. He was left for dead. He was found by friends and recovered."

Mrs. Dilworth has always feared the fate that seemed to follow the family.

"We often talked about it," she said, "and often wondered who would he next. I would laugh at the boys and tell them it was only a string of coincidences, because I didn't want them to worry.

"But down in my heart I was always sure that it would follow us, and it has."

Mrs. Dilworth, the wife of Dwight P. Dilworth, was visiting in this city when her husband was slain in New York. She was accompanied here by her 3-year-old son, Dwight P. Dilworth, Jr.

Mrs. Dilworth has no idea who killed her husband. She said he didn't have any enemies that she knew of and had never received any threats. She said the young woman who accompanied him probably was either one of his clients or a friend of some of their friends. Dilworth's funeral and burial was at Fort Scott, Kan., Friday.

Mrs. Dilworth left immediately afterward for the East to settle Dilworth's business affairs and help the police in the puzzle of the Golf Links road tragedy.

Like Cliff Drive Slaying.

The murder of Dwight P. Dilworth while motoring with a young woman in a lonely by-path in Van Cortlandt Park in New York City, according to accounts in New York papers, has many of the aspects of the shooting of motorists on Cliff Drive in Kansas City a year or two ago. The circumstances leading up to the attack on Dilworth were identical with those of the Cliff Drive cases.

For weeks a band of young men have been haunting the road which was the scene of the New York crime, terrorizing motorists, but, despite this, the road has not been properly policed, according to the New York papers.

Within 400 feet of the road is the Mosholu Parkway, a much traveled highway, and locally known as "Lovers' Lane," yet no one heard the shots that killed Dilworth. A railroad watchman near the scene heard no shots and was informed of the crime by Miss Mary McNiff, Dilworth's companion, who came to his shanty to seek aid. The road is a secluded one and has been the scene of a number of robberies recently, the last one occurring a week before the murder.

The story of Miss McNiff has been substantiated by police investigation and they are positive that she knows nothing more of the murder than given in her first statement.

Two theories are being advanced by the police as an explanation of the mystery of the murder — one that the two men were highwaymen, and the second that Dilworth was murdered by enemies who were responsible for the large number of similar casualties in his family.

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Three Arrested as Suspects.

NEW YORK. — Police engaged in solving the Dilworth murder case arrested Bernard Decio, 21 years old, near the scene of the shooting. Tony Gadina was arrested in Mount Vernon following a hold-up there, and George Teyden, who was with Gadina at the time of his arrest, also is held.

Stories have come to light of Dilworth's life. The police were told he had a wide acquaintance in theatrical circles. They were also told of Dilworth's fondness for women, which ended in his forced withdrawal from a firm here.

That Dilworth was well known along Broadway and in its resorts became known when "Dolly" Rogers, an actress, said she had introduced Dilworth to Mary McNiff, who was his companion on the night of the crime.

Jealousy of some of Broadway's women is being put forward as a possible cause for the murder.

"Dolly" Rogers, however, expressed the opinion to detectives that "Dear old Dwight" might have been murdered by private detectives frightened out of their caution while trying to "get something on him."

A new witness is a woman who claims to have seen "a woman in a large hat" running from the scene of the crime just after the shots were fired.

Miss McNiff was in the district attorney's office three hours in the afternoon retelling the story of the crime. She could identify none of the three men now under arrest.

The autopsy showed it was possible that only one pistol was used, instead of the two Miss McNiff said she believed she saw. The body had three wounds. The first was a mere chin-scrape.

Miss McNiff said Dilworth phoned the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Corwin, where she lived, asking that the Corwins and Miss McNiff go for an automobile ride, the girl said. Mrs. Corwin was out of town, she said, and as Corwin was ill she consented to go with Dilworth alone.

Wife Denies Reports.

Mrs. Dwight P. Dilworth still has absolute confidence in her husband. Statements that Dilworth was fond of other women and bohemian companions were indignantly denied by his widow. She declared it absurd that Dilworth ever returned to his home in Montclair, N. J., in an intoxicated condition, or that he ever associated with women other than relatives and friends of the family outside of business hours.

