Odd Jobs for Unemployed Minds in the Arrangement of Freak Sentences.
When _Polonius_, addressing _Hamlet_, asked, "What do you read, my lord?"
and _Hamlet_ answered, "Words, words, words," _Polonius_ didn't pursue
that particular line of inquiry any farther. If he had, _Hamlet_ might
have given him a vast deal of interesting information.
Words sometimes have a trick of expressing more than is intended by those
who write or utter them. They have strange customs, too, and of these the
man who interrupted _Hamlet_ doubtless had much to learn.
For instance, _Polonius_ might have asked:
Grave prince, in thirty-one words how many "thats" can be
grammatically inserted?
And _Hamlet_ might have replied:
Fourteen: He said that _that_ that that man said was not
_that_ that _that_ one should say, but that _that_ that
_that_ man said was _that_ that _that_ man should not say.
This reminds us of the following "says" and "saids":
Mr. B----, did you say or did you not say what I said you
said? Because C---- said you said you said you never did say
what I said you said. Now if you did say that you did _not_
say what I said you said, then what did you say?
The following is an example of that form of humor which is known as
"word-twisting":
While parents pay May rents, it must be admitted
They pay rents for houses that they have not quitted;
If parents pay May rents then may rents pay parents
And May rents and pa-rents will be voted rare "rents."
Idle minds which conscientiously seek employment are willing to take
almost any odd job that comes along. Some have devoted a few hours to the
formation of sentences in which each word begins and ends with the same
letter. Here are a couple of samples:
A depraved tyrant seeks devoted slaves; a growing empire
seeks rather loyal subjects; America, a nation, growing
yearly richer, secures equitable legal exchange.
Ships, gliding seawards, scatheless that endure
High seas, excessive storms, that sailors dread,
Experience, ere gaining destined shores,
A rougher tempest grasping doomed dead.
Pugilism's Invasion of the Drama.
A Characteristic Article from the New York "Sun" Affords a Striking
Example of the Sort of "Higher Criticism" That Is Now In Order.
The appearance of a former pugilist as a star in a Broadway theater, which
for many years was the greatest temple of the Shakespearean drama in the
United States, has given a serious jolt to a large number of playgoers who
are loath to free themselves from the influences of old traditions.
The relations of ring and stage have been becoming more and more close in
recent years, and have constituted a favorite theme for newspaper
discussion. It is doubtful, however, whether it would be possible to find
a better review of the situation than the following characteristic essay
in dramatic criticism which appeared in the New York _Sun_:
It is long since the playgoers and first-nighters of
Brooklyn had such a treat as was tendered them last season
by the re-appearance of that bright star in the dramatic
constellation, James J. Corbett. Mr. Corbett came back to us
with his new drama, "Pals," an admirable vehicle for the
display of his singular dramatic talents.
The fact that it was the Lenten season marred somewhat the
attendance, otherwise the society folk of Brooklyn might
have made it a brilliant function. Yet Mr. Corbett's welcome
lacked nothing of warmth or appreciation.
Sacrificed Ring to the Drama.
Since the time when, in "The Naval Cadet," Mr. Corbett took the American
Theater by storm, his art has broadened and deepened. It is an older, a
more mature, dare it be said a shiftier, Corbett who returns to us. So
often of late has the assertion been made that Mr. Corbett is the best
actor in the pugilist division of the stage that it is time for a
comparison between his art and that of those other eminent gentlemen who
have left the ring for the everlasting good of the drama, Messrs. John
Lawrence Sullivan, Terence McGovern, James E. Britt, and J. John Jeffries.
It is true that any comparison between the art of these five eminent
artists must be superficial, and to a certain extent banal, owing to the
diversity of the dramas by which they have seen fit to show forth their
talents.
The stanch art, honest and straightforward as a right swing, of "Honest
Hearts and Willing Hands," is not to be compared to the romantic yet often
superficial "Bowery After Dark," which Mr. Terence McGovern has so ably
interpreted, and neither can be compared exactly with the jarring
right-cross force of Mr. Jeffries's "Davy Crockett."
