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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..992ea9a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65520 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65520) diff --git a/old/65520-0.txt b/old/65520-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1aa6098..0000000 --- a/old/65520-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8440 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sunny Side of the Street, by Marshall P. -Wilder - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Sunny Side of the Street - -Author: Marshall P. Wilder - -Illustrator: Bart Haley - Charles Graham - -Release Date: June 5, 2021 [eBook #65520] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET *** - - - - - -The Sunny Side of the Street - -[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPH BY MARCEAU, NEW YORK - -_Merrily Yours_ - -_Marshall P. Wilder_] - - - - - THE SUNNY SIDE - OF THE STREET - - BY - MARSHALL P. WILDER - _Author of “People I’ve Smiled With”_ - - WITH TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS BY BART HALEY - AND COVER DECORATION BY - CHARLES GRAHAM - - [Illustration] - - FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY - NEW YORK AND LONDON - 1905 - - Copyright, 1905, by - FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY - - [_Printed in the United States of America_] - - Published, June, 1905 - - - - -_Affectionately Dedicated To My Father_ - - - - -PREFACE - - -In this little volume are offered recollections of the sunny side of many -people. I have plucked blossoms from the gardens of humor and pathos, -which lie side by side, and in weaving them into a garland, claim only as -my own the string that binds them together. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. SUNSHINE AND FUN 23 - - The Sunny Side of the Street.—Jests and Jesters.—The - Force of a Joke.—Lincoln’s Way.—Kings and - Their Joke-makers.—As They do It in Persia and - Ireland.—“Chestnuts.”—Few Modern Jesters but no End of - Jokers.—Entertainers and Their Ways. - - II. SUNNY MEN OF SERIOUS PRESENCE 31 - - Richard Croker.—A Good Fellow and Not Hard to - Approach, if One is not in Politics.—Croker as a - Haymaker.—Does not Keep Opinions on Tap.—He and - Chauncey Depew on New York City Politics.—Croker - Bewilders a London Salesman.—His Greatest - Pride.—Recorder Goff.—Not as Severe as His - Acts.—Justice Tempered With Mercy.—Two Puzzling Cases. - - III. AT THE WHITE HOUSE AND NEAR IT 41 - - My Prophecy to “Major” McKinley.—President McKinley - Becomes “One of the Boys” of My Audience; His - Attention to His Wife.—How He Won a Vermont City.—A - Story of the Spanish War.—My First Meeting with - President Harrison.—A Second and More Pleasing - One.—A Chance Which I Gladly Lost.—Some of President - Harrison’s Stories.—I Led a Parade Given in His - Honor.—Vice-Presidents Morton and Hobart. - - IV. STORY-TELLING AS AN ART 57 - - Different Ways of Story-Telling.—The Slow - Story-Teller.—Lincoln’s Stories.—Bad Telling of Good - Stories.—The Right Way to Tell a Story.—The Humorous, - the Comic and the Witty Story.—Artemus Ward, Robert J. - Burdette and Mark Twain as Story-Tellers. - - V. ACTORS’ JOKES 68 - - All of Them Full of Humor at All Times.—“Joe” - Jefferson.—J. K. Emmett.—Fay Templeton.—Willie - Collier.—An Actor’s Portrait on a Church Wall.—“Gus” - Thomas, the Playwright.—Stuart Robson.—Henry - Dixey.—Evans and Hoey.—Charles Hoyt.—Wilson - Barrett.—W. S. Gilbert.—Henry Irving. - - VI. A SUNNY OLD CITY 81 - - Some Aspects of Philadelphia.—Fun in a Hospital.—“The - Cripple’s Palace.”—An Invalid’s Success in Making - Other Invalids Laugh.—Fights for the Fun of - Fighting.—My Rival Friends.—Boys Will Be Boys.—Cast - Out of Church.—A Startling Recognition.—Some Pleasures - of Attending Funerals.—How I Claimed the Protection of - the American Flag. - - VII. MY FIRST TRIP TO LONDON 93 - - Large Hopes _vs._ Small Means.—At the Savage Club.—My - First Engagement.—Within an Ace of Losing It.—Alone - in a Crowd.—A Friendly Face to the Rescue.—The New - York Welcome to a Fine Fellow.—One English Way With - Jokes.—People Who are Slow to Laugh.—Disturbing - Elements.—Cold Audiences.—Following a Suicide. - - VIII. EXPERIENCES IN LONDON 108 - - Customs and Climate Very Unlike Our Own.—No - Laughter in Restaurants.—Clever Cabbies.—Oddities - in Fire-Fighting.—The “Rogue’s Gallery.”—In - Scotland Yard.—“Petticoat Lane.”—A Cemetery for Pet - Dogs.—“Dogs Who Are Characters.”—The Professional - Toast-Master.—Solemn After-dinner Speakers.—An - Autograph Table-cloth.—American Brides of English - Husbands. - - IX. “LUCK” IN STORY-TELLING 121 - - The Real Difference Between Good Luck and Bad.—Good - Luck with Stories Presupposes a Well-stored - Memory.—Men Who Always Have the Right Story Ready.—Mr. - Depew.—Bandmaster Sousa’s Darky Stories.—John - Wanamaker’s Sunday-School Stories.—General Horace - Porter’s Tales That go to the Spot.—The Difference - Between Parliament and Congress. - - X. JOURNALISTS AND AUTHORS 133 - - Not all Journalists are Critics, Nor are all Critics - Fault-finders.—The Most Savage Newspapers not the Most - Influential.—The Critic’s Duty.—Horace Greeley.—Mark - Twain’s First Earnings.—A Great Publisher Approached - by Green Goods Men.—Henry Watterson.—Opie Reid.—Quimby - of the “Free Press.”—Laurence Hutton, Edwin Booth and - I in Danger Together. - - XI. THE UNEXPECTED 146 - - Robert Hilliard and I and a Dog.—Hartford’s Actors - and Playwrights.—A Fit that Caused a Misfit.—A - Large Price to Hear a Small Man.—Jim Corbett and - I.—A Startled Audience.—Captain Williams and - “Red” Leary.—“Joe” Choate to the Rescue.—Bait - for a Dude.—Deadheads.—Within an Inch of Davy - Jones.—Perugini and Four Fair Adorers.—Scanlon and - Kernell. - - XII. SUNSHINE IN SHADY PLACES 164 - - On Blackwell’s Island.—Snakes and Snake - Charmers.—Insane People as Audiences.—A Poorhouse - That was a Large House.—I am Well Known by Another - Profession.—Criminals are Not Fools.—Some Pathetic - Experiences.—The Largest Fee I Ever Received. - - XIII. “BUFFALO BILL” 177 - - He Works Hard But Jokes Harder.—He and I Stir Up - a Section of Paris.—In Peril of a Mob.—My Indian - Friends in the Wild West Company.—Bartholdi and - Cody.—English Bewilderment Over the “Wild West” - People.—Major “Jack” Burke.—Cody as a Stage - Driver.—Some of His Western Stories.—When He Had the - Laugh on Me. - - XIV. THE ART OF ENTERTAINING 190 - - Not as Easy as It Would Seem.—Scarcity of Good - Stories for the Purpose.—Drawing-room Audiences - are Fastidious.—Noted London Entertainers.—They - are Guests of the People Who Engage Them.—London - Methods and Fees.—Blunders of a Newly-wed Hostess - from America.—Humor Displaces Sentiment in the - Drawing-room.—My Own Material and Its Sources. - - XV. IN THE SUNSHINE WITH GREAT PREACHERS 199 - - I am Nicknamed “The Theological Comedian.”—My Friend, - Henry Ward Beecher.—Our Trip Through Scotland and - Ireland.—His Quickness of Repartee.—He and Ingersoll - Exchange Words.—Ingersoll’s Own Sunshine.—DeWitt - Talmage on the Point of View.—He Could Even Laugh at - Caricatures of His Own Face.—Dr. Parkhurst on Strict - Denominationalism. - - XVI. THE PRINCE OF WALES, NOW KING EDWARD VII 211 - - The Most Popular Sovereign in Europe.—How He Saved Me - From a Master of Ceremonies.—Promotion by Name.—He and - His Friends Delight Two American Girls.—His Sons and - Daughters.—An Attentive and Loving Father.—Untiring - at His Many Duties.—Before He Ascended the - Throne.—Unobtrusive Politically, Yet Influential. - - XVII. SIR HENRY IRVING 222 - - A Model of Courtesy and Kindness.—An Early Friend - Surprised by the Nature of His Recognition.—His - Tender Regard for Members of His Company.—Hamlet’s - Ghost Forgets His Cue.—Quick to Aid the Needy.—Two - Luck Boys.—Irving as a Joker.—The Story He Never Told - Me.—Generous Offer to a Brother Actor-manager.—Why He - is Not Rich. - - XVIII. LONDON THEATRES AND THEATRE-GOERS 236 - - Why English and American Plays Do Best at - Home.—The Intelligent Londoner Takes the Theatre - Seriously.—Play-going as a Duty.—The High-class - English Theatre a Costly Luxury.—American Comedies - too Rapid of Action to Please the English.—Bronson - Howard’s “Henrietta,” not Understood in London.—The - Late Clement Scott’s Influence and Personality. - - XIX. TACT 247 - - An Important Factor of Success.—Better Than - Diplomacy.—Some Noted Possessors of Tact.—James G. - Blaine.—King Edward VII.—Queen Alexandra.—Henry - Ward Beecher.—Mme. Patti.—Mrs. Ronalds.—Mrs. - Cleveland.—Mrs. Langtry.—Colonel Ingersoll.—Mrs. - Kendall.—General Sherman.—Chauncey M. Depew.—Mrs. - James Brown Potter.—Mme. Nordica. - - XX. ADELINA PATTI 263 - - Her Home in Wales.—Some of Her Pets.—An Ocean - Voyage With Her.—The Local Reception at Her - Home-coming.—Mistress of an Enormous Castle and a - Great Retinue of Servants.—Her Winter Garden and - Private Theatre.—A Most Hospitable and Charming - Hostess.—Her Local Charities are Continuous and Many. - - XXI. SOME NOTABLE PEOPLE 278 - - Cornelius Vanderbilt.—Mrs. Mackey.—The - Rockefellers.—Jay Gould.—George Gould and Mary - Anderson.—Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske.—Augustin - Daly.—Nicola Tesla.—Cheiro. - - XXII. HUMAN NATURE 292 - - Magnetism and Its Elements.—Every One Carries - the Marks of His Trade.—How Men Are “Sized Up” - at Hotels.—Facial Resemblance of Some People to - Animals.—What the Eye First Catches.—When Faces Are - Masked.—Bathing in Japan.—The Conventions of Every Day - Life That Hide Us From Our Fellows.—Genuineness is the - One Thing Needful. - - XXIII. SUNNY STAGE PEOPLE 302 - - “Joe” Jefferson.—I Take His Life.—His - Absent-Mindedness.—Jefferson and General Grant.—Nat - Goodwin, and How He Helped Me Make Trouble.—Our - Bicycling Mishap.—Goodwin Pours Oil on Troubled - Dramatic Waters Abroad.—George Leslie.—Wilton - Lackaye.—Burr McIntosh.—Miss Ada Rehan. - - XXIV. SUNSHINE IS IN DEMAND 313 - - Laughter Wanted Everywhere.—Dismal Efforts at - Fun.—English Humor.—The Difference Between Humor - and Wit.—Composite Merriment.—Carefully Studied - “Impromptus.”—National Types of Humor.—Some Queer - Substitutes for the Real Article.—Humor is Sometimes - “Knocked Out,” Yet Mirth is Medicine and Laughter - Lengthens Life. - - XXV. “BILL” NYE 321 - - A Humorist of the Best Sort.—Not True to His Own - Description of Himself.—Everybody’s Friend.—His Dog - “Entomologist” and the Dog’s Companions.—A Man With - the Right Word for Every Occasion.—His Pen-name - was His Own.—Often Mistaken for a Distinguished - Clergyman.—Killed by a Published Falsehood. - - XXVI. SOME SUNNY SOLDIERS 330 - - General Sherman.—His Dramatic Story of a - Trysting-place.—The Battle of Shiloh Fought - Anew.—Sherman and Barney Williams.—General Russell A. - Alger on War.—General Lew Wallace.—The Room in Which - He Wrote “Ben Hur.”—His Donkey Story.—General Nelson - A. Miles and Some of His Funny Stories.—A Father Who - Wished He Had Been a Priest. - - XXVII. SOME FIRST EXPERIENCES 348 - - When I was a Boy.—One Christmas Frolic.—How I Got - on One Theatre’s Free List.—My First Experience - as a Manager.—Strange Sequel of a Modest Business - Effort.—My First Cigar and How It Undid Me.—The Only - “Drink” I Ever Took.—My First Horse in Central Park.—I - Volunteer as a Fifer in School Band, with Sad Results - to All Concerned. - - - - -The People, Stories About Whom Appear in “The Sunny Side of the Street” - - - Abbey, Henry E., 99 - - Abbot Sisters (Bessie and Jessie), 215, 216 - - Albert Victor, Prince, 217 - - Alexandra, Queen, 221-249 - - Alger, Gen. Russell A., 42, 339 - - Allen, Heron-, 289 - - Allen, Viola, 303 - - Anderson, Col., 336 - - Anderson, Mary, Miss, 282 - - Arkell, W. J., 47, 100 - - - Bancroft, Sir Squire, 310 - - Bangs, Frank, 303 - - Barrett, Lawrence, 73 - - Barrett, Millie, 74 - - Barrett, Wilson, 78, 98, 261 - - Barrymore, Maurice, 153 - - Bartholdi, 182 - - Battenberg, Prince Henry of, 273 - - Baumeister, Caroline, 271 - - Beecher, Henry Ward, 46, 199, 201, 202, 250 - - Bell, Digby, 163 - - Bellew, Kyrle, 158 - - Bingham (Ventriloquist), 149 - - Blaine, James G., 248, 257 - - Bliss, Cornelius N., 42 - - Booth, Edwin, 143 - - Bowers, Arthur, 100 - - Brockway, Supt. (Elmira), 167 - - “Bronco Bill,” 182 - - Brough, Lionel, 222 - - Buntline, Ned, 177 - - Burdette, Robert J., 62 - - Burgess, Neil, 148 - - Burke, Major John, 186 - - Burnand, F. C., 118 - - Busbey, Georgia, 73 - - Byron, Oliver Dowd, Mr. and Mrs., 148 - - - Cameron, Gov., 251 - - Carlyle, Francis, 147 - - Carr, Comyns, 310 - - Carte, D’Oyley, 191 - - Chanfrau, Mr. and Mrs. Frank, 148 - - “Cheiro” (Louis Warner), 288-291 - - Childs, Geo. W., 99 - - Choate, Joseph H., 151 - - Clarke, J. I. C., 99 - - Cleveland, Mr. and Mrs. Grover, 46, 69, 254, 255, 295 - - Coates, Foster, 99 - - Cockerill, John A., 331 - - Cody, Kit Carson, 177 - - Cody, Col. Wm. J. (“Buffalo Bill”), 100, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, - 186, 187, 188, 189 - - Collier, Wm. (“Willie”), 71 - - Corbett, James J., 150 - - Croker, Mr. and Mrs. Richard, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36 - - Croly, Mrs., 284 - - - Dailey, Pete, 69 - - Dale, Musical, 147 - - Daly, Augustin, 99, 285 - - Davis, Richard Harding, 260 - - Depew, Chauncey M., 34, 99, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 137, 196, 214, - 260, 290 - - Devonshire, Duke of, 214 - - Dewey, Gott, 84, 86, 88 - - Dickens, Charles, 118 - - Dillingham, C. B., 147 - - Dix, Rev. Morgan, 326 - - Dixey, Henry E., 75 - - Dockstader, Lew, 147 - - Dodson, J. E., 225 - - Doubleday, Frank N., 140 - - Dougherty, Daniel, 99 - - Drew, John, 303 - - Dunham, Geo., 303 - - Du Val, Harry, 99 - - - Eames, Emma, Mme., 147 - - Edward the Seventh (King), 211-221, 249 - - Emmett, J. K., 69 - - Evans, Charles, 76, 77 - - Evarts, Wm. M., 295 - - - Fawcett, George, 155 - - Fiske, Harrison Grey, 100 - - “Flat Iron,” 182, 183, 184 - - Florence, W. J., 100, 303 - - Frohman, Charles, 155 - - Frohman, Daniel, 99 - - Fuller, Loie, 288 - - - Geary (P. M. Gen.), Mr. and Mrs., 42 - - George, Prince, 217 - - Gilbert, W. S., 78, 79, 118 - - Gildersleeve, Judge, 189 - - Gillette, Wm., 147 - - Glenny, Charles, 79 - - Goff, Recorder, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40 - - Goodwin, Nat, 156, 199, 307 - - Gould, Edith Kingdon, 282 - - Gould, George, 281, 282 - - Gould, Jay, 280 - - Grain, Corney, 191 - - Grant, Gen. Fred., 336 - - Grant, Mayor Hugh, 99 - - Grant, Gen. U. S., 32, 330 - - Greeley, Horace, 137 - - Griffen, Mrs., 283 - - Grossmith, Geo., 191 - - Gunn, Michael, 283 - - - Halford, Leige, 46, 47 - - Handy, Moses P., 100, 286 - - Harris, Sir August, 245, 310 - - Harrison, Benj. F., 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52 - - Harrison, Russell, 46, 48 - - Hatton, Joseph, 100 - - Hilliard, Robert, 146 - - Hobart, Garrett A., 42, 54 - - Hoey, Bill (“Old Hoss”), 76, 77 - - Howard, Bronson, 239 - - Howard, Jos., Jr., 100 - - Howe, “Daddy,” 224 - - Hoyt, Charles, 78 - - Hutton, Laurence, 143 - - - Ingersoll, Col. Robt. G., 99, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 257, 319 - - Irving, Sir Henry, 98, 222-235, 290 - - - Jefferson, Charles, 303 - - Jefferson, Jos., 69, 303, 304, 305, 306 - - Jefferson, Jos., Jr., 303 - - Jefferson, Thomas, 303 - - Jefferson, Willie, 303 - - Jones, Henry Arthur, 310 - - Jones, Senator of Nevada, 154, 348 - - - Keith, B. F., 212 - - Kendal, Mrs., 225, 252, 257 - - Kendall, Ezra, 59, 60 - - Kennet, Luther M., 337 - - Kent, Chas., 285 - - Kernell, Harry, 159, 161 - - - Lackaye, Wilton, 153 - - Langtry, Mrs., 255, 256 - - Lawton, Frank, 147 - - Leary, “Red,” 151 - - Lee, Gen. Fitzhugh, 251 - - Lee, Gen. Robt. E., 251 - - Leslie, Mrs. Frank (Baroness de Bazus), 252 - - Leslie, George, 311 - - Levy, Jefferson, 34 - - Lewis, Marshall, 73 - - Lincoln, Abraham, 25, 57 - - Lombard, Elsie C. (Mrs. John T. Brush), 303 - - Lord, Chester A., 99 - - Loring, D. A., 42 - - Louise, Princess of Teck, 217 - - Lucy, Henry W., 117 - - - Mackaye, Steele, 189, 206 - - Mackey, Mrs., 279, 311 - - Maddern, Minnie (Mrs. Fiske), 284 - - Mannering, Billy, 156 - - Mansfield, Richard, 79, 231 - - “Mark Twain,” 64, 65, 66, 67, 138, 147, 148, 316 - - Matthews, Father, 337 - - Maude, Princess, 217 - - McAllister, Ward, 196 - - McIntosh, Burr, 311 - - McIntyre, 227 - - McKelway, St. Clair, 99 - - McKinley, Abner, 44 - - McKinley, Mr. and Mrs. Wm., 41, 42, 43, 44, 45 - - Meade, “Tom,” 226 - - Merrill, Bradford, 99 - - Miles, Gen. Nelson A., 344 - - Mitchell, Maggie, Miss, 148 - - Morton, Levi P., 55 - - - Nicolini, Signor, 264 - - Nordica, Madame, 262 - - Nye, Wm. Edgar (Bill), 100, 321 - - - Ochiltree, Col. Thos. P., 100, 354 - - - Paget, Lady, 261 - - Palmer, A. M., 99 - - Parkhurst, Rev. Charles H., 208, 295 - - Parry, John, 191 - - Patti, Adelina, 41, 252, 263 - - Paulding, Fred’k, 303 - - Perugini (John Chatterton), 157 - - Pettit, Harry, 310 - - Philip, Captain, 45 - - Philip, Mr., 44, 45 - - Pitou, Augustus, 156 - - Ponisi, Madame, 303 - - Porter, Gen. Horace, 130 - - Potter, Mrs. Brown, 261 - - Pryor, Roger A., 295 - - - Quimby, W. E., 142 - - - “Red Shirt,” 182, 183 - - Rehan, Ada, 312 - - Reid, Opie, 141 - - Reid, Whitelaw, 99 - - Riley, Jas. Whitcomb, 139, 159 - - Robertson, Forbes, 79 - - Robson, Stuart, 73 - - Rockefeller, John D., 279 - - Rogers, Claude, Miss, 162 - - Rogers, Cynthia, Miss, 160 - - Ronalds, Mrs., 252, 262 - - Rosser, Gen., 251 - - Rothschild, Baron de, 192 - - Russell, Lillian, 292 - - - Sage, Russell, 290 - - Salsbury, Nate, 185 - - Sanger, Frank, 99 - - Saunders, Lucille Marie, 147 - - Scanlon, W. J., 159 - - Scott, Clement, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246 - - Scott, Margaret Clement, 244 - - Shah of Persia, 249 - - Sherman, Gen. W. T., 69, 99, 259, 260, 330 - - Shine, J. L., 240 - - Sims, George R., 245 - - Skinner, Otis, 147, 303 - - Smith, Ex-Gov., 251 - - Smyth, Recorder, 295 - - Snyder, Mr. and Mrs. Mat., 148, 149, 152 - - Sothern, Sam, 100 - - Sousa, John Philip, 126 - - Stevens, Mrs. Paran, 261 - - Stoddart, J. M., 99 - - Sutherland, Duke of, 112 - - - Talmage, Rev. T. De Witt, 207 - - Teck, Duke and Duchess of, 217 - - Teck, Princess Mary of, 194 - - Templeton, Fay, 70, 292 - - Tesla, Dr. Nicola, 286 - - Thomas, Augustus, 72 - - Thomas, Brandon, 245 - - Toole, J. L., 214 - - Tree, Beerbohm, 117 - - - Vanderbilt, Cornelius Harry, 164, 278 - - Vassar, Queenie (Mrs. Kernell), 162 - - Vaughn, Theresa, Miss, 148 - - Victoria, Princess, 217 - - - Wallace, Lew, 334, 342 - - Wanamaker, John, 92, 128, 129 - - Ward, Artemus, 63 - - Washburn, U. S. Minister, 337 - - Watterson, Henry, 100, 141 - - Webb, Jas. Watson, 337 - - Wilcox, Ella Wheeler, 315 - - Willard, E. S., 79, 99, 100, 233 - - Williams, Capt. Alexander, 151 - - Williams, “Barney,” 337 - - Wintersmith, Col. Dick, 141 - - Woodruff, Harry, 147 - - Wyndham, Charles, 307 - - - Young, James, Jr., 151 - - Young, John Russell, 100 - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -I - -SUNSHINE AND FUN - - The Sunny Side of the Street.—Jests and Jesters.—The Force of a - Joke.—Lincoln’s Way.—Kings and Their Joke-Makers.—As they do it - in Persia and Ireland.—“Chestnuts.”—Few Modern Jesters but no - End of Jokers.