"It is absolutely ridiculous," Mrs. Dilworth declared. "My husband never came home intoxicated and I knew all his women friends. But even if it were true, do you think I would tell it? Do you think I am such a fool as to try to blacken my husband's name after he is dead? I do not believe a woman killed my husband. and I know nothing on which to base such a belief."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 4.

Six Frightened Lions

1901

An incident at the Porte St. Martin theater in Paris has become part of the annals of the show business. The chief feature of the exhibition was a "turn" consisting of the casting of a young woman securely bound into a cage of lions heralded as being the fiercest and most bloodthirsty of man eaters.

The woman who had the part of the victim was taken ill, and a substitute was found in the wife of one of the trainers, herself a trainer of some experience, but without any acquaintance with these particular six lions, as she was somewhat nervous she carried a small club ready for use should occasion arise.

Amid the breathless silence of the spectators the ringmaster explained the ferocious nature of the lions and the terrible risk of the woman and she was thrust in at the cage door. In the excitement of the occasion the door was not securely shut after her. No sooner was she fairly inside than the six monarchs of the jungle, seeing that a strange person had been forced upon them, raised a chorus of shuddering terror, bolted for the cage door, clawed it open and with dragging tails and cringing flanks fled out through a rear entrance and found refuge in a cellar, whence they were dislodged only after great difficulty.

It was a week before the "ferocious man eaters" were sufficiently recovered from their terrors to reappear in public. — McClure's Magazine.

A Hit That Went Begging

1901

The death of Sir Arthur Sullivan recently recalls an offer that composer once made an American manager that was refused, which, had it been other wise, would have made him an independent fortune.

The manager was George Holland, who at the time was directing the Grand Avenue theater, in Philadelphia. When "Pinafore" was running in London, Mr. Holland happened to be there and one night met Gilbert and Sullivan at the Garrick club. They asked him what he thought the opera would do in America, and Mr. Holland promptly replied that he feared its refined satire would not be appreciated in this country and after some further talk flatly refused at offer of $500 for the exclusive American rights.

Subsequently "Pinafore" was brought to America by another manager and presented at Kiralfy's theater, now the Broad Street theater, Philadelphia, and, as Holland had predicted, played originally to empty benches. Soon after this, however, the tide turned in its favor, and those who read do not have to be reminded of its subsequent record.

Holland himself, who is authority for the statement, says that had he accepted he could have amassed an almost colossal fortune out of the one piece. Just another case of missing the tide. — Cincinnati Enquirer.

Took a Mean Advantage

1901

A supernumerary in Richard Mansfield's company who had been, to use a Scotch phrase, continuously and continually "heckled" by the manager at rehearsals and between the acts for alleged displays of stupidity on the stage, was informed that a near relative of his had departed this life and had left him a competence, so he decided to leave the dramatic profession and, to quote him, become respectable. Before leaving he determined to take his revenge on Mansfield for the attacks on his amour propre that gentleman had made.

The play was "Richard III," and the super was one of the soldiers who led away the Duke of Buckingham when the king orders his demise.

In due time Richard remarked, "Off with his head!" and this was the super's opportunity. Advancing, he touched his helmet in the style of a footman and replied loudly and genially:

"That'll be attended to, old chap. We'll take care of old Buck. It'll be all right!" and retired gracefully. When the infuriated Mansfield came off to commit murder, he found the super had fled. — Chicago Chronicle.

The Combustible Clive

1910

As long ago as the middle of the eighteenth century, a famous Georgian actress, Mrs. Kitty Clive, felt the call of the nerves commonly associated with modern women. The whole green room, according to the author of "Garrick and his Circle," feared her tantrums.

Her character stood high, but her clean, wholesome nature and honest heart scarcely offset her temper. She was the one player Garrick feared, and he did everything he could to disperse her nerve storms, or, if they broke, assuage them. It is among the legends of the English stage that he said to her:

"I have heard of tartar and brimstone, but you are the cream of one and the flower of the other!" — Youth's Companion.