As those who observe Mr. Corbett practising his now abandoned profession
of pugilism have remarked, he is characteristically lacking in repose of
manner. In this, he is distinctly inferior to Mr. J. Lawrence Sullivan.
John L.--on the stage--was all repose. Alas for that word was! How those
lines, so simply yet so earnestly spoken, ring yet in the ears of old
playgoers:
"To hell with the man that strikes a woman!" [Biff!]
In the more delicate and lightsome passages, Corbett's admirers declare he
shines supreme; yet, after all, is he as funny as Terry McGovern? Take his
delivery of these lines when he is rebuked by the sub-heroine for using
too much slang:
"Oh, I'm onto the slang all right, and I'm going to cut it out!"
When the "Blocks" Went Off.
Mr. Corbett's delivery of these lines is certainly humorous, more humorous
than he knows; yet has it the genuine comic force of the acting of James
Edward Britt, an artist little known to the stage of the Atlantic coast,
when, in his drama, "Jimmie Britt the Frisco Boy," he conquers the comic
Chinaman in a burlesque boxing bout by slapping him with the end of his
pig-tail?
There is considerable dramatic force in Mr. Corbett's delivery of the
lines:
"There's my hand, Ned. If you can take it honestly, here goes--if not, you
are no pal of mine!"
Yet, after all, would it not be better if, instead of standing on guard
when he delivered them, he accompanied them with a side step and a right
shift on the solar plexus, as does Terence McGovern when he delivers that
famous climax:
"Unhand her, or I'll knock your block off--see?" [Bing!]
Or by a clinch followed by a short-arm jolt and an uppercut, as does Mr.
J. John Jeffries in that most intense of all climaxes in the pugilistic
drama:
"Carry the woman away? Not while Davy Crockett has a punch up his sleeve!"
[Slap! Thud!]
Conscientious and Two-Handed.
To summarize, therefore, Mr. Sullivan was a conscientious, two-handed
actor with a great punch; Mr. Terence McGovern and Mr. J. Edward Britt
have a clear delivery and a great straight left; Mr. Robert
Fitzsimmons--an artist for whose peculiar intensity there has been no room
in this brief and necessarily superficial summary--an awkward stage
presence, but a fine short-arm jab that has been known to put the villain
to sleep six times in one act; Mr. Jeffries, a left hook to the body which
always brings home the money, and Mr. Corbett, a comic intensity and great
foot work.
A word about the drama which Mr. Corbett had chosen last season. The
author of "Pals" violated all conventionalities by failing to have the
hero meet the unknown in the last act. He has, however, done one great
service to the drama and to an eminent university. Never before has the
atmosphere of Harvard been caught for the stage. The first act of "Pals"
takes place at Harvard, and presents a haunting picture of college life.
From it we learn that the following are characteristic features of life
in the great center of learning at Cambridge:
Solar Plexus for College Etiquette.
The 'varsity football captain and the champion hammer-thrower, who are
described as the most popular men in college, and so rich that they can't
count it, live in a boarding-house, in which the landlady's daughter dusts
off the champagne bottles which they keep on the sideboard and is sought
as wife by the star boarders.
When the "lady friends" of the inmates come to visit the rooms they go in
to dinner arm in arm with the landlady's daughter.
After the 'varsity game with Yale, in which Harvard has scored a great
victory, the 'varsity football captain comes back to the boarding-house
for dinner, remarking mildly that he is tired, and, after dusting off the
sleeves of his jersey, goes in to dinner with the ladies in his football
suit.
The freshmen sports wear silk hats and sack suits to the annual
Yale-Harvard game.
These shadowings of dear old college scenes brought tears to the eyes of
the many Harvard alumni who made part of the brilliant first night
assemblage.
Jeffries's Dramatic Recitals.
For weeks Jersey City had looked forward with a pleasurable thrill to the
appearance of that eminent artist, J. John Jeffries, in his series of
dramatic recitals. The pleasure had not been without a tinge of jealous
triumph totally unbefitting the social season; for Jersey City, that
modest home of the arts, was the first community on the Atlantic coast to
extend to Mr. Jeffries in "Davy Crockett" the welcome which must have been
as new wine to the true artist he is.