—Entertainers and Their Ways. - - -I live on the sunny side of the street; shady folks live on the other. I -always preferred the sunshine, and have tried to put other people there, -if only for an hour or two at a time, even if I had to do it after sunset -from a platform under the gaslight, with my name billed at the door as -entertainer. - -As birds of a feather flock together, it has been my good fortune to meet -thousands of other people on the sunny side of the street. In this volume -I shall endeavor to distribute some of the sunshine which these fine -fellows unloaded on me. - -Nature has put up many effective brands of concentrated sunshine in small -packages; but the best of these, according to all men of all countries, -is the merry jest. As far back as history goes you will find the jest, -also the jester. The latter was so important that kings could not get -along without him. Some kings more powerful than any European sovereign -is to-day are remembered now only by what their jesters said. - -All these jesters are said to have been little people. I am doubly -qualified to claim relationship with them, for I am only three and a half -feet high, and I have been jester to millions of sovereigns—that is, to -millions of the sovereign American people, as well as to some foreign -royalties. - -The reason for little people taking naturally to sunshine and -good-natured joking is not hard to find, for it is a simple case of -Hobson’s choice. It is easier to knock a man out with a joke than with a -fist-blow, especially if you haven’t much height and weight behind your -fist. It is the better way, too, for the joke doesn’t hurt. Instead of -the other man’s going in search of an arnica bottle or a pistol or a -policeman, he generally hangs about with the hope of getting another blow -of the same sort. One needn’t be little to try it. Abraham Lincoln had -a fist almost as big as the hand of Providence, and as long a reach as -John L. Sullivan, but he always used a joke instead, so men who came to -growl remained to laugh. I’m not concerned about the size of my own hand, -for it has been big enough to get and keep everything that belonged to -me. As to reach, as long as my jests reach their mark I shan’t take the -trouble to measure arms with any one. - -[Illustration: It is a Simple Case of Hobson’s Choice.] - -There’s always something in a jest—for the man who hears it. How about -the jester? Well, he is easily satisfied. Most men want the earth, so -they get the bad as well as the good, but the best that the world affords -is good enough for the jester, so I shan’t try to break the record. It -is often said that the jester swims near the top. Why shouldn’t he? -Isn’t that where the cream is? And isn’t he generous enough to leave the -skimmed milk for the chaps dismal enough to prefer to swim at the bottom? - -I am often moved to pride when I realize how ancient is my craft. Adam -did not have a jester; but he did not need one, for he was the only -man—except you and I—who married the only woman in the world. Neither -did old Noah have or need one, for he had the laugh on everybody else -when the floods fell and he found himself in out of the rain. But as soon -as the world dried out and got full enough of people to set up kings in -business, the jester appears in history, and the nations without jesters -to keep kings’ minds in good-working order dropped out of the procession. -The only one of them that survives is Persia, where John the Jester is, -as he always was, in high favor at court. When trouble is in the air he -merely winks at the Shah and gets off: “Oh, Pshaw!” or some other _bon -mot_ old enough to be sweet; then the monarch doubles up and laughs the -frown from his face, and the headsman sheathes his sword and takes a day -off. - -Speaking of old saws that are always welcome reminds me to protest -against the unthinking persons who cry “Chestnut!” against every joke -that is not newly coined. In one way it is a compliment, for the -chestnut is the sweetest nut that grows; but it does not reach perfection -until it has had many soakings and frosts, and has been kicked about -under the dead leaves so many times that if it was anything except a -chestnut it would have been lost. Good stories are like good principles: -the older they are, the stronger their pull. - -There is not a more popular tale in the world than that of Cinderella. It -is so good that nations have almost fought for the honor of originating -it. Yet a few years ago some antiquarians dug some inscribed clay tablets -from the ruins of an Asiatic city that was centuries old when Noah was -a boy. Some sharps at that sort of thing began to decipher them, and -suddenly they came upon the story of Cinderella—her golden slipper, -fairy godmother, princely lover and all. But do children say “Chestnut!” -if you give them this, and then tell them the story of Cinderella? Not -they!—unless you don’t know how to tell it. A story is like food: it -doesn’t matter how familiar it is, if you know how to serve it well. - -Why, the story-teller, of the same old stories, too, is as busy in Persia -to-day as he was thousands of years ago, and one of the most important -of his duties is the passing of the hat. You will find him on the street -corners of the towns with a crowd about him. When he reaches the most -interesting part of the story he will stop, like the newspaper serial -with “To be continued in our next.” Then he passes his fez. The listeners -know well what the remainder of the story will be; but instead of -“Chestnut!” he hears the melodious clink of coppers. - -Not only the Shah, but many a wealthy Persian keeps a jester for the sole -purpose of being made to laugh when he feels dull. Some of the antics of -these chaps would not seem funny to an American—such, for instance, as -going about on all fours, knocking people down and dressing in fantastic -attire—but there is no accounting for tastes, as the old woman said when -she kissed the cow. The Shah’s jester has a great swing—he has twelve -houses, and not a mortgage on one of them. He also has all the wives he -wants. Who says that talent is not properly appreciated in Persia? - -If you will run over to Europe you will find the Irish prototype of the -Persian story-teller on the streets of Dublin and Limerick. Many a time -I have seen him on the street corner telling the thrilling story of how -O’Shamus was shot, or some similarly cheering tale—for fighting seems the -funniest of fun to an Irishman. And just before first blood is drawn, the -story-teller pauses to pass the hat, into which drop hard-earned pennies -that had been saved for something else. It is the old Persian act. The -manner is the same, though the coat and hat are different, so I should -not be surprised to learn that the Irish are direct descendants of the -ancient Persians. - -[Illustration: The Irish Prototype of the Persian Story-Teller.] - -It would be easy to follow the parallel and to show how from the ancient -jester was evolved the modern comedian; but of the “true-blue” jesters -of to-day—the men who evolve fun from their own inner consciousness—I -am compelled to quote: “There are only a few of us left.” Of these -“entertainers,” as they are called in modern parlance, I shall let out -a few of the secrets which admit them to the drawing-room of England -and America to put a frosting, as it were, on proceedings that otherwise -might be too sweet, perhaps too heavy. The modern jester comes to the -aid of the queen of the drawing-room just as the ancient one did to the -monarch of old, so he is still an honored guest at the table of royalty. - - - - -II - -SUNNY MEN OF SERIOUS PRESENCE - - Richard Croker.—A Good Fellow and Not Hard to Approach.—If - One is Not in Politics.—Croker as a Haymaker.—Does Not Keep - Opinions on Tap.—He and Chauncey Depew on New York City - Politics.—Croker Bewilders a London Salesman.—His Greatest - Pride.—Recorder Goff.—Not as Severe as His Acts.—Justice - Tempered With Mercy.—Two Puzzling Cases. - - -One of the privileges of a cheerful chap without any axes to grind is -that of seeing behind the mask that some men of affairs are compelled to -wear. Often men whom half of the world hates and the other half fears -are as companionable as a hearty boy, if they are approached by a man -who doesn’t want anything he shouldn’t have—wants nothing but a slice of -honest human nature. - -Such a man is Richard Croker, for years the autocrat of Tammany Hall and -still believed, by many, to have the deciding word on any question of -Tammany’s policy. With most men it is a serious matter, requiring much -negotiation, to get a word with Mr. Croker, and they dare not expect more -than a word in return. - -While at Richfield Springs, a few years ago, I drove out to call on Mr. -Croker at his farm. I met Mrs. Croker on the piazza and was told I would -probably find her husband in the hay-field; so I went around behind -the stables and found the leader of Tammany Hall in his shirt-sleeves -pitching hay upon a wagon. At that time an exciting political contest -was “on,” and New York politicians were continually telegraphing and -telephoning their supreme manager,—the only man who could untangle -all the hard knots,—yet from his fields Richard Croker conducted the -campaign, and with so little trouble to him that it did not keep him from -making sure of his hay-crop, by putting it in himself. - -In later years I saw much more of Mr. Croker, for I was often his -guest at Wantage, his country home in England, and I could not help -studying him closely, for he was a most interesting man. In appearance -he suggested General Grant; he was of Grant’s stature and build, his -close-cropped beard and quiet but observant eyes recalled Grant, and his -face, like the great general’s, suggested bulldog courage and tenacity, -as well as the high sense of self-reliance that makes a man the leader -of his fellow men. Few of his closest associates know more of him than -his face expresses, for he is possessed of and by the rarest of all -human qualities—that of keeping his opinions to himself. Most political -leaders say things which bob up later to torment them, but Croker’s -political enemies never have the luck of giving him his own words to -eat. He can and does talk freely with men whom he likes and who are not -tale-bearers, but he never talks from the judgment seat. Even about -ordinary affairs he is too modest and sensible to play Sir Oracle. One -day he chanced to be off his guard and gave me a positive opinion on -a certain subject; when afterward I recalled it to him he exclaimed: -“Marshall, did I tell you that?” It amazed him that he had expressed an -opinion. - -During one of my visits to Wantage Mr. Croker and I were together almost -continually for a week; he not only survived it, but was a most attentive -and companionable host. His son Bert was fond of getting up early in the -morning to hunt mushrooms, and in order to be awakened he would set an -alarm clock. “Early morning” in England and at that season of the year -was from three to four o’clock, for dawn comes much earlier than with us. -His father did not wish him to arise so early, so he would go softly into -Bert’s room and turn off the alarm, to assure a full night sleep for the -boy. The fact that he could not hear the alarm worried Bert so greatly -that he placed the clock directly over his head, hanging it to a string -from the ceiling. But even in this position Mr. Croker succeeded in -manipulating it, and he gleefully told me of it at the time. - -One day, in London, Mr. Croker called for me and took me to see Mr. -Depew, who had recently arrived. We drove to the Savoy and found Mr. -Depew on the steps, just starting for Paris. He exclaimed: - -“Hello? What are you two fellows doing together?—fixing up the election?” - -This was just before Van Wyck was elected mayor; Mr. Strong’s enforcement -of the liquor law had been so vigorous as to enrage many bibulous voters. -As he bade us good-bye Mr. Depew found time to say to Mr. Croker, - -“All your party will have to do will be to hold their hats and catch the -votes.” - -At the time of the Queen’s Jubilee we were invited to view the procession -from Mr. Jefferson Levy’s apartment in Piccadilly, but Mr. Croker -declined; he told me afterward that he would have offended many Irish -voters in America had he appeared in any way to honor the Queen. - -Before starting from London for Wantage one day, Mr. Croker asked me to -go to a furniture dealer’s with him; he had some purchases to make. As -we entered the place he said to me, “We’ve only half an hour in which to -catch the train”—but the way he bought furniture did not make him lose -the train. He would say, pointing to a dresser, - -“How much is that?” - -“Six guineas, sir.” - -“Give me six of them.” - -Pointing to another, - -“How much is that one?” - -“Five guineas, sir.” - -“Well, seven of those”—and so on. - -With such rapid fire, even though he expended more than a thousand -dollars, and not at haphazard either, there was ample time to catch -the train. The incident, though slight in itself, is indicative of his -quickness of decision; but it so utterly upset the dealers, accustomed to -English deliberation, that he begged permission to wait until next day to -prepare an itemized bill. - -Mr. Croker’s quiet unobtrusive manner, which has so often deceived his -political enemies into believing that he was doing nothing, dates back a -great many years—as far back as his courtship. The future Mrs. Croker and -her sister were charming girls and their home was the social rendezvous -of all young people of the vicinity. Their father was a jolly good fellow -and as popular as his daughters; when the latter went to a dance he was -always their chaperon, and a most discreet one he was for he always went -up-stairs and slept until the time to go home. Mr. Croker was at the -house a great deal but was so quiet and devoted so much time to chat with -the father that no one suspected that one of the daughters was the real -attraction, but with the quiet persistence that had always characterized -him he “won out.” - -Great soldiers delight in fighting their battles o’er and no one -begrudges them the pleasure. Mr. Croker has been in some desperate fights -and won some great victories. Hoping for a story or more about them I one -day asked him of what in his life he was most proud. His reply indicated -the key-note of his nature, for it was: - -“That I have never gone back on my word.” - -Another man who has kept many thousands of smart fellows uncomfortably -awake and in fear is Recorder Goff. When he conducted the inquiries of -the Lexow Committee he extracted so much startling testimony from men -whom no one believed could be made to confess anything, that a lot of -fairly discreet citizens were almost afraid to look him in the eye, for -fear he would ferret out all their private affairs. I had never seen -him, but I had mentally made a distinct picture of him as a tall, thin, -dark-browed, austere, cold character, rather on the order of a Grand -Inquisitor, as generally accepted. When we met it was at a dinner, -where I sat beside him and had to retouch almost every detail of my -picture, for, although tall and thin, he was blonde and rosy, of sanguine -temperament, with merry eyes, a genial smile and as talkative as every -good fellow ought to be. - -The acquaintance begun at that dinner-table was continued most -pleasantly by many meetings in Central Park, which both of us frequented -on our bicycles. One day, while we were resting in the shadow of -Daniel Webster’s statue, I made bold to ask him how he came by his -marvelous power of extracting the truth from unwilling occupants of the -witness-box. He murmured something self-deprecatory, but told me the -following story in illustration of one of his indirect methods and also -of how truth will persist in muddling the wits of a liar. - -“A man was brought before me accused of killing another man with a -bottle. He had a friend whose mother was on the witness stand and she -tried to save her son’s friend, though she perjured herself to do so. She -swore she had seen the murderer and could describe him. I was convinced -of the accused’s guilt and the woman’s perjury, and I determined to -surprise her into confession. - -“I got seven men of varying appearance who were in the court-room to -stand up, which they did, though greatly mystified, for they were present -only as spectators. I asked the woman if the first man was the murderer. -She promptly answered ‘No,’ to his great relief. - -“‘But,’ I said, ‘he resembles the murderer, doesn’t he? He is the same -height?’ - -“‘Oh, no,’ she answered, ‘he is much taller.’ Motioning the first man to -sit down, I pointed to No. 2, and asked: - -“‘This man is the same height as the murderer, is he not?’ - -“‘Yes, exactly.’ I asked the man his height, and he said ‘five feet -seven.’ He was told to sit down, and No. 3, who had a head of most -uncompromising red hair, was brought forward. - -“‘You said the murderer had red hair like this man, didn’t you?’ - -“‘Oh, no—brown, curly hair.’ - -“‘Were his eyes like this man’s?’ - -“‘No, they were brown.’ - -“Number four, who had fine teeth, was asked to open his mouth, greatly to -his embarrassment. - -“‘Were the murderer’s teeth like this man’s?’ - -“‘No, he had two gold teeth, one on each side.’ - -“Number five was rather stout and the woman thought the murderer about -his size; he weighed one hundred and sixty. Six and seven were looked at -and sent back to their seats, nervous and perspiring. Then I said: - -“‘We find from this woman’s testimony that the murderer was about five -feet seven in height, weighed one hundred and sixty, had dark curly -hair, brown eyes, two gold teeth and a habit of keeping his hands in his -pockets.’ - -“By this time the prisoner was white and shaking, for bit by bit the -witness had described him exactly. When the woman realized what she -had done she broke down and confessed that the prisoner was the real -criminal.” - -It was charged that a man brought before Recorder Goff for theft was an -old offender and had served a term in states prison, but the accused -denied it and no amount of cross-questioning by the prosecution could -shake his denial. Mr. Goff noticed that he had lost a thumb; as prisoners -are generally given a name by their comrades, signifying some physical -peculiarity, the Recorder said: - -“While in prison you were known as One-Thumbed Jack.” Taken off his -guard, the man asked: - -“How did you know that?” - -“Then you are an ex-convict?” - -“Well, yes, sir, but I had honest reasons for not wanting it known and -I’d like to speak to you alone, sir.” - -Mr. Goff granted the request and they retired to a small room where -the prisoner after telling his real name, related a touching story of -devotion to a young sister whom he brought up and educated with the -proceeds of his earlier crimes. While serving his prison term he had -written her letters which his pals posted for him in different parts of -the world to make her believe he was traveling so constantly that any -letters from her could not reach him. This sister was now married and had -two children and it would break her heart to find out that her brother -was a convict or had ever been one. So he wished to be sentenced under -another name. Mr. Goff said: - -“I will suspend sentence.” - -Later the man’s statements were investigated and found to be true. So his -request to be sentenced under an assumed name was granted. Farther, he -got but two years, although he would have been “sent up” for ten years -had it not been for his story—a fact which shows how in Recorder Goff, -the city’s greatest terror to evil-doers, justice is tempered with mercy. - -[Illustration] - - - - -III - -AT THE WHITE HOUSE AND NEAR IT - - My Prophecy to “Major” McKinley.—President McKinley Becomes - “One of the Boys” of My Audience; His Attention to His - Wife.—How He Won a Vermont City.—A Story of the Spanish - War.—My First Meeting With President Harrison.—A Second and - More Pleasing One.—A Chance Which I Gladly Lost.—Some of - President Harrison’s Stories.—I Led a Parade Given in His - Honor.—Vice-Presidents Morton and Hobart. - - -It had been my good fortune to meet several presidents of the United -States, as well as some gentlemen who would have occupied the White -House had the president died, and I learned that, in spite of their many -torments and tormentors, they all liked to get into the sunshine and that -they had done it so much that the sunshine had returned the compliment -right heartily, as is its way “in such case made and provided.” - -Some years ago while entering a New York hotel to call on Madame Patti -I chanced to meet in the corridor William McKinley, who was then -governor of Ohio, though his New York acquaintances still called him -“Major.” His was one of the big, broad natures that put all of a man’s -character in full view, and there was a great lot in McKinley’s face -that day,—thoughtfulness, self-reliance, strength, honesty, as well as -some qualities that seldom combine in one man—simplicity and shrewdness, -modesty and boldness, serious purpose and cheerfulness, that I became -quite happy in contemplation of him as a trusty all-around American. He -greeted me very cordially and as I was smiling broadly, he asked: - -“What pleases you, Marshall?” - -“The fact that I am shaking hands with the future president of the United -States,” I replied. - -Some years afterward, when Mr. McKinley had fulfilled my prophecy, I was -the guest of D. A. Loring, at Lake Champlain, and the president and most -of his cabinet were at the same hotel. Besides Mr. and Mrs. McKinley -there were Vice-President and Mrs. Hobart, Secretary of War Alger and -Mrs. Alger, Postmaster General Geary and Mrs. Geary, Cornelius N. Bliss, -Secretary of the Interior, and others. Every one at the hotel treated -the distinguished guest with the greatest consideration, by letting him -entirely alone, so that he got the rest he sorely needed. He walked -much about the grounds, enjoying the bracing atmosphere and peaceful, -beautiful surroundings. - -One day I went into the bowling alley to spend half an hour or more with -the boys who set up the pins; boys are always my friends, and I was going -to do some card and sleight-of-hand tricks for these little fellows. Just -as I had gathered them about me and started to amuse them, Mr. McKinley -came to the door and looked in, smiled, came over to us and asked what -was going on. I replied: - -“Well, Mr. President, I was just doing some tricks to amuse the boys.” - -“Then I’m one of the boys,” said the president of the United States. He -sat down in the circle and was one of my most attentive auditors. When I -had finished he walked apart with me and said: - -“Marshall, do you remember meeting me in the Windsor Hotel, New York, and -saying you were shaking hands with the future president of the United -States?” - -“I recall it very distinctly,” I replied. - -“I have just been thinking,” he said, “of that—to me, strange prophecy. -You must be possessed of some clairvoyant power.” There are some things -you can’t tell a man to his face, so I didn’t explain to him that a man -with a character like his couldn’t help becoming president, when the -whole country had come to know him. - -I shall never forget what I saw of his lover-like devotion to his -invalid wife, nor her evident gratitude for his every service, nor the -sweet solicitude and pride with which she regarded him. One day his -brother Abner arrived, went to the portion of the hotel reserved for the -president, met Mrs. McKinley and asked: - -“Is William in?” - -“Yes,” was the reply, “but I shall not let you see him for an hour. He is -resting.” - -A little incident that was described to me by an eye-witness brought out -one of the qualities which endeared President McKinley to his fellow -countrymen. While on a brief visit across the lake, in Vermont, he was -driving through a small city, followed by a great procession of people -who had turned out in his honor. While passing through the main street he -noticed an old man seated on the piazza of a modest dwelling, and asked -the mayor, who was beside him in the carriage, - -“Who is that old gentleman?” - -“That is Mr. Philip, father of Captain Philip, of the battleship -_Texas_,” was the reply. - -“I thought that must be he,” said the president. “Will you kindly stop -the carriage?” - -The carriage stopped and so did the mile or more of procession, while the -president jumped out, unassisted, ran up the steps, grasped the hand of -the astonished and delighted old man, and said: - -“Mr. Philip, I want to congratulate you on having such a son as Captain -Philip, and I feel that the thanks of the nation are due you for having -given the world such a brave, patriotic man.” - -The old man, tremulous with gratification, could scarcely find words with -which to thank the head of the nation for his appreciative attention, but -the president’s simple, friendly manner quickly put him at his ease and -the two men chatted freely for several minutes, the president evidently -enjoying it keenly. Then after a hearty invitation to visit him at the -White House, Mr. McKinley got into his carriage and the procession again -started. - -Mention of the _Texas_ recalls a visit I made to her when she was at the -New York Navy Yard for repairs, after the fight with Cervera’s fleet, in -which the _Texas_ was the principal American sufferer. A young officer -took me about the ship, showed me her honorable wounds, repeated Captain -Philip’s historic remark, made after the battle,—“Don’t cheer, boys; the -poor fellows are dying,” and told me the following story: - -One of our Irish sailors was very active in saving the Spaniards in the -water, throwing them ropes, boxes and everything floatable he could -find. But there was one Spaniard who missed everything that was thrown -him. Just before the battle we had had religious service and the altar -was still on deck, so our Irishman grabbed it, heaved it overboard and -yelled: - -“There, ye haythen! If _that_ won’t save ye, nothin’ ever will.” - -While Mr. Harrison was president I became pleasantly acquainted with -his son Russell, who, having read of President Cleveland’s very kind -treatment of me when I went to him with a letter of introduction from -Henry Ward Beecher, wanted me to meet his father and gave me a letter to -that effect. My visit to the White House was quite impressive—to me. Soon -after I reached Chamberlain’s, at Washington, a messenger arrived and -informed me that the President had received my letter of introduction and -desired me to call the next morning at ten o’clock, which I did. - -After passing the sentinels at the door I was taken into the room of Mr. -Private Secretary “Lije” Halford, who greeted me cordially and said: “Mr. -Wilder, the president will see you.” I was ushered into Mr. Harrison’s -presence, and the following conversation ensued: - -“Mr. President, this is Mr. Wilder.” - -“How do you do, Mr. Wilder?” - -“How do you do, Mr. President?” - -A profound silence followed; it seemed to me to be several minutes long; -then I said: - -“Good-day, Mr. President.” - -“Good-day, Mr. Wilder.” - -After leaving the room I turned to Mr. Halford, raised my coat-tails and -asked: - -“Won’t you please kick me?” - -Of course I had to refer to the incident in my monologue that season, for -it isn’t every day that a professional entertainer is invited to call at -the White House. But I did not care to tell exactly what occurred, so I -adopted an old minstrel joke and said: - -“I called on the president the other day. I walked in, in a familiar way, -and said, ‘How do you do, Mr. President?’ He said, ‘Sir, I cannot place -you.’ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘that’s what I’m here for.’” - -I afterward heard that President Harrison was very cold and lacked -cordiality; still later I discovered, with my own eyes and ears, that he -had a kind heart and genial nature. One summer while I was at Saratoga -I was asked by Mr. W. J. Arkell to Mount McGregor, to meet President -Harrison at dinner and to become a member of a fishing party. The -occasion was the president’s birthday, and the invitation was the more -welcome when I learned that a list of the people at the Saratoga hotels -had been shown the president, who had himself selected the guests for -his birthday celebration. At Mount McGregor I found, as one always finds, -wherever the President of the United States is staying a few days, thirty -or forty newspaper correspondents, all of whom I knew and most of whom -professed to doubt my ability to make the president laugh. This did not -worry me, for I don’t love trouble enough to look ahead for it, and -dinner time, when the laughing was to begin, was a few hours distant. - -We all went by carriage to a stream about five miles away and all helped -fill the president’s basket with fish,—for which he got full credit, in -the next day’s newspapers. My own contributions were few and small, for I -never was a good fisherman. So I was grateful when Russell Harrison took -me to a little pool where he was sure we would have great luck. But not -a bite did either of us get. Then I recalled something that a veteran -fisherman played on me when I was too young to be suspicious; it was -to beat the water to attract the attention of the fish. Russell kindly -assisted me at beating the water, but the fish beat us both by keeping -away. - -When we got back to the hotel and to the banquet it was announced that -there were to be no speeches, but the president would make a few remarks -and I would be called on for a few stories. Consequently I had no mind -or appetite for dinner, for most of the guests were newspaper men who had -been surfeited with stories ever since they entered the business, and the -most important listener would be the president, who the boys had said I -couldn’t make laugh. - -I was still mentally searching my repertoire, although I had already -selected a lot of richness, when the president arose and made some -general remarks. But it was impossible for him to forget that at this -same place—Mount McGregor, Ex-President Grant breathed his last, so -Mr. Harrison’s concluding remarks were on the line that any other -whole-hearted American would have struck in similar circumstances. As I -am a whole-hearted American myself, they struck me just where I live, and -I am not ashamed to confess that they knocked me out. - -So, when I was called upon, I declined to respond. Several friends came -to my chair and whispered: “Go ahead, Marsh.” “Don’t lose the chance -of your life; don’t you know whatever is said at this dinner will be -telegraphed all over the United States?” But I held my tongue—or it held -itself. There is a place for every thing; a table at which the President -of the United States had just been talking most feelingly of the pathetic -passing of another president was no place for a joke—much less for a -budget of jokes, so instead of making the president laugh I allowed the -newspaper men to have the laugh on me. In the circumstances they were -welcome to it. - -[Illustration: “I allowed the newspaper men to have a laugh on me.”] - -Nevertheless I succeeded, for the president succeeded in breaking the -strain upon him, and later in the day at his own cottage he transfixed me -with a merry twinkle of his eye and said: - -“Marshall, what’s this story you’ve been telling about your visit to the -White House?” - -I saw I was in for it, so I repeated the minstrel joke, already recorded. -He laughed so heartily that there wasn’t enough unbroken ice between us -to hold up a dancing mosquito, so I made bold to tell him that some men -insisted that he did not appreciate humor. Then he laughed again; I wish -I could have photographed that laugh, for there was enough worldly wisdom -in it to lessen the number of cranks and office seekers at the White -House for years to come. But I hadn’t much time to think about it, for -we began swapping yarns and kept at it so long that I suddenly reminded -myself, with a sense of guilt, that I was robbing the ruler of the -greatest nation on earth of some of his invaluable time. Never mind about -my own stories that evening, but here is one that President Harrison told -me, to illustrate the skill of some men in talking their way out of a -tight place. - -There was a man in Indiana who had a way of taking his own advice, though -he generally had to do things afterward to get even with himself. He was -a hog dealer, and one season he drove a lot of hogs to Indianapolis, -about a hundred miles distant, though he could get nearly as good a price -at a town much nearer home. Arrived at Indianapolis, he learned that -prices had gone down, so he held on for a rise, but when offered a good -price he stood out for more, and insisted that if he did not get it he -would drive the hogs back home, which he finally did, and sold them for -less than was offered him in the city. When one of his friends asked him -why he had acted so unwisely he replied: - -“I wanted to get even with them city hog-buyers.” - -“But did you?” - -“Well, they didn’t get my hogs.” - -“But what did you get out of the transaction?” - -“Get? Why, bless your thick skull, I got the society of the hogs all the -way back home.” - -I had long been puzzled as to the origin of the word “jay,” as applied to -“easy marks” among countrymen, and I told the president so. He modestly -admitted that I had come to the right shop for information; then he told -me this story: - -“Winter was coming on and a blue jay made up his mind that he would -prepare for it. He found a vacant hut with a knot-hole in the roof, and -he said to himself, ‘Here’s a good place to store my winter supplies,’ so -he began to collect provender. His acquaintances who passed by saw what -he was doing; then they laughed and took a rest, for they knew how to get -in by the side door. Whenever he dropped a nut or a bit of meat through -the knot-hole they would hop in below and gobble it. So, Marshall, next -time you hear any one called a ‘jay’ I’m sure you’ll know what it means.” - -The next morning, when we all met on the president’s special train en -route to Saratoga, my newspaper friends twitted me anew on not having -made the president laugh, but I said: “Now, boys, you wait.” Then I was -so impudent as to approach the president and say: - -“Mr. President, I am very glad to have had you with me on this fishing -trip, and I hope whenever you want to go off on a similar affair you will -let me know it. At the foot of the mountain a band of music and escort -of troops are waiting for me, and in the hurry I may not be able to say -good-bye to you, so I say it now.” But not one eyelash of the president -quivered as he shook hands with me and replied: “Glad to have met you, -Mr. Wilder,” so the newspaper boys certainly did have the laugh on me. - -But the day was still young. Arrived at the Saratoga depot, all hurried -into carriages. Waiting until all were seated and started in procession, -I found an open landau and gave the driver the name of my hotel. “All -right, Mr. Wilder,” was the reply, which did not startle me, for I am -pretty well known in Saratoga by the cabbies—and the police. I said: - -“Make a short cut, get out of the crowd and get me to the hotel as soon -as possible, so I may avoid the parade.” He endeavored to get out, but -he got in; and in trying to extricate himself he succeeded in driving -through the band and past the troops and finally beside the carriages -of the president and his guests. I took advantage of the occasion; as -I passed the president I stood up (though it made little difference -whether I sat or stood, for not much of me was visible over the top of -the carriage door) and I bowed my prettiest. The president raised his -hat, as did the other guests, and I led that procession down Saratoga’s -Broadway, the sidewalks of which were crowded with New York and Brooklyn -people who knew me and to whom I bowed, right and left, to the end of the -route, where one of the newspaper men said: - -“Marsh usually gets there.” - -In Mr. McKinley’s first term I fell in conversation at a hotel with a -gentleman of manner so genial that I never forgot him. We exchanged a lot -of stories, at which I got more than I gave, but suddenly the gentleman -said: - -“I can see, Mr. Wilder, that you don’t recognize me.” - -“Well, really, I don’t,” I replied, with an apologetic laugh. “You must -pardon me; I meet so many. May I ask your name?” - -“Certainly. It is Garret A. Hobart.” - -“The Vice-president of the United States! Well, that isn’t anything -against you”—for I had to say something, to keep from collapsing. He -seemed greatly amused, and I could not help wondering if in any other -country of the world a high official of the government could be picked -up in a hotel corridor, be chatted with, then be compelled to introduce -himself, and throughout all conduct himself as if he were no one in -particular. - -Levi P. Morton, ex-vice-president, has been out of politics for some -years, yet he is remembered as a man who could tell good stories to -illustrate his points. Here is one of them: - -[Illustration: “The General doubled on his tracks.”] - -“Not far from my country place is a farmer noted for his fine, large -cattle. People come from everywhere to look at his Durhams and Alderneys, -but they have to be careful how they venture into the pastures, for some -of the bulls are ferocious. A certain major-general, who was very proud -of his title, was visiting near by, and one day while walking he cut -across the fields to shorten distance. Before he knew of his danger -a big bull, bellowing and with tossing head, began to chase him. The -general was a swift runner, and made good time, but the animal too was -lively, so when the general reached a fence he dared not stop to climb -for the bull was near enough to—well, help him. The general doubled on -his tracks several times, but the bull kept dangerously near. Suddenly -a gate offered a chance to shut off pursuit. Near the gate stood the -farmer, who had been viewing the chase; the panting general turned on him -fiercely and asked, between gasps: - -“‘Sir—sir—did you—see your bull chasing—me?’ - -“‘Ya-as,’ drawled the farmer. - -“‘Is that all you have to say, sir? Do you know whom that bull was -chasing?’ - -“‘You, I guess.’ - -“‘But do you know who I am, sir? I am General Blank.’” - -“‘Wa-all, why didn’t you tell that to the bull?’” - - - - -IV - -STORY-TELLING AS AN ART - - Different Ways of Story-telling.—The Slow - Story-teller.—Lincoln’s Stories.—Bad Telling of Good - Stories.—The Right Way to Tell a Story.—The Humorous, the Comic - and the Witty Story.