To what end will not managers go in their sordid and squalid zeal for
advertising? Evidences of this tendency flamed on every hoarding in Jersey
City; flaunted themselves on every fence. For the managers and press
representatives had been attempting to create a false and fatuous interest
in this eminent artist by advertising him as champion pugilist of the
world.
What does it matter to their art that Forbes Robertson loves canaries,
that Edwin Booth was fond of waffles? What does it matter how Mr. Jeffries
amuses himself in his leisure hours? Yet in the large and fashionable
audience which assembled at the Bijou Theater there were evidently many
persons who were drawn by no other motive than a curiosity to see the
champion pugilist of the world.
These made their presence felt by ejaculating in Mr. Jeffries's tender yet
stalwart love passages:
"Uppercut her, Jim!" Or by crying out at that supreme moment when Mr.
Jeffries defied the villain:
"Soak him, kid! Soak him!"
It may be said in defense of Jersey City that not all of this was due to
the blindness of her citizens toward great art. Some of it may be laid to
the incompetence of the Bijou bouncer.
"Davy Crockett," which this robust and sterling young artist had chosen as
the medium of introduction to the stage of New York, is a drama which has
not been seen of late on the American boards. Mr. Jeffries brings to it a
freshness and a style all his own.
The Heroine is Nifty.
Right here is where the gent who has being doing falsetto pulls off his
wig, shows the genuine whiskers, and strikes low G on the bass clef to
show that he can do it.
You see, the villain is after the bunch of calico. She's certainly nifty.
The villain has staked out his nephew to be her steady company, but the
minute she trims her luscious lamps on _Crockett_, any dub can see that
he's her candy kid.
The orchestra rips off a few yards of the "Flower Song," while Jim sinks
his voice down to the solar plexus and puts her wise that she's his'n and
he's her'n, only it can never be.
But in the next act _Davy_ rescues her from the wolves by putting his
biceps against the door while the property man wiggles three stuffed wolf
heads through the chinks in the cabin and the gallery helps out on the
howls.
But the villain drops in with the deeds that he's forged on her uncle, and
_Davy_ is foiled. And the girl has put him wise to young Lochinvar, so in
the next act _Davy_ drops in just when they're going to marry the girl.
Jim rolls up his sleeve and holds out his right and the girl hops up on it
like a canary on a perch, and it's all over but the foiling of the villain
and the marriage in the last act.
The Lady Takes the Count.
The girl was pretty nearly down and out in the second act, and took the
count of nine, but by clinching with _Davy_ she managed to stay the act
out. Jim's love-making was great. He never bored in so hard that there
wasn't room for a breakaway, and any one could see that he was all ready
to break the clinch the minute the girl loosed an uppercut.
When Jim crinkled up his forehead and looked on her with a love smile that
reached the remotest boundary of his face, he looked just the way he
looked at Ruhlin in the third round. But the girl didn't seem to mind. She
knew he was only funning, and she cuddled right up to his solar plexus and
said:
"I am your Nell, the same saucy Nell that sported among the daisies when
we were a little boy and girl together." That statement made Jim look
sincere.
It must be confessed that the epilogue was the most successful part of the
piece. The epilogue was a more or less rapid three-round go. Mr. Yank
Kennedy, an eminent pugilistic artist from California, was advertised as
Mr. Jeffries's support in this scene. But the cordial welcome of New
Jersey society had proved too much for the artistic temperament of Mr.
Kennedy.
Mr. Hennesy of Princeton University was announced by that eminent
impresario Mr. Billy Delany as Mr. Kennedy's understudy. Mr. Hennesy's
acting was finished in leading and countering, but sadly deficient in
guarding and side-stepping. He was entirely overshadowed by the great
artist who played opposite him.
At one period of the performance the shadows grew so thick that Mr.
Hennesy went down for the count of nine. It was plain, however, from the
cordial, if somewhat unsteady, handshake he gave Mr. Jeffries as the
curtain fell that Mr. Hennesy harbored no artistic jealousy.