—Artemus Ward, Robert J. Burdette and Mark - Twain as Story-tellers. - - -The ways of story-tellers differ almost as widely and strangely as the -ways of politicians—or women—yet every man’s way is the best and only -one to him. I know men who consume so much time in unloading a story -that they remind me of a ship-captain who had just taken a pilot and was -anxious to get into port. The pilot knew all the channels and shoals of -the vicinity, and being a cautious old chap he wasn’t going to take any -risks, so he backed and filled and crisscrossed so many times that the -captain growled: “Hang him! He needs the Whole Atlantic Ocean to turn -around in.” - -Yet a lot of these long-winded story-tellers “get there”—and they -deserve to, not only because a hearty laugh follows, but because hard -work deserves its reward. As to that, Abraham Lincoln, long before he -became president, and when time was of no consequence, had some stories -almost as long as old-fashioned sermons; but nobody left his seat by the -stove at the country store, or his leaning place at the post-office, or -his chair on the hotel piazza until “Abe” had reached the point. But -there never was more than one Abraham Lincoln. To-day a long-winded -story-teller can disperse a crowd about as quickly as a man with a bad -case of smallpox. - -But it isn’t always length that troubles the listener—the way in which a -tale is told is the thing, whether the tale itself be good or bad. It is -never safe for some people to repeat a good story they have heard, for -they may tell it in a fashion that is like being bitten to death by a -duck. - -I do not claim originality for my own method and material. I simply tell -a story, using whatever material comes my way. Often a friend will tell -me of something he has seen or heard; I will reconstruct his narrative, -without tampering with the facts, yet so that the people of whom he told -it will not recognize it. - -There is nothing, except advice, of which the world is more generous than -stories. Everybody tells them. They mean well; they want to make you -laugh, and they deserve credit for their intention. Yet when neighbor -Smith or Brown calls you aside, looks as if he was almost bursting with -something good, and then gets off a yarn that was funny when he heard -it, but in which you can’t discern the ghost of a laugh—why, you can’t -help wondering whether Smith’s or Brown’s funny-bone hasn’t dropped off -somewhere, without its owner’s knowledge; you also can’t help wishing -that he may find it before he buttonholes you again. - -It seems to me that the supreme art of telling a story is to tell it -quickly and hide the nub so that the hearer’s wits must find it. But it -is possible for some people to tell it quickly at the expense of the -essential parts, either through forgetfulness or by not knowing them at -sight. For example, here is a tale I heard not long ago: - -“The other night Ezra Kendall told about an Irishman who had a habit of -walking in a graveyard about twelve o’clock at night. Some boys of the -neighborhood planned to so dig and conceal a grave that the Irishman -would fall into it; another man was to drape himself in a sheet, to scare -Mike. The night arrived, the Irishman took his customary walk and fell -into the hole prepared for him. A boy in a white sheet arose, and said in -a sepulchral voice: - -“‘What are you doing in my grave?’ - -“‘What are you doin’ out of it?’ Mike replied.” - -Soon afterward an amateur gave me the story as follows: - -“I heard a story the other day by a man named Kendall about a man who -went out in a graveyard at night to walk, about twelve o’clock. He fell -into a ditch, and another fellow happened along and said, ‘What are you -doing out of it?’—or something like that. I know I laughed like the deuce -when I heard it.” - -[Illustration: “What are you doing in my grave?”] - -But even when a story has been committed to memory or written in -shorthand on a shirt-cuff, to be read off without a word lost or -misplaced, much depends upon the teller. Some people’s voices are so -effective that they can tell a story in the dark and “make good”; others -can’t get through without calling all their features to help, with some -assistance from their arms and legs. One man will lead you with his eye -alone to the point of a story; another will drawl and stammer as if he -had nothing to say, yet startle you into a laugh a minute. - -Of course a great deal depends on the story itself. People are too -grateful for a laugh to look backward and analyze the story that -compelled it; they generally believe that fun is fun, and that is about -as much as any one knows of it. The truth is that while there are all -kinds of stories there is only one kind of humor. - -As a rule, humorous stories are of American origin, comic stories are -English, and witty stories are French. The humorous story depends upon -the incidents and the manner of telling; comic and witty stories depend -upon the matter. The humorous story may be spun out to any length; it -may wander about as it pleases, and arrive at nowhere in particular; but -the comic or witty story must be brief, and end in a sharp point. The -humorous story bubbles along continually; the other kinds burst. The -humorous tale is entirely a work of art, and only an artist can tell it; -while the witty or comic story—oh, any one who knows it can tell it. - -The act of telling a humorous story—by word of mouth, understand, not in -print—was created in America, and has remained at home, in spite of many -earnest endeavors to domesticate it abroad, and even to counterfeit it. -It is generally told gravely, the teller doing his best to disguise his -attempt to inflict anything funny on his listeners; but the man with a -comic story generally tells you beforehand that it is one of the funniest -things he ever heard, and he is the first one to laugh—when he reaches -the end. - -One of the dreadfulest inflictions that suffering humanity ever endures -is the result of amateur efforts to transform the humorous into the -comic, or _vice versa_. It reminds one of Frank Stockton’s tearful tale -of what came of one of the best things in Pickwick by being translated -into classical Greek and then brought back into English. - -The Rev. Robert J. Burdette, who used to write columns of capital humor -for _The Burlington Hawkeye_ and told scores of stories superbly, made -his first visit to New York about twenty years ago, and was at once -spirited to a notable club where he told stories leisurely until half -the hearers ached with laughter and the other half were threatened with -apoplexy. Every one present declared it the red letter night of the club, -and members who had missed it came around and demanded the stories at -second-hand. Some efforts were made to oblige them, but without avail, -for the tellers had twisted their recollections of the stories into comic -jokes; so they hunted the town for Burdette to help them out of their -muddle. - -The late Artemus Ward, who a generation ago carried a tidal wave of humor -from Maine to California, with some generous overflows each side of its -course, had a long serious face and a drawling voice; so when he lectured -in churches, as he frequently did, a late-comer might have mistaken him -for a minister, though not for very long. He would drawl along without -giving the slightest indication of what was coming. When the joke was -unloaded and the audience got hold of it he would look up with seemingly -innocent wonder as to what people were laughing at. This expression of -his countenance always brought another laugh. He could get laughs out of -nothing, by mixing the absurd and the unexpected, and then backing the -combination with a solemn face and earnest manner. For instance, it was -worth a ten-mile walk after dark on a corduroy road to hear him say: “I -once knew a man in New Zealand who hadn’t a tooth in his head”—here he -would pause for some time, look reminiscent, and continue, “And yet he -could beat a base-drum better than any other man I ever knew.” - -Mark Twain is another famous humorist who can use a serious countenance -and hesitating voice with wonderful effect in a story. His tale of “The -Golden Arm” was the best thing of its kind I ever heard—when told as he -himself told it—but everything depended on suddenness and unexpectedness -of climax. Here it is, as he gave it:— - -“Once ’pon a time dey wuz a mons’us mean man, en’ he live ’way out in de -prairie all ’lone by himself, ’cep’n he had a wife. En’ bimeby she died, -en’ he took en’ toted her ’way out da’ in de prairie en’ buried her. -Well, she had a golden arm all solid gold, f’om de shoulder down. He wuz -pow’ful mean—pow’ful; en’ dat night he couldn’t sleep, ’coze he wanted -dat golden arm so bad. - -“When it come midnight he couldn’t stan’ it no mo’, so he got up, he -did, en’ tuk his lantern en’ shoved out troo de storm en’ dug her up en’ -got de golden arm; en’ he bent his head down ’gin de wind, en’ plowed -en’ plowed en’ plowed troo de snow. Den all on a sudden he stop” (make -a considerable pause here, and look startled, and take a listening -attitude) “en’ say: - -“My lan’, what’s dat? En’ he listen, en’ listen, en’ de wind say” (set -your teeth together, and imitate the wailing and wheezing sing-song of -the wind): “‘Buzz-z-zzz!’ en’ den, way back yonder whah de grave is, he -hear a voice—he hear a voice all mix up in de win’—can’t hardly tell ’em -’part: ‘Bzzz-zzz—w-h-o—g-o-t—m-y g-o-l-d-e-n arm?”’ (You must begin to -shiver violently now.) - -[Illustration: “She’ll fetch a dear little yelp—”] - -“En’ he begin to shiver en’ shake, en’ say: ‘Oh, my! Oh, my lan’!’ En’ de -win’ blow de lantern out, en’ de snow en’ de sleet blow in his face en’ -’most choke him, en’ he start a-plowin’ knee-deep toward home, mos’ dead, -he so sk’yeerd, en’ pooty soon he hear de voice again, en” (pause) “it -’us comin’ after him: ‘Buzzz-zzz—w-h-o—g-o-t m-y g-o-l-d-e-n—arm?’ - -“When he git to de pasture he hear it agin—closter, now, en’ a comin’ -back dab in de dark en’ de storm” (repeat the wind and the voice). “When -he git to de house he rush up-stairs, en’ jump in de bed, en’ kiver up -head en’ years, en’ lay dah a-shiverin’ en’ a-shakin’, en’ den ’way out -dah he hear it agin, en’ a-comin’! En’ bimeby he hear” (pause—awed; -listening attitude) “—at—pat—pat—pat—hit’s a-comin’ up-stairs! Den he -hear de latch, en’ he knows it’s in de room. - -“Den pooty soon he knows it’s—standin’ by de bed!” (Pause.) “Den he knows -it’s a-bendin’ down over him,—en’ he cain’t sca’cely git his breaf! -Den—den he seem to feel somethin’ c-o-l-d, right down neah agin’ his -head!” (Pause.) - -“Den de voice say, right at his year: ‘W-h-o g-o-t m-y g-o-l-d-e-n arm?’” -You must wail it out plaintively and accusingly; then you stare steadily -and impressively into the face of the farthest-gone auditor—a girl, -preferably—and let that awe-inspiring pause begin to build itself in the -deep hush. When it has reached exactly the right length, jump suddenly -toward that girl and yell: “‘_You’ve_ got it!’” - -If you have got the pause right, she’ll fetch a dear little yelp and -spring right out of her shoes; but you must get the pause right, and you -will find it the most troublesome and aggravating and uncertain thing you -ever undertook. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -V - -ACTORS’ JOKES - - All of Them Full of Humor at All Times.—“Joe” Jefferson.—J. K. - Emmett.—Fay Templeton.—Willie Collier.—An Actor’s Portrait on a - Church Wall.—“Gus” Thomas, the Playwright.—Stuart Robson.—Henry - Dixey.—Evans and Hoey.—Charles Hoyt.—Wilson Barrett.—W. S. - Gilbert.—Henry Irving. - - -Actors are the most incessant jokers alive. Whether rich or poor, obscure -or prominent, drunk or sober, prosperous or not knowing where the next -meal is to come from, or whether there will be any next meal, they have -always something funny at the tips of their tongues, and managers and -dramatic authors as a rule are full of humorous explosives that clear the -dull air and let in the sunshine. They are masters at repartee, yet as -willing to turn a joke on themselves as on one another, and they can work -a pun most brilliantly. - -Joseph Jefferson one day called on President Cleveland with General -Sherman, and carried a small package with him. All his friends know that -dear old “Joe” is forgetful, so when the visitors were going the general -called attention to the package and asked: “Jefferson, isn’t this yours?” - -“Great Cæsar, Sherman,” Jefferson replied, “you have saved my life!” The -“life” referred to was the manuscript of his then uncompleted biography. -Jefferson delights in telling of a new playmate of one of his sons, who -asked another boy who young Jefferson was, and was told: - -“Oh, his father works in a theatre somewhere.” - -“Pete” Dailey, while enjoying a short vacation, visited a New York -theatre when business was dull. Being asked afterward how large the -audience was, he replied: “I could lick all three of them.” - -On meeting a friend who was “fleshing up,” he exclaimed: “You are getting -so stout that I thought some one was with you.” - -J. K. Emmett tells of a heathenish old farmer and his wife who strayed -into a church and heard the minister say: “Jesus died for sinners.” The -old man nudged his wife, and whispered: - -“Serves us right for not knowin’ it, Marthey. We hain’t took a newspaper -in thirty year.” - -Fay Templeton tells of a colored girl, whose mother shouted: “Mandy, your -heel’s on fire!” and the girl replied: “Which one, mother?” The girl was -so untruthful that her discouraged mother said: “When you die, dey’s -going to say: ‘Here lies Mandy Hopkins, and de trufe never came out of -her when she was alive.’” - -[Illustration: “Actors are the Most Incessant Jokers Alive.”] - -I have been the subject of some actors’ jokes, and enjoyed the fun -as much as any one. May Irwin had two sons, who early in life were -susceptible to the seductive cigarette, against which she cautioned -them earnestly. I entered a restaurant one day where she and her sons -were dining, and she called me over and gave me an opportunity to become -acquainted with the little fellows. After I left them, one turned to his -mother and asked: - -“What makes that little man so short?” - -“Smoking cigarettes,” she replied. And they never smoked again. - -[Illustration: He Smokes Cigarettes.] - -Willie Collier invited me one summer to his beautiful home at St. James, -Long Island. He was out when I arrived, and when he returned, Mrs. -Collier said to him: - -“You’re going to have Marshall P. Wilder for dinner,” and Willie replied: - -“I’d rather have lamb.” - -There is a colony of theatrical people near Collier, and they have a -small theatre in which a dazzling array of talent sometimes appears, -although the performances are impromptu affairs. On Sundays this theatre -serves as a church for the Catholics of the vicinity. At one side hangs -a large lithograph of Willie Collier, concerning which the following -conversation between the two Irishmen was overheard: - -“I wint into the church this mornin’ airly, while it was pretty dark, an’ -I see a picture hanging there, an’ thinkin’ it must be one av the saints -I wint down on me knees an’ said me prayers before it. When I opened me -eyes they’d got used to the dark, an’ if I didn’t see it was a picture av -that actor-man beyant that they call Willie Collier!” - -“An’ what did’ you do?” asked the other Irishman. - -“Sure, I tuk’ back as much av me prayers as I cud.” - -Augustus Thomas, the playwright, who is always “Gus” except on the back -of an envelop or the bottom of his own check, was chairman of a Lambs’ -Club dinner at which I was to speak. When I began, he joked me on my -shortness by saying: - -“Mr. Wilder will please rise when making a speech.” - -I was able to retort by saying: “I will; but you won’t believe it.” - -When an acquaintance said to him after being wearied by a play: “That was -the slowest performance I ever saw. Strange, too, for it had a run of a -hundred nights in London!” Thomas replied: - -“That’s the trouble. It’s exhausted its speed.” - -He was standing behind the scenes one night with Miss Georgia Busbey, who -while waiting for her cue, said: “Tell me a story, Mr. Thomas, before I -go on.” - -“It must be a quick witty one then, Miss Busbey.” - -“I know it, but I’ve come to the right place for it.” - -Stuart Robson was present at a Lambs’ Club dinner of which Mr. Thomas -was chairman; but he endeavored to hide when called on for a speech. -Thousands of successful appearances on the stage never cured him of his -constitutional bashfulness. - -Thomas said: “Is Mr. Robson here? If he has not gone, we should like to -hear from him.” - -Robson said: “Mr. Thomas, will you kindly consider that I have gone?” - -Thomas replied: “While the drama lasts, Mr. Robson can never go.” - -Robson had been a close neighbor and friend for many years to Lawrence -Barrett. His bosom friend Marshall Lewis fell in love with Barrett’s -charming daughter Millie, and Robson pretended to think it was the -greatest joke in the world. - -“Why don’t you go in, and win and marry her, Marshall?” he used to say -in the squeaky voice which was not for the stage alone. “I’ll tell you -what I’ll do—the day you marry Millie Barrett I’ll give you five thousand -dollars.” - -This went on for some time, until to Robson’s astonishment and chagrin -Miss Barrett accepted Lewis. - -By the way, when Barrett learned of it he exclaimed: “My dear boy, you -don’t know what you’re doing. You are robbing me out of my only remaining -daughter.” - -“Not at all,” Lewis replied, with a slap on the back of his father-in-law -elect. “I’m merely giving you another son.” - -When the marriage day came Robson did not attend the ceremony; but he -sent his daughter Alicia in his place, and gave her a check for five -thousand dollars, drawn to Lewis’ order, but with emphatic orders not to -part from it until Lewis and Miss Barrett were pronounced man and wife. -When Alicia returned her father asked her if she had given Lewis the -check. - -The girl replied: “Yes, father.” - -“What did he do and say?” Robson inquired impatiently. - -“Why, father, he was so overcome that he cried for a minute after I gave -it to him.” - -“Egad!” squeaked Robson, “was that all? Why, I cried for an hour when I -wrote it.” - -Henry Dixey is an adept at the leisurely tale, which is a word picture -from start to finish. Here is a sample: - -In one of the country stores, where they sell everything from a silk -dress and a tub of butter to a hot drink and a cold meal, a lot of -farmers were sitting around the stove one cold winter day, when in came -Farmer Evans, who was greeted with: - -“How d’do, Ezry?” - -“How d’do boys?” After awhile he continued: “Wa-all, I’ve killed my hog.” - -“That so? How much did he weigh?” - -Farmer Evans stroked his chin whiskers meditatively and replied: “Wa-all, -guess.” - -“’Bout three hundred,” said one farmer. - -“No.” - -“Two seventy-five?” ventured another. - -“No.” - -“I guess about three twenty-five,” said a third. - -“No.” - -Then all together demanded: “Well, how much did he weigh?” - -“Dunno. Hain’t weighed him yet.” - -Other men kept dropping in and hugging the stove, for the day was cold -and snowy outside. In came Cy Hopkins, wrapped in a big overcoat, yet -almost frozen to death; but there wasn’t room enough around that stove to -warm his little finger. - -But he didn’t get mad about it; he just said to Bill Stebbins who kept -the store: “Bill, got any raw oysters?” - -“Yes, Cy.” - -“Well, just open a dozen and feed ’em to my hoss.” - -Well, Stebbins never was scared by an order from a man whose credit was -good, as Cy’s was, so he opened the oysters an’ took them out, an’ the -whole crowd followed to see a horse eat oysters. Then Cy picked out the -best seat near the stove and dropped into it as if he had come to stay, -as he had. - -Pretty soon the crowd came back, and the storekeeper said: “Why, Cy, your -hoss won’t eat them oysters.” - -“Won’t he? Well, then, bring ’em here an’ I’ll eat ’em myself.” - -When Charley Evans and Bill Hoey traveled together, they had no end of -good-natured banter between them. - -Once when Hoey saw Evans mixing lemon juice and water for a gargle, he -asked: “What are you doing that for, Charley?” - -“Oh, for my singing.” - -“Suppose you put some in your ear; then maybe you’ll be able to find the -key.” - -While they were crossing the ocean, Evans came on deck one day dressed in -the latest summer fashion—duck trousers, straw hat, etc.—and asked Hoey: -“How do you like me, Bill?” - -“Well, all you need to do now is to have your ears pierced,” was the -reply. - -At the ship’s table the waiter asked Hoey what he would have. - -“Roast beef.” - -“How shall I cut it, sir?” - -“By the ship’s chart.” - -Evans always carried the money for both, and the two men had a fancy for -wearing trousers of the same material, though of different sizes, for -Evans was slighter than his partner. One day Hoey fell on hard luck. He -had been to the Derby races, where a pickpocket relieved him of his watch -and his money too. They were to start for America next morning, and Evans -had plenty of money and return tickets also, yet Hoey was so cut up by -his losses that he went to bed early and tried to drop asleep. This did -not work, so after tossing for several hours, by which time Evans had -retired, he got up and began to dress himself. But to his horror his -figure seemed to have swelled in the night. - -This was the last straw; he woke his partner and with tears in his eyes -and his voice too, he said: “Charley, beside all my hard luck to-day I’m -getting the dropsy.” - -“Bill,” said Evans after a glance, “go into the other room and take off -my pants!” - -A certain diamond broker called on the late Charles Hoyt with a large -bill. - -While Hoyt was drawing a check the broker said: “Charley, a dear friend -of mine was robbed yesterday.” - -“Is that so? Why, what did you sell him?” - -The English stage is as full of jokers as ours. Wilson Barrett tells that -at a “First night” his play did not seem to suit the pit, so he came -before the curtain at the end of one act and asked what was the matter. -The “Gods” have great freedom in English theatres, so there was much talk -across the footlights between the stage and the audience; but it was -stopped abruptly by a voice that said: - -“Oh, go on, Wilson! This ain’t no bloomin’ debatin’ society.” - -W. S. Gilbert, although not an actor, is a playwright and extremely -critical. A London favorite had the best part in one of Gilbert’s pieces, -but the author thought him slow. Going behind the scenes after the -performance, Gilbert noted that the actor’s brow was perspiring, so he -said: - -“Well, at all events, your skin has been acting.” - -Gilbert can give evasive answers that cut like a knife. A player of the -title part of Hamlet asked Gilbert’s opinion of the performance. - -“You are funny, without being vulgar,” was the reply. - -Forbes Robertson, who essayed the same part, asked Gilbert: “What do you -think of Hamlet?” - -Gilbert answered: “Wonderful play, old man; most wonderful play ever -written.” - -E. S. Willard tells the following story of Charles Glenny, of Irving’s -Lyceum Company. “The Merchant of Venice” was in rehearsal, and Glenny -did not repeat the lines: “Take me to the gallows, not to the font” to -the liking of Irving, so the latter said in the kindly manner he always -maintained at rehearsals: - -“No, no, Mr. Glenny; not that way. Walk over and touch me, and say: ‘Take -me to the gallows, not to the font.’” The line was rehearsed several -times, but unsuccessfully. - -Finally Irving became discouraged and said: “Ah, well; touch me.” - -Irving witnessed Richard Mansfield’s performance of “Richard III,” -in London, and by invitation went back to see the actor in his -dressing-room. Mansfield had been almost exhausted, and was fanning -himself, but Irving’s approach revived him, and natural anticipation of a -compliment from so exalted a source was absolutely stimulating. - -But for the time being all Irving did was to slap Mansfield playfully on -the back and exclaim in the inimitable Irving tone: “Aha? You sweat!” - -[Illustration: “Aha! You Sweat!”] - - - - -VI - -A SUNNY OLD CITY - - Some Aspects of Philadelphia.—Fun in a Hospital.—“The Cripple’s - Palace.”—An Invalid’s Success in Making Other Invalids - Laugh.—Fights for the Fun of Fighting.—My Rival Friends.—Boys - Will Be Boys.—Cast Out of Church.—A Startling Recognition.—Some - Pleasures of Attending Funerals.—How I Claimed the Protection - of the American Flag. - - -A hospital is not a place that any one would visit if he were in search -of jollity, yet some of the merriest hours of my life were spent, some -years ago, in the National Surgical Institute of Philadelphia. I was one -of about three hundred people, of all ages, sizes and dispositions, who -were under treatment for physical defects. Most of us were practically -crippled, a condition which is not generally regarded to be conductive -of hilarity, yet many of us had lots of fun, and all of it was made by -ourselves. I was one of the luckiest of the lot, for Mother Nature had -endowed me with a faculty for finding sunshine everywhere. - -Yet part of my treatment was to lie in bed, locked in braces, for hours -every day, and each of these hours seemed to be several thousand minutes -long. So many other boys were under similar treatment that an attendant, -named Joe, was kept busy in merely taking off our appliances. These were -locked, for between pain and the restiveness peculiar to boys, we would -have removed them for ourselves or for one another. Joe was not a beauty, -yet I distinctly remember recalling his appearance was that of an angel -of light, for I best remember him in the act of loosening my braces. -Whenever the surgeon in charge was absent, we would beg Joe to unlock us -for “Just five minutes—just a minute”—and sometimes he would yield, after -making us promise solemnly not to tell the doctor. The result recalls the -story of the old darky who was seen to hammer his thumb at intervals. -When asked why he did it, he replied, - -“Kase it feels so good when I stop!” - -To keep from thinking of my pain and helplessness, I kept looking about -me for something to laugh at, and it was a rare day on which I failed to -find it. When there came such a day, I had only to close my eyes and look -backward a few months or years; I was sure to recall something funny. -Then I would laugh. Some other sufferer would ask what was amusing me, -and when I told him he would also laugh, some one would hear him and the -story would have to be repeated. Soon the word got about the building -that there was a little fellow in one of the rooms who was always -laughing to himself, or making others laugh, so all the boys insisted on -being “let in on the ground floor”—which in my case was the fourth floor. -I made no objection; was there ever a man so modest that he didn’t like -listeners when he had anything to say? So it soon became the custom of -all the boys who were not absolutely bound to their beds to congregate -in my room, which would have comfortably held, not more than a dozen. -Yet daily I had fifty or more around me; the earlier comers filled the -chairs, later arrivals sprawled or curled on my bed, still later ones sat -on the headboard and footboard, the floor accommodated others until it -was packed, and the belated ones stowed themselves in the hall, within -hearing distance. - -’Twas a hard trip for some of them, poor fellows for there were not -enough attendants to carry them all, and three flights of stairs are a -hard climb for cripples. So, to prevent unnecessary pain while I was -outdoors taking the air, I hung a small American flag over the stair rail -opposite my door, whenever I was in; this could be seen from any of the -lower halls. I learned afterward that it was the custom of royalty and -other exalted personages to display a flag when they were “at home,” but -this did not frighten me; in memory of those hospital days, I always -display a flag at my window when I am able to see my friends. - -Boys are as fond as Irishmen of fighting for the mere fun of it, so we -got a lot of laughing out of fist fights between some of the patients. -The most popular contestants were Gott Dewey from Elmira, N. Y., and a -son of Sheriff Wright of Philadelphia. Both were seriously afflicted, -though they seemed not to know it. Wright was a cross-eyed paralytic, -while Dewey had St. Vitus’s dance and was so badly paralyzed that he had -no control over his natural means of locomotion. He could not even talk -intelligibly, yet he had an intellect that impressed me deeply, even at -that early day. He could cope with the hardest mathematical problem that -any could offer; he read much and his taste in literature and everything -else was distinct and refined. - -Yet, being still a boy, he enjoyed a fight, and as he and Wright were -naturally antipathetic by temperament, they were always ready for a -set-to. These affairs were entirely harmless, for neither could hit -straighter than a girl can throw a stone. The result of their efforts was -“the humor of the unexpected,” and it amused us so greatly that we never -noticed the pathetic side of it. - -These two boys did me the honor to become very fond of me; why they did -it, I don’t know, unless because I never did anything in particular -for Wright, yet he was always teasing Dewey, who was quite proud and -self-reliant, and insisted upon doing everything for himself. That -he might serve himself at table, a little elevator was made for his -convenience, and I was mischievous enough to disarrange the machinery so -that food intended for his mouth should reach his ear. Yet he loved me -dearly and dashed at me affectionately though erratically whenever we -met. I was unable to get about without crutches, so I frequently fell; -if Dewey were in sight, he would hurry to my assistance, with disastrous -results to both of us; often Wright would offer assistance at the same -time and the two would fall over each other and me and attempt to “fight -it out,” while I would become helpless with laughter and the three of us -would lie in a heap, until some attendant would separate the warriors and -set me on my feet and crutches. - -One rule of the Institute was that no patients were to leave the building -on Sunday—the day on which the physicians and attendants got most -liberty. To enforce this rule there was a doorkeeper named Smith. He was -a dwarf, hardly four feet high, who, on Sunday would curl up in a box -under his desk and wish he could have a mouthful or more of whiskey, -although a little of it would put him sound asleep and leave the door -unguarded against any one who cared to go out. How whiskey got into the -Institute to be used upon Smith, I don’t know. - -I recall a Sunday when we three, Dewey, Wright and I, conceived the -idea of going to church. There was a church directly across the street, -so we started for it a few moments after throwing a sop of whiskey to -our Cerberus. We had several mishaps on the way, due to my friend’s -well-meant but misdirected efforts to assist me, but passers-by kindly -put us on our feet again. We got into church quite early, and passed -up the aisle and entered the front pew, under the very droppings of -the sanctuary. Soon after the service began a young lady at our left -compelled our attention by eyeing us intently; apparently she thought -us the newest thing in “The Three Graces” line. Something moved me to -nudge Dewey and tell him to stop flirting with that girl. Apparently he -thought I was trying to be funny, for he began laughing in his peculiar -laugh, which was a sputter, with which no one familiar with it could help -being amused, so Wright laughed too, after which it was impossible for -me to keep quiet. We really were reverent little chaps, so we tried hard -to suppress ourselves, but—boys will be boys. Suddenly we three exploded -as one; we could hear tittering around us, the minister stopped in the -middle of an eloquent period, raised his glasses, and I shall never -forget his pained expression of astonishment as he caught sight of us for -the first time. Suddenly there appeared a platoon of deacons, two of whom -attached themselves to each of us, and we were conducted down the aisle, -facing an array of hymn-books, behind which the congregation were trying -to hide their own laughter. The next day the church sent the Institute -a polite but earnest request that no more cripples be allowed to attend -service in that church. - -[Illustration: “There appeared a Platoon of Deacons.”] - -After leaving the Institute I lost sight of Dewey, though I never forgot -his hearty way of greeting me whenever he met me, a heartiness which -caused him to tumble all over me and compel me to put out my arm to save -him from falling. Five years ago on reaching a Philadelphia church whose -members I had been engaged to “entertain,” the committee of arrangements -met me and said they wished to prepare me for the unusual appearance of -their chairman. He had endowed the church, they told me, and was almost -idolized by the people for his many noble qualities of head and heart, -yet he was a paralytic and his visage was shocking at first sight. -Suddenly the chairman himself entered the room and I saw my old friend -Gott Dewey. At the same instant he recognized me; he dashed at me in his -old way; my arm instinctively caught him as it had done hundreds of times -before; the committee supposing I was frightened, endeavored to separate -us, but we weren’t easy to handle, so there was a close mix up, while, in -which, the dear old boy with tears streaming down his cheeks, endeavored -to explain that we were fast friends. Then he told me he had read my book -“People I’ve Smiled With,” and been so greatly amused by it that he had -suggested my engagement to entertain his church people, yet he had never -imagined I was the Wilder boy of “The Cripple’s Palace.” - -It took him fifteen minutes to say all this and conquer his emotion; -then he wanted to go on the platform and tell his people about me and -what old friends we were. I realized that if he were to do it, I would -never reach the platform myself, so I persuaded him to let me tell them -the story. He consented, but insisted on accompanying me, and tearfully -confirming every thing I said, so with him beside me, for “local color,” -I got along so well that there was not a dry eye in the house. It was an -inexpressible relief to me to set everybody laughing afterward, for I -never needed a “bracing up” more than on that night. - -Dewey had always longed to be a lawyer and I learned that he had -succeeded in gratifying this ambition, in spite of his heavy physical -handicap: he became so able as a counselor that he gained a large -practice and was specially skilful at preparing briefs for his partner -to take into court. He was held in high honor for his charitable work -and for many years led a successful, useful and happy life; but not long -after our unexpected meeting he was complained of as a public nuisance -and was actually arrested on this charge. His appearance and manner were -really terrifying to people that did not know him, for in trying to -avoid collision with passers-by his lack of control often caused him to -act as if about to strike. The magistrate, before whom he was arraigned -expressed extreme sympathy, but insisted that he keep out of the streets -except when in a carriage or when properly attended, and poor Dewey took -the affair so deeply to heart, that afterward he kept himself almost -secluded from the world. - -Mention of Philadelphia almost always suggests graveyards to me, not -that the city prides itself on being “well laid-out,” but because I have -visited all its cemeteries many times. When I left the Surgical Institute -I boarded with a woman whose husband kept a large livery stable. I made -friends of the drivers, and, as I was still under treatment and could not -get about much, they would kindly give me an airing, whenever they were -engaged for funerals, which was almost daily. This often meant an all day -trip; my motherly landlady would put up a substantial lunch for me and -the drivers granted me special privileges; that is, I was generally taken -on the seat of the driver of the carriage which followed the hearse. The -one that “carried the criers,” to use the stable parlance. It would not -seem a cheerful way of spending a day, but I was always very much alive, -and the drivers were as cheerful as if going to a wedding, and, while the -ceremony at the grave was in progress, I ate my lunch with the hunger -sauce that a long drive always supplies, and in summer I could generally -find some flowers in the path to take home to my landlady. Besides, some -of the cemeteries were so well kept that they were as sightly as gardens, -which reminds me of a story that I once inflicted on the Clover Club of -Philadelphia, as follows: - -“While dining at my hotel yesterday, I noticed that the water looked -muddy, so I complained to the waiter. He admitted that it looked bad, but -said it was really very good water. - -[Illustration: “He Said it was Very Good Water.”] - -“‘But,’ I continued, ‘they tell me that the water here passes through a -graveyard (Laurel Hill Cemetery) before reaching the people.’ - -“‘That’s right, sir,’ the waiter replied. ‘But it’s a first-class -graveyard; only the best people are buried there.’” - -I have traveled much in foreign countries, but Philadelphia is the only -place in which I was compelled to beg the protection of the American -flag. I had been engaged by Mr. John Wanamaker to “say something” to -his great Sunday-school on two consecutive evenings. Being a New Yorker, -I did not care to spend the intervening hours in Philadelphia, so after -leaving the platform the first evening, I took the ten o’clock train for -home. As haste was necessary, I merely changed my evening coat and vest -for street clothes. In New York next day, I changed my black trousers for -gray, attended to so much business that I had to take a late afternoon -train, and did not realize until it was almost time to go on the -platform, in a “swallow-tail” coat that I had no black trousers. Worse -still my figure was such that I could not be fitted from any clothing -store in the city. For a moment my invention was at a standstill, but -the people were not, and the hall was filling rapidly. I consulted the -committee hastily, and though they were greatly amused by my suggestion, -they acted upon it promptly: they moved a table to the centre of the -platform, draped it with the stars and stripes, and all the people on -the platform arranged themselves, so that I could be unseen as I passed -behind them to the table, where only my coat and vest could be seen, the -objectionable trousers being hidden by my country’s flag. - -Small wonder that I have a merry remembrance of Philadelphia. - - - - -VII - -MY FIRST TRIP TO LONDON - - Large Hopes vs. Small Means.—At the Savage Club.—My First - Engagement.—Within an Ace of Losing It.—Alone in a Crowd.—A - Friendly Face to the Rescue.—The New York Welcome to a Fine - Fellow.—One English Way With Jokes.—People Who are Slow to - Laugh.—Disturbing Elements.—Cold Audiences.—Following a Suicide. - - -When first I visited London I carried large hopes and a small purse and -the latter became so much smaller in the course of time, that I had to -live on next to nothing; to be exact, I restricted myself to fifty cents -a day. For seventy-five cents a week I had a little room in Tottenham -Court Road—a very narrow-minded room indeed, with furnishings to match. -Cold, damp weather was the only guest or companion I had, and the room’s -carpet served two purposes; it covered the floor by day and the bed at -night. From the tiny window there was a long vista of chimney-pots, -which, next to an array of ready-made coffins, offer as disquieting a -spectacle as a homesick boy can gaze upon. The boy Chatterton came to my -mind many times in those days, and although I hoped his fate would not -be mine, I nevertheless learned at times how annoying hunger may be when -it passes the point of anticipation of “a square meal.” - -One treasure did much to sustain me; it was a card, given me by an -American friend before I left home, introducing me to the Savage Club, -which is similar to the Lotos Club of New York. I had the freedom of the -Savage at all times, and was allowed to have my letters addressed there—a -privilege which literally “saved my face,” for I would never have dared -to pose as an entertainer if my address had been Tottenham Court Road. -I had good clothes and I kept a stiff upper lip, so no member of the -club knew of my financial straits. I was careful to refrain from forcing -myself upon any of the club members who had been so kind as to notice -me, yet dinner invitations from some of these good fellows were all that -saved my slender bank balance from extinction. - -Despite my own economy and the hospitality of others there came a day -when Melancholy—with a large M,—threatened to mark me for her own, for -my sole assets, excepting my clothing, were six dollars and my return -ticket; the latter I could not convert into cash without burning my -bridge behind me—and the Atlantic is too wide for a return trip by raft. -Just as this crisis had made me as miserable as any man could be, I -received the following dispatch from a club member who probably had been -present at some of the volunteer entertainments I had given at the Savage. - -“What are your terms? Come to-night; No. 5 Princess Gate.” - -I quickly wired back: “Will come. Terms ten guineas.” - -For the remainder of the day I stayed away from the club, and tormented -myself with fears that I had named too high a price, though I had always -believed there was wisdom in Emerson’s advice—“Hitch your wagon to a -star.” I resolved to go that night to 5 Princess Gate; then, if they had -canceled the engagement, I could honestly say I had not received notice. - -In the evening I made a careful toilet, using my last bit of clean linen, -and took a twopenny ’bus to my destination. The powdered footman who -opened the door said he would bring his Lordship’s secretary to see me. -The secretary came in, much embarrassed, and said he had wired me that -other arrangements had been made. - -“I have been so busy all day,” I replied, “that I’ve not called at the -club; consequently I did not get your message. What was the trouble?—my -terms?” - -“We have engaged a different entertainer,” he replied evasively. - -“But, you see,” I said, with my heart in my mouth, which had need of -something more edible, “your telegram this morning told me to come, so my -evening is lost. As I am here, suppose I go up and do what I can. As to -my fee—oh, I’m quite willing to leave that to his lordship.” - -[Illustration: “I told him many stories hoping he would not notice my -appetite.”] - -Just then I heard his lordship’s voice saying, “Come in, Mr. Wilder.” -He seemed to have grasped the situation, and with the tact and courtesy -which is never lacking in English gentlemen, he quickly made me feel -entirely at ease. He also offered me refreshments, and as I had not -dined, I gladly accepted. That I might not be alone at table, he kindly -waited with me. I told him many stories, hoping he would not notice my -appetite, but I noticed it myself so persistently that I felt that his -every glance said distinctly: - -“You poor little devil, how hungry you are!” - -But I persisted; I was conscious of a need to be well fortified, for I -had heard all sorts of stories about entertaining at social functions in -England—stories of arrays of old ladies in low-necked gowns displaying -more bones than beauty,—of a subdued patter of gloved hands in place -of real applause—of “the stony British stare,” which, really, is never -encountered in society, so I felt like a soldier about to face fearful -odds. I was so wrought upon by my fears that when I did appear it seemed -to me that there was not in that great drawing-room a single sympathetic -face at which I might play; all appeared to wear an expression which said: - -“Now, then;—make us laugh if you can.” - -I began to feel as if I was looking into the rear end of an ice wagon, -but suddenly my eye found a man’s face which filled me with courage—a -face full of kindness, humor and sympathy. It seemed to say: - -“My poor boy, you’re in hard luck, and I’m going to give you all the help -I can. If there’s an excuse for a laugh, you’re going to get it.” - -My heart swelled and went out to him; although I had much to think of -at the moment, business being business and I about to put my wedge into -it for the first time in an English drawing-room, I mentally vowed that -if ever I met that man again he should know what a tower of strength he -had been to me. I “spread myself,” I “laid myself out,” and was told -afterward that I had succeeded. My own view-point of success was reached -next morning, when I received his lordship’s check. - -Several weeks afterward, at a dinner given to Henry Irving, I saw again -the kind face that had been a world of encouragement to me. At the -earliest possible opportunity I went over to him and said: - -“I want to thank you for helping me at a very trying moment.” - -Through forgetfulness or modesty he appeared not to remember the -affair, so I detailed the circumstance to him. He expressed delight at -having been of any service to me, and confessed that he was a fellow -professional, and could therefore imagine my feelings when first face to -face with an English audience. I asked him what he was doing; he replied -that he was at the Princess Theatre with Mr. Wilson Barrett. I begged him -to let me knew his whereabouts whenever he came to the United States, so -that I might renew my expressions of gratitude and be of any possible -service to him. He promised, but just as I was taking leave of him it -occurred to me that I did not even know his name, so I asked for it. He -replied: - -“My name is Willard—Edward S. Willard.” - -We became quite close friends in the course of years, although Mr. -Willard did not come to America until 1891. Soon after his arrival I -gave a breakfast at Delmonico’s in his honor and ransacked the city -and vicinity for fine fellows to meet him. Among the guests were Gen. -W. T. Sherman, Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, George W. Childs, editor of -the Philadelphia _Ledger_; Whitelaw Reid, editor-in-chief of the New -York _Tribune_; Hugh J. Grant, Mayor of New York; Chauncey M. Depew, -president of the New York Central Railway Company and his secretary -Captain Henry Du Val; Hon. Daniel Dougherty, the most brilliant member -of the Philadelphia bar; theatre managers Augustin Daly, A. M. Palmer, -Frank Sanger, Henry E. Abbey, and Daniel Frohman; Joseph I. C. Clarke, -editor of the _Morning Journal_; Foster Coates, editor of the _Mail and -Express_; St. Clair McKelway, editor of the Brooklyn _Union_; J. M. -Stoddart, manager of _Lippincott’s Magazine_; Chester A. Lord, managing -editor of the New York _Sun_; Bradford Merrill, managing editor of the -New York _World_; Arthur Bowers managing editor of New York _Tribune_; -Joseph Howard, Jr., America’s most noted newspaper correspondent; Col. -T. P. Ochiltree, the world’s most effective impromptu story teller; -John Russell Young, editor, librarian of the congressional library and -ex-minister to China; Major Moses P. Handy, journalist, club president -and United States Commissioner to the Paris exposition; William Edgar -Nye (Bill Nye, the humorist); Sam Sothern, brother of E. H. Sothern the -actor; W. J. Arkell, manager of _Puck_ and _Leslie’s Weekly_; Harrison -Gray Fiske, editor _Dramatic Mirror_; Col. W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”); -W. J. Florence, the comedian, Henry Watterson, editor of the Louisville -_Courier-Journal_ and also the most quoted editor in America, and Joseph -Hatton the noted English author. - -Toward the end of the breakfast I said: - -“Gentlemen, I should like to tell you the story of a poor boy and an -actor and the kindness the actor showed the poor boy.” I then related, -in the third person, the story of my first evening as an entertainer in -London, and concluded with: - -“Gentleman, I am that poor boy, and the actor, whose kindness I can never -forget, is our guest, Mr. Edward S. Willard.” And straightway the entire -company rose and let Willard know what they thought of that sort of chap. - -After I had broken the ice in London by Mr. Willard’s aid, as already -described, I got along quite swimmingly, and felt so at ease that I -imagined I never could find myself unable to capture whatever audience -I might face. But there is no accounting for audiences; occasionally -they take an entertainer right to their hearts, read his stories in -his face and have their applause ready for us the instant the point -appears. A day or two later the entertainer may appear before a lot of -men and women of intelligent appearance without eliciting a smile. These -unaccountable differences are not peculiar to either England or America. -Every summer when I revisit England, some old acquaintance is sure to -say, “Mr. Wilder, those stories you told last year are awfully funny.” -It has really taken him about a year to get at the points of the various -tales; he doesn’t lack appreciation of humor, but he is so accustomed -to having it served in only one way that he is puzzled when it appears -in a new form. One day I told an English audience about New York’s fire -department and its methods; great interest was manifested, so I ventured -to tell the old story of a fire in an India rubber factory. This factory -was a large, tall building, and when the alarm of fire was given one of -the employees found himself on the top floor, with burning stairs under -him. His only chance was to jump, but the pavement was so far below his -windows that death seemed inevitable. Suddenly he bethought himself of -the elastic properties of rubber, of which the room was full; could he -envelop himself with it he might jump and strike the sidewalk softly! So -he donned rubber coats, belts, diving suits and everything else he could -find, until he made the serious mistake of putting on too much, for when -he jumped he rebounded from the pavement again and again and continued to -do so, for five days, when a merciful police officer came along and shot -the poor fellow to save him from starving to death. - -[Illustration: “A merciful police officer came along and shot the poor -fellow.”] - -About half an hour after I told this veracious story one of my audience -came to me and asked: - -“Mr. Wilder, do you think that police officer was justified?” - -He was no worse than the person, to be found in both England and America, -who sees a joke so slowly that his laugh comes in when there is nothing -to laugh at. I recall a woman of this kind whose belated laugh was so -immense when it did arrive that I stopped and said: - -“Madam, if you will kindly keep that laugh till a little later, it will -do me lots of good.” - -Some people who have been of my audience meet me afterward and proceed -to “take the gilt off of the gingerbread” in an amusing fashion—if I -am sensible enough to take it that way. Once I encountered one of the -blundering old chaps who mean well, yet invariably make a break and he -said: - -“Mr. Wilder, there was one very good thing among those stories you told.” - -I was disconcerted for a moment, but recovering myself I said: - -“Well, that’s better than missing the point of all of them.” - -At one of my private entertainments I was “making good” and was keeping -my audience in continuous merriment, but my hostess begged me to cease -making them laugh and say something sad and pathetic, so that they might -catch their breath and rest their aching sides. - -“My dear madam,” I replied, “I am never sad or pathetic—I mean, not -intentionally.” - -With a properly developed sense of humor one can sometimes bring a laugh -out of disconcerting surroundings. While I was talking to an audience at -Flint, Mich., one night, the lights suddenly went out but I succeeded in -saying: - -“That’s too bad. Now I’m afraid you won’t be able to see through my -jokes.” - -One evening in the course of an engagement I was playing at the Orpheum -in Brooklyn; one of the boxes was occupied by a quartette who had -evidently been drinking “not wisely, but too well.” They were giving the -audience the benefit of their conversation and even sharing the honors of -the entertainment with the ladies and gentlemen on the bill, much to the -annoyance of these, for the disturbance was interfering seriously with -good work. I had been watching from the wings and determined I would not -submit to such distraction, so when I went on I said: - -“Ladies and gentlemen, it is an oft-repeated remark that it takes -all kinds of people to make a world. Some people in an audience are -so sensitive that they are affected by any unusual conditions or -surroundings. For instance, if they find themselves among ladies and -gentlemen they are so elated by the fact that their conduct has every -appearance of intoxication—but it really is not intoxication, though it -may look that way.” My performance, which followed immediately, was not -disturbed, nor was that of any one who followed me. - -Every entertainer knows what terrible up-hill work it is to stand before -a cold audience. Cold that affects the body is bliss in comparison with -the awful atmosphere that creeps chillingly into one’s soul and the very -marrow of his bones. How an audience can get into such a condition and -become so appalling an influence passes comprehension, for not all the -men and women present can have become dyspeptic on the same day, or had -their consciences awakened at the same hour, or simultaneously “gone -broke” or seen themselves as others saw them. Sometimes I’ve thought -it came of the actual atmosphere of the house, for there are theatres, -halls, churches and parlors that are never properly aired unless -hailstorms or hoodlums chance to break the windows. - -But all such speculation is getting away from the audience, whereas that -is the one thing the entertainer daren’t do, much though he may wish to. -He is “stuck” for a given period, and he is reminded of trying to climb -slippery mountains of ice in the fairy tales of childhood’s sunny hour, -and the parallel continues, for the chill—the reserve, is more often -melted by some happy impromptu than by conscientious work. - -I recall a time in Pittsburg when I struck the afore-mentioned Polar -current through no fault of my own or of the audience. It was the -custom of the house to begin the evening with a play and follow with a -vaudeville performance. The play on the occasion referred to was “Captain -Swift,” in which the hero was a charming rascal who always took an -audience by the heart, even when he ended the play by killing himself. It -was my misfortune to follow the play and find the audience in a very low -state of mind which, in turn, threw a wet blanket upon me and my work. -After laboring a few minutes I said: - -“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve often followed a prayer, and sometimes -followed a hearse, but this is the first time I ever followed a suicide.” -This touch just tipped the balance—lifted the cloud, squeezed the water -out of the blanket, made the audience mine and kept it so while I held -the stage. - -At the Orpheum in San Francisco I was received so kindly that my stay was -extended to three weeks. San Francisco audiences are very responsive, -except on Sunday evenings; then, for some Frisco reason undiscoverable -by the eastern man, they are usually cold and the entertainer has to -cut ice. On my last Sunday evening there a section of Greenland’s Icy -Mountains seemed to have come in collision with a cold-storage warehouse -just before I appeared, for the audience was as unresponsive as a cart -load of frozen clams. I worked over them a few moments as earnestly as -a life-saver over a person rescued from drowning, but to no avail, so I -stopped and said: - -“Now I’ve got you nice and quiet, just have a good long sleep while I -go out and leave a call for you.” Then I tiptoed off of the stage so as -not to rouse the sleepers. This started a current of warm good nature; -they called me back and for the rest of the performance there was perfect -understanding and sympathy between them and me. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VIII - -EXPERIENCES IN LONDON - - Customs and Climate Very Unlike Our Own.—No Laughter in - Restaurants.—Clever Cabbies.—Oddities in Fire-fighting.—The - “Rogues’ Gallery” in Scotland Yard.—“Petticoat Lane.”—A - Cemetery for Pet Dogs.—Dogs Who are Characters.—The - Professional Toast-master.—Solemn After-dinner Speakers.—An - Autograph Table-cloth.—American Brides of English Husbands. - - -So many London customs seem strange to an American that I venture to -mention a few experiences of my own by way of preparation, for no -American knows when he may be nominated for the presidency or get a -chance to go to Europe. - -The first thing to impress a person from this side of the Atlantic is -the climate, which is generally depressing to any one accustomed to -the dazzling sunshine, brilliant skies and champagne quality of our -atmosphere. Everything seems heavy and solemn by comparison, and life -appears to be a serious matter to all whom one meets, although the truth -is that the English enjoy life heartily and give ten times as much -attention to sports and amusements as we do. - -I went one day into a restaurant where a great many people were dining, -yet absolute silence prevailed, instead of the buzz of chatter and -laughter of a French or American restaurant. I asked a waiter, - -“Doesn’t any one ever laugh here?” - -“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Sometimes we ’ave complaints, sir.” - -But there is so much of interest in even the ordinary street sights that -a visitor soon forgets smoke, dampness and gloom. The first natives to -accost an American are the “cabbies,” and they are a never-failing source -of amusement to me. They abound in natural wit, and are past-masters of -sarcasm. One of the sharpest bits I ever heard was told about an old -cabby and one of his younger fellows. The former was a master of whip -and rein; he boasted that he knew every foot of London and declared that -although he had been in many tight places he had never failed to drive -out smoothly. One day, however, he lost control of his horse and ran into -a young cabby’s outfit. The younger man looked him over condescendingly, -contemptuously, and then asked, - -“Well? An’ ’ow do _you_ like London?” - -A friend of mine once took a cab drawn by an animal which was bony in the -extreme. The driver was hailed by the Jehu of a passing cab with, - -“Oi saiy, Bill, I see yer goin’ to ’ave a new ’orse.” - -“’Oo told yer so?” - -“W’y, I see y’ve got the framework there.” - -Not all the quick-tongued cabbies are professionals. At one time it was a -fad of young “bloods” in London to drive cabs, apparently for the purpose -of enriching their slang vocabulary by exchanging remarks with “regulars” -whom they could provoke into freedom of speech. Sometimes decently born -and fairly educated young men from the rural districts, who have handled -horses at home and know no one in London whom they would be ashamed to -face from a driver’s seat, try cab-driving as a business. They can hire -a horse and cab for five shillings a day; London fares are small and -some days they are few, but many men “tip” the drivers, especially those -who say smart things that appear to be impromptu, so amateur cabbies -sometimes make much more than a living. - -London’s fire-fighting service interests an American by its differences -from our own. The fire-plugs do not resemble old-fashioned cannon, turned -upside down, as ours do; they are so unnoticeable that their whereabouts -must be indicated by lamp-post signs like this:—“Fire-plug four feet to -the right and three feet to the rear.” Instead of using whistles, the -London engines have a string of sleigh-bells on one of the horses, and -by way of further warning the men on the engine keep up a constant shout -of “Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” The engines do not respond as quickly to an alarm as -ours; it generally takes them two minutes to get under way, though the -firemen are a “fit” looking lot. I was told they were selected entirely -from ex-sailors of the naval service. To assist the engines’ crews there -are many auxiliaries, who sleep and almost live in small red houses on -wheels; these portable houses are numerous in the more thickly populated -portions of the city, where fires are most likely to occur and extra -firemen be needed. - -At convenient corners are kept, also on wheels, the portable -fire-escapes:—mere shafts or chutes of canvas on wooden framework. In -case of fire in the upper part of an inhabited building, the top of -the escape is pushed to a window, and the inmates are expected to save -themselves by going head first down the inclined chute, clinging to the -framework of the sides to keep from descending too rapidly. Of course -in a city of lofty apartment houses and “sky-scraper” office buildings -such a contrivance would be almost useless, but in London a house of -more than three stories is a rarity. “Running to fires” is as popular -with some Londoners as it was in New York before fire alarms reached the -dozen-a-day mark. The Duke of Sutherland enjoyed attending fires; he -would have his private carriage follow the engines, and frequently he was -accompanied by the Prince of Wales. - -Scotland Yard, mentioned in every English detective story, is an -interesting place to visit; it is the London equivalent of our Police -Department’s “Central Office.” I was shown a “Rogues’ Gallery” there -which was quite as large and appalling as our own. In photographing a -criminal the London police make assurance doubly sure by placing a mirror -to catch his profile, which is taken, with his front face, by a single -snap. To be still more thorough they have the sitters spread his hands -on his chest, for hands, being hard to disguise, are useful tell-tales. -Thumb impressions complete a record which the criminal regards with far -more discomfort than his evil deeds ever give him. - -Petticoat Lane is not a section of the police department, though -the officials wish it might be, for as it is a recognized “stand” of -hucksters, the thieves flock there to sell their ill-gotten wares, so one -may see “Fagins” and “Artful Dodgers” in plenty. Their best customers -are men of their own kind—thieves with enough business sense to know -where certain kinds of stolen property can be resold to advantage. -Jewelry is the principal stock-in-trade, and it is carried in small -boxes, resembling cigar-boxes, hung from the neck. When the coast is -clear of policemen, the thieves lift the lid long enough for a peep at -the contents. I was piloted through “the lane” by a special officer from -Scotland Yard and in an underground passage we came upon a score or more -of the light-fingered gentry. Unfortunately the officer was recognized, -word was passed down the line, everything that might have aroused -suspicion was secreted and the entire crowd gazed at us with an affected -innocence which was transparent enough to be laughable. - -The legitimate trades in Petticoat Lane are more interesting to an -American, for they have some business ways which are amusing—even -startling. An orange-dealer will drop his fruit in hot water once in a -while; this makes it swell to almost twice its natural size and look -smooth and glossy. The next wagon to the orange man may be full of -second-hand clothing; the dealer will not allow a would-be purchaser to -“try on” a coat or vest, for fear he may run away with it, but he will -put the garment on his own wife for inspection; the result is often a -picture funny enough to print. Theatrical people often go there for -costumes for “character” parts; apparently some kinds of English clothing -last forever, for in Petticoat Lane may be seen fabrics and fashions and -trimmings that look antiquated enough to have come over with William the -Conqueror. Some of the hucksters’ carts are decorated with suggestive -signs, such as, “Oh, mother, how cheap these eggs are!” - -In a corner of Hyde Park I chanced to see a little graveyard; everything -about it was little. The mounds were small, the headstones tiny, and -little children were decorating the graves with flowers. On inquiry I -learned that it was a dogs’ cemetery, but instead of laughing I was -touched by the mental picture of heavy-hearted boys and girls going there -with floral tributes to departed playfellows. A little girl who was -passing noted that one grave was bare, and I heard her say to her nurse: - -“That must have been a bad doggie buried there.” - -“Why?” the nurse inquired. - -“Because he has no flowers on his grave.” - -Almost every part of London has its homely “character.” Near St. Martin’s -Lane, off Charing Cross, can be seen every day a blind sailor who sits -knitting small fishing-nets. In front of him sits his Irish terrier with -a cup in his mouth, and passers-by amuse themselves by throwing pennies -for the dog to catch in his cup, as he always does. When he has caught -several he empties the cup into his owner’s hand and returns to business -at the old stand. This goes on till evening, when the dog guides his -owner home through the crowded streets. - -One interesting London dog is called Nelson, because he accidentally lost -a leg at the base of the Nelson column in Trafalgar Square. He makes his -home in Seven Dials, where he begs for a living, and gets many pennies -from his admirers. Instead of giving the money to any one he hides it; -whenever he is hungry he goes to his treasury, gets a coin and takes it -to a butcher or baker; he knows, too, how much he should get in return -and he will not leave the shop till he has received full value for his -money. - -The professional toast-master is a London institution that America has -not adopted. His services are required at the cost of a sovereign, at -every public dinner, and his qualifications are pomposity and a loud, -deep, resonant voice. Around his neck he wears a big silver chain from -which hangs a silver plate inscribed T. M., and when he exclaims, “We -will drink a bumper to ’Is Gracious Majesty the King,” it is with a -voice that suggests an earthquake announcing its exit from the bowels -of the earth. After the presiding officer has indulged in the usually -introductory and airy persiflage, it is the duty of the T. M. to -introduce the speaker, which he does with a sweep of his arm that is -expected to subdue any noisy applause by the guests. - -[Illustration: “’Is Gracious Majesty the King!”] - -English after-dinner speakers have little or no humor, but they are -extremely earnest in their remarks. They incline more to argument than -amusement. Occasionally one will indulge in a pun which has the sanctity -of long usage—a pun that an American could not get off without a blush, -and a turn of his face to the wall, but the hearers like it, so no one -else should complain. The English recognize and admit the American’s -superiority as an after-dinner speaker. I heard Mr. Beerbohm Tree say, in -the course of a speech at the Clover Club (Philadelphia), - -“Englishmen can handle horses and Americans their tongues.” - -But there are exceptions to every rule, even regarding dinners and -after-dinner speaking. London contains some men as clever and witty as -any in the world, and when these fine fellows dine together there is no -formality about the board nor any heavy talk. - -Mr. Henry Lucy, who has been called the “Mark Twain of England,” recently -visited this country with Mrs. Lucy, renewing old friendships and forming -new ones. The Lucys give delightful dinners at their home in Ashley -Gardens, Victoria Street, as I have often had occasion to know, and the -guests they gather about them would be welcomed by the cleverest men -and women anywhere. For special occasions the Lucys use a table-cloth -profusely ornamented with the autographs of many brilliant men who have -dined with them, for it is only as a guest that one may write his name -on this sacred bit of linen. Many of the names are household words in -America, one of which held my eye for an entire evening; it was that -of Charles Dickens. It was over the Lucy table that Burnand, editor of -_Punch_, and W. S. Gilbert had their oft-quoted encounter: - -“I suppose you often have good things sent in by outsiders?” said Gilbert. - -“Frequently,” Burnand replied. - -“Then why don’t you print them?” - -A question frequently asked of late is whether the marriages of American -girls to English husbands result happily. My own observation has -satisfied me that they generally do. English girls are educated to be -good housewives and mothers, but their childhood and early girlhood is -usually spent in the nursery, without much association with adults, so -when they are thrust into society they are likely to be shy, if not -awkward, and have little or nothing to say. But the American girl is -“one of the family” from her infancy; she is as much a companion of her -father as her brother is, and she knows her brother’s friends as well as -those of her elder sister. She acquires quickness of thought and speech, -vivacity and cleverness, and can be companionable without overstepping -the bounds of strict propriety. - -If an English gentleman longs for a wife who will also be his “chum,” who -will enjoy his sports with him and be a jolly good fellow, which is only -another name for companion—who is competent to amuse and entertain, he -cannot easily find her in England except in a class which would preclude -his offering her his name, but if he is so lucky as to marry an American -girl he has not only a model wife and housekeeper but a companion as well. - -[Illustration: Mill put the garment on his wife.] - -Just one more mention of London, for the sake of that touch of nature -that makes the whole world kin. Down by the East India dock is a hospital -on the wall of which appears the following request, “Will drivers please -walk their horses?” Although heavy traffic passes the building, much -noise is avoided if horses are not urged beyond a walk. The drivers are -a rather rough lot, like drivers anywhere, but they carefully comply -with the request; their knowledge of what it means is more effective than -a platoon of police could be. The gratitude of the hospital authorities -and patients is expressed by an inscription at the other end of the -building—“Thank you, drivers.” - - “We cannot chain the eagle; - And we dare not chain the dove; - But every gate that’s barred by hate - Is opened wide by love.” - - - - -IX - -“LUCK” IN STORY-TELLING - - The Real Difference Between Good Luck and Bad.—Good Luck with - Stories Presupposes a Well-stored Memory.—Men Who Always Have - the Right Story Ready.—Mr. Depew.—Bandmaster Sousa’s Darky - Stories.—John Wanamaker’s Sunday-school Stories.—Gen. Horace - Porter’s Tales That go to the Spot.—The Difference Between - Parliament and Congress. - - -The difference between good luck and bad luck amounts generally to the -difference between the men who are said to have the one or the other. -Some men are always waiting for something to turn up: others make sure of -it by taking something—anything—from a spade to their wits, and digging -it up. Anywhere in the country one may see holding down chairs in the -store, or in the city lounging at tables in bar-rooms, a knot of men who -were born with average brains, yet they will drone dismally of successful -men whom they know or have heard of: - -“Smith became a preacher at twelve thousand a year.” - -“Jones dropped into a Supreme Court Judgeship.” - -“Brown stumbled on a business chance that made him a millionaire.” - -“Well, there’s nothing like luck”—and they go on sitting still waiting -for it, and can’t imagine why it never comes their way. I once chanced to -mention Chauncey Depew’s name in the hearing of a crowd of this kind, and -a voice replied: - -“There’s a lucky man for you! Why, whenever he hears of anything, it is -just his luck to have a story that goes to the spot as quick as a bullet -from a gun.” - -This sort of “luck,” like the other instances referred to, is the -inevitable outcome of the man and his ways. There are jokes for every -situation, as there are keys for every lock; but the man who lets a good -joke go in one ear and out of the other is like him who puts his keys -into a pocket with a hole in it, and then grumbles that he can’t unlock -his doors. Jokes are like dollars: when you have some that are not needed -at the time, it is better to stow them away for future use than to drop -them where they can’t be found in case of need. - -I can recall from my own experience but one case of sheer luck in -story-telling. While dining at an Englishman’s magnificent place one -summer, some peaches were served. As the English climate is too cool to -ripen peaches, these had been grown on the side of a wall and under -glass. They were superb in size and color yet they had small stones and -little flavor. When my host told me of the care that had been lavished on -them—they must have cost him a dollar each—my mind went back to the peach -season at home, so I said to him: - -“Peaches that would make your mouth water and send tears of joy chasing -one another down your cheeks are to-day piled high on barges beside the -wharves of New York and selling at a dollar a basket, with from one to -two hundred peaches in each basket.” - -I made this truthful statement in a matter-of-fact way, which was all it -called for; but my host looked at me in amazement, then laughed heartily -and said: - -“Well, you Americans have always been remarkable for the stories you -tell.” - -To revert to Mr. Depew, he can tell a new story every day of the year, -and add two or three by way of good measure; but their newness is -generally in the patness of their application. He is so able at this sort -of thing that he can turn a story against the man who tells it. But he -confesses gleefully to having been caught once in the same manner. He was -billed to make a speech somewhere up the state, and when he arrived the -editor of the local paper called at his hotel to argue politics with -him. The editor quoted newspaper statements frequently to support his -arguments, but Depew replied: - -“Oh, you can’t believe everything the newspapers say.” - -[Illustration: “The editor of the local paper called at his hotel.”] - -After the speech-making ended, the editor and Mr. Depew met again, in the -centre of a crowd of listeners. - -“Well, my friend,” the genial Chauncey asked, “what did you think of my -speech?” - -The editor hesitated a moment before he inquired solemnly: “Are you the -genuine Chauncey M. Depew?” - -“Certainly! Do you doubt it?” - -Again the editor hesitated. He regarded the speaker as if he was sizing -him up, and asked: “Are you the man all the newspapers have been saying -is the finest speaker, the greatest talker, the sharpest stumper and the -brightest wit before the public?” - -Depew modestly blushed at this array of compliments; but replied: “I -guess I am he. But why do you ask?” - -“Oh, because one can’t believe everything the newspapers say.” - -And Depew made haste to shake hands with the editor and call it square. - -Mr. Depew’s humorous speeches read so well that nobody misses one of -them if he can help it; but it is impossible for cold type to suggest -the inimitable manner with which they are given. A mature maiden woman -once called upon him at an hour when his time was worth about a dollar a -second and asked his advice about buying a certain bit of real estate. He -evasively answered that there were two things of which he knew absolutely -nothing: they were women and real estate. - -This amused her so greatly that she lingered instead of going away, and -to prolong her stay she asked about a mutual acquaintance: “Where is Mr. -Blank, Mr. Depew?” - -“He is still in the city.” - -“Does he stammer as much as he did?” - -“Oh, yes; worse, I believe.” - -“Strange he never married.” - -“No, it was not strange, my dear madam. Blank courted a lovely girl—he -told me of it years afterward—and this is the way he proposed.” Then -Mr. Depew looked soulfully at his visitor and stammered: “‘D-d-d-dear -a-a-angel, I l-l-l-love y-y-you!’ And the woman replied: ‘You need not -proceed further, Mr. Blank. I do not care to be wooed on the instalment -plan.’” But the visitor had fled too rapidly to get the benefit of the -joke. - -Bandmaster Sousa is one of the “lucky” story-tellers, for he can -always cap an improbable story with a bigger one. After listening to -an extraordinary yarn about some man’s appetite, and another about -unquestioning confidence in another man’s directions, he “covered” both -with the following, which he attributed to a Southern negro: - -“Down on our fahm we’ze got a man by de name o’ Jim. Now, Jim’s de -champion ham-eater of all de country roun. Unc’ Henry hed cha’ge o’ -de fahm, an’ ev’ybody ’spected Unc’ Henry, an’ when Unc’ Henry tol’ -any of us to do anythin’ we jus’ done it, ’ithout stoppin’ to ask any -questions, ’cause we had conf’dence in him. We knowed he wouldn’t ever -tell us to do anythin’ dat we hadn’t orter. - -“But dat Jim—w’y, folks come f’om all de country roun’, jes’ to see Jim -eat ham, fo’ de way he could tuck ham away was amazin’; it suttinly was. -How you would laugh to see Jim a-settin’ by de fence one day, a-eatin’ -one ham after another, like ez ef dey was cakes or biscuits! ’Twas ’ez -easy to him as pickin’ teeth, an’ he’d got down eight hams, an’ de ninth -was a follerin’, but I reckon it wuz f’om a middlin’ old hawg, for some -gris’le got in his throat, an’ choked him an’ stopped his breath, so we -wuz a-feared dat we wuz a-goin’ to lose Jim. - -“But up got Unc’ Henry sort o’ easy-like, an’ he went over to de -fence—dey was a lot o’ slabs on top o’ de fence—and he tuk a slab, an’ -he walk t’ward Jim, an’ he sez: ‘Jim, git down on all fours!’ Dat slab -looked mighty big, it did, an’ right in front o’ Jim was a big pile o’ -stones; but Jim had conf’dence in Unc’ Henry, like ev’ybody did, so he -got down on all fours an’ waited, an’ de gris’le in his throat, why, dat -waited too. An’ Unc’ Henry pahted Jim’s coat-tails, an’ histed de slab, -an’ fetched it down wid a mighty swish, an’ give Jim a hit, an’ Jim went -head first onto dat pile o’ stones; but he had conf’dence in Unc’ Henry -so he knowed he wouldn’t be knocked through de stones, but would stop ez -soon ez he hit ’em—his conf’dence in Unc’ Henry was dat great. An’ when -he struck dem stones dat piece o’ gris’le ’lowed it had bizness somewhar -else. An’ Jim riz up an’ hollered ‘Gimme anudder ham!’” - -[Illustration: Depew—Porter—Wilder—Sousa—Wanamaker] - -It will amaze millions of John Wanamaker’s customers to know that the -man who is so busy that they can never get a glimpse of him unless they -attend his church is an industrious teller of stories and always has -the “luck”—though that is not his name for it—to have the right story -for any situation. That most of his yarns are spun in Sunday-school -does not make them any the less good. I wish Sunday-school teachers -had told stories when I was a boy, and I will bet Bibles to buttons -that if teachers were practically instructed in story-telling, all the -Sunday-school rooms would have to be enlarged to hold the increase of -attendants. - -But I was speaking of John Wanamaker. While reproving some of his -Sunday-school pupils for laughing at a deaf boy’s wrong answers to -misunderstood questions, he said: - -“Boys, it isn’t right to laugh at any one’s affliction. Besides, you -never know when your own words may be turned against you. I once knew -a deaf man—let us call him Brown—who was disposed to stinginess and to -getting every dollar he could out of everybody and everything. He never -married; but he was very fond of society, so one day he felt compelled to -give a banquet to the many ladies and gentlemen whose guest he had been. - -“They were amazed that his purse-strings had been unloosed so far, and -they thought he deserved encouragement, so it was arranged that he should -be toasted. One of the most daring young men of the company was selected, -for it took a lot of nerve to frame and propose a toast to so unpopular -a man as Miser Brown. But the young man rose, and Brown, who had been -notified of what was to occur, fixed his face in the customary manner -of a man about to be toasted. And this was what was heard by every one -except Brown, who never heard anything that was not roared into his ear: - -“‘Here’s to you, Miser Brown. You are no better than a tramp, and it is -suspected that you got most of your money dishonestly. We trust that you -may get your just deserts yet, and land in the penitentiary.’ - -“Visible evidences of applause made Brown smile with gratification. He -got upon his feet, raised his glass to his lips, and said: ‘The same to -you, sir.’” - -General Horace Porter is another of the men whose stories always fit. It -is said that he accepted the post of American Ambassador to France for -the sole purpose of taking a rest from making after-dinner speeches. He -can even use a pun in a manner to compel admiration, in which respect he -differs from almost every one. On one occasion he said: - -“New England speakers have said that the Puritans were always -missionaries among the people with whom they came in contact. I saw -recently a newspaper paragraph that indicated the disposition of the -Puritan to busy himself with the great hereafter, and to get as close to -it as possible. The paragraph announced that the _Puritan_ had collided -in Hell Gate. (The Puritan last-named was a steamboat.) - -“But when the wooden Puritan—the New Englander, gets a man on the -perilous edge, so that one or other must topple over into the pit, he -takes care that he shall not be the unfortunate. He is as cautious in -this respect as was the night-cab driver in front of a house where there -had been a bibulous dinner party. A man emerged from the house, staggered -across the sidewalk, laying out more zigzags than did our patriot sires -at the siege of Yorktown, opened the door of the cab and threw himself on -the seat. - -[Illustration: “Where will I go, Sor?”] - -“The driver asked: ‘Where will I go, sor?’ - -“‘To hell!’ was the unexpected reply. - -“The cabby drove about for some moments to take a think, for though he -had heard of many sure roads to the torrid destination mentioned he was -not ‘up’ on the conveniences at the entrance, and he didn’t want to -scorch the paint on his cab. Soon he asked again: ‘Where am I to take -you, sor?’ - -“‘To hell,’ was again the reply. Cabby scratched his head, studied the -situation, and asked: ‘Beg pardon, sor, but can I back up when I land -you?’” - -To an interviewer who expected to get a good article on the difference -between the English Parliament and our Congress (this was at a time when -many Congressmen were tobacco-chewers) he said: - -“In Parliament the men sit with their hats on and cough; in Congress they -sit with their hats off and spit.” - - - - -X - -JOURNALISTS AND AUTHORS - - Not All Journalists are Critics, nor are All Critics - Fault-finders.—The Most Savage Newspapers not the Most - Influential.—The Critic’s Duty.—Horace Greeley.—Mark Twain’s - First Earnings.—A Great Publisher “Approached” by Green - Goods Men.—Henry Watterson.—Opie Reid.—Quimby of the _Free - Press_.—Laurence Hutton, Edwin Booth and I in Danger Together. - - -When you say “journalist” to a man of my profession—or of any other that -devotes its time and wits to the task of amusing and entertaining people, -it is taken for granted that you mean “critic,” and that “critic” in turn -means faultfinder. This is extremely unfair to journalists in general and -to critics in particular, for not all journalists are critics, nor all -critics faultfinders. Run over the names of all the critics you’ve heard -of here or in London or Paris—critics, dramatic, musical and literary, -and you will discover, to your surprise, that those who are best known -and have most influence, are those who are quickest to praise and slowest -to find fault. - -[Illustration: “Trying it on the dog” is the name for this sort of thing—] - -As a proof of it, and how it strikes the men and women most concerned, -both in pocket and pride, is the following:—almost every new play, -concert and entertainment of any kind tries to give its first real -performance in New York. It may endeavor to get some money out of the -later rehearsals by giving a few performances out of town:—“Trying it -on the dog” is the name for this sort of thing, but New York is trusted -to set the pace, and this is what follows;—on the day on which New York -newspapers containing a report of the performance reaches any city or -town where the same attraction has been booked conditionally, or where -managers or entertainment committees have heard enough in advance about -it to want to hear more, there is a run on news-stands for certain -New York papers. I won’t indicate them closer than to say that they -are not those sheets which support the brilliant chaps who skilfully -ride hobbies of their own, or who are most skilled at vivisecting and -eviscerating a playwright and splitting each particular hair of an actor, -singer or entertainer. The papers for which there is general demand are -those which tell whether the performance was good of its kind, specify -the kind and tell how the audience regarded it. At the end of the third -act of a new play in New York a noted critic was buttonholed in the lobby -by a club-man who had a friend in the cast and asked for his opinion. - -“It’s a success—a great success,” was the reply. - -“Good! I’m so glad you like it.” - -“Like it? My dear fellow, I never was worse bored in my life. I’d rather -have heard ‘Julius Cæsar’ done by a lot of high school boys. But that has -nothing to do with it. If pieces were written and played for me and my -kind, they’d have to charge ten dollars a ticket to get money enough to -pay for the gas and music. Plays are made for audiences; this audience -likes this play—likes it immensely, so other audiences will like it too, -and if I don’t say so in our newspaper to-morrow morning I deserve to be -bounced and have this week’s salary docked.” - -Of course it is a critic’s business to see defects and call attention -to them. When he does so he confers a favor upon the performer, who -generally is so absorbed in what he is doing that he doesn’t know what -he is leaving undone or doing badly. But the faults of stage or platform -can’t be remedied with a sledge-hammer or a double bladed dagger—not -ever if you give the dagger a turn or two after you have jabbed it in. A -prominent critic said to me: - -“I don’t criticise a play according to my own feelings and tastes. -Although I’ve a very good opinion of my own personal standard of -judgment, I don’t believe the people collectively would give a snap of -the finger for it. I simply try to ascertain the opinion of the audience -and express it for the benefit of the people of whom audiences are made. -I greatly dislike ⸺ and ⸺ (mentioning a popular actor and actress) but -who cares? It would not be fair to try to impress my dislikes upon -others, unless I chance upon some one who takes the stage seriously, and -there are only two classes who do this—conceited critics, and actors who -don’t get their pay. Fortunately I know very few professional people; -if I knew more I would become insane through trying to dissociate their -personality from their work. It is bad to know too much about anybody -or anything, if you don’t want to throw the world out of joint. Except -in matters of morals and manners, ‘where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly -to be wise.’ Did you ever hear how Horace Greeley once got cold feet? -A friend—one of the wise, observant, upsetting kind of friends called -on Greeley, one cold winter day, and found the great journalist with a -favorite book in his hand, a beatific smile on his face and his feet -over the register. The visitor had previously been through the building -and learned that the furnace had gone wrong and been removed, the cold -air flue could not be closed, and zero air was coming through all the -registers, so he said: - -“‘Mr. Greeley, why do you keep your feet there? There is no heat—only -cold air is coming up!’ - -“Greeley tumbled out of his chair and in the childish whine that always -came to him when he was excited, replied, - -“‘Why didn’t you let me alone? I was entirely comfortable; but now, I’m -near you, I’m frozen.’” - -Mention of Greeley, who was too busy a man to think of being a humorist, -yet was one in spite of himself, recalls one of Mr. Depew’s stories about -him. A man who was in search of financial aid for some evangelistic -work got into Mr. Greeley’s sanctum one day, and found the great editor -writing, with his head held sideways and close to the desk, like a -schoolboy, as was his custom. He waved his hand, to signify that the man -should go away, but Greeley had the reputation of being an easy-mark, -financially, and the visitor’s mind was fixed on business, so he asked, - -“Mr. Greeley, how much will you give to prevent your fellow men from -going to hell?” - -[Illustration: The brilliant chaps who ride hobbies of their own—] - -“Not a damn cent!” was the reply, as the great editor went on writing. -“Not enough of them go there now. I could name hundreds who ought to -have been there long ago——” all this in a whining drawl that carried -conviction with it. - -Speaking of drawls, I wish all my readers could have heard Mark Twain’s -voice as he told me a tale of juvenile woe. I had asked him if he could -remember the first money he had ever earned. - -“Yes,” he said. “It was at school. All boys had the habit of going to -school in those days, and they hadn’t any more respect for the desks -than they had for the teachers. There was a rule in our school that any -boy marring his desk, either with pencil or knife, would be chastised -publicly before the whole school or pay a fine of five dollars. Besides -the rule there was a ruler; I knew it because I had felt it; it was a -darned hard one, too. - -“One day I had to tell my father that I had broken the rule, and had to -pay a fine or take a public whipping, and he said: - -“‘Sam, it would be too bad to have the name of Clemens disgraced before -the whole school, so I’ll pay the fine. But I don’t want you to lose -anything, so come up-stairs.’ I went up-stairs with father and he was -for-_giving_ me. I came down-stairs with the feeling in one hand and the -five dollars in the other, and decided that as I’d been punished once, -and got used to it, I wouldn’t mind taking the other licking at school. -So I did, and I kept the five dollars. That was the first money I ever -earned.” - -This unexpected shift of the moral point of view is peculiar to boys. -James Whitcomb Riley, author of no end of things, humorous and pathetic, -told me of a small boy who astonished his mother one night by saying his -prayers in German. When reproved, he said: - -“Oh, that was a joke.” - -“You must not joke with heaven,” said his mother severely. - -“Oh, the joke isn’t on heaven; it’s on you,” was the reply. - -Another small friend of Mr. Riley jumped quickly into bed one cold night. -His mother said: - -“Johnny, haven’t you forgotten something?” - -“No, mamma,” was the reply. “I’ve made up my mind not to say my prayers -to-night or to-morrow night or the night after, and then if I have luck I -won’t say them any more at all.” - -My friend Frank Doubleday, a member of a publishing firm that all -authors regard admiringly, would rather get a laugh on some one than -get a record-breaking novel. He is a fine, tall, handsome fellow and -like many another handsome man who is really manly, he is careless of -his dress, looking more like a busy farmer than a successful publisher. -Going through Greenwich Street one day, near the ferries and steamboat -landings, his rural appearance and manner attracted the attention of one -of the “bunco” or “green goods” gentry, who accosted him with: - -“Why, Mr. Brown, I’m very glad to see you.” - -“But my name isn’t Brown,” said Doubleday, in his most innocent manner. - -“What? Aren’t you Mr. Brown, of Paterson?” - -“No, my name is Marshall P. Wilder.” - -“Oh, you go to h⸺ll!” growled the bunco-man with a glare. - -To get back to journalists, with whom I began, I believe I have said -elsewhere that Henry Watterson is the most quoted editor in the United -States. Yet a lot of his best things do not appear over his signature; -he says so many that only a phonograph could keep tally of them. One -evening at the Riggs House in Washington he found his friend Col. Dick -Wintersmith, the poet lobbyist, in a gastronomic quandary, for the -colonel longed for a dinner of beefsteak and onions but dreaded to carry -the perfume of onions in his breath. Watterson said: - -“Colonel Dick, I’ll tell you how to avoid it.” - -“Do!” - -“Why, go to John Chamberlin’s for your beefsteak and onions; when you get -your bill it will take your breath entirely away.” - -Opie Reid, editor and author, frequently appears on the platform, to -the delight of every one who listens to him. One night he was greatly -puzzled, for although his audience laughed heartily no one applauded. He -learned afterward that he had been engaged to entertain the inmates of -a home for disabled railway employees, and his audience was composed of -switchmen, each of whom had lost an arm, perhaps two. He got a laugh -even on one of the dreadful eating-houses peculiar to southern railroad -stations. Most of his fellow passengers were commercial travelers, and -knew by experience what to expect at such places, so they got off of the -train with sullen looks, as if sorry rather than glad that they were to -dine, and their complainings began before they reached the table. A negro -was walking to and fro on the station platform ringing a dinner-bell, and -near him was a small dog howling so piteously that the darky stopped and -exclaimed: - -“What’s you hollerin’ for? _You_ don’t have to eat here.” - -My friend Quimby of the Detroit _Free Press_ tells of “meeting up” with -two strangers who became so friendly that soon the three were introducing -themselves. - -“I’m from Detroit,” said Quimby to one. “Where are you from?” - -“Boston,” was the reply. The Bostonian turned enquiringly to the third, -who said: - -“I’m from Pawtucket. Now, d⸺mn you, laugh!” - -I am indebted to hundreds of critics and other journalists for kind -things they have printed about me. As to authors, one of them saved -my life a few years ago, and this is how it occurred:—I had rooms in -Thirty-fourth Street, in New York, next door to the late Laurence -Hutton, author of many well-known books. One night, on returning home -very late, I discovered that I had neglected to take my keys, so I was -practically locked out. I rang the bell, but no one responded. Suddenly -I noted that lights were still burning in Mr. Hutton’s house, and I -recalled that he had given a dinner that night to Mr. Edwin Booth, the -tragedian. Hutton was the most obliging neighbor any one could have had, -so I rang him up, told him of my trouble, and asked permission to go into -his yard and climb the division fence, after which I would get into my -own house through a rear window. - -“All right, Marshall,” Hutton replied, “and I’ll go with you, and help -you over the fence.” - -My only fear was of a lodger in my own house—a nervous man, apprehensive -of burglars, and who kept revolvers and a quick temper ready for use at -any moment he might be aroused. I said as much to Mr. Hutton, and the -affair immediately changed from a neighborly courtesy to an adventure -with a spice of danger to make it more attractive. Mr. Booth who had -overheard the conversation, announced that he wasn’t to be left out of -any fun in sight, so we three crept silently into Hutton’s back yard like -three burglars, or more like three schoolboys out for mischief. Finding -that he could not lift me over, as he had intended, Hutton got a chair, -stood upon it and helped me to the top of the fence, which was high. Even -there I was no better off, for the fence was as tall as I was not, so -like Mohammed’s coffin I was poised between heaven and earth and unable -to drop without breaking something. But Hutton was a man of expedients: -he stood on the extreme top of the chair-back, leaned over the fence and -held my cane, by its crook, as if it were a dangling rope, down which I -slid safely, thanks to a running fire of tragic stage-whispers, by Mr. -Booth, to the general effect, that it is always well to keep very tight -hold of a good thing, until you strike a better one. - -I reached the ground safely and began the more dangerous part of my -enterprise, which was to open a window of the main floor without rousing -the lodger who was a light sleeper and kept pistols. A spectator, had -there been any excepting the blasé man in the moon, might have gazed at -an unusual scene—honest little me apparently burglarizing a house, while -a prominent author and the greatest living tragedian, both honorable -and law-abiding citizens, standing shakily on the highest back-bar of a -single chair, steadying themselves by leaning heavily on a fence-top and -giving me all the moral support that could be signified by heart-throbs -and irregular breathings. Suddenly Hutton whispered hoarsely, - -“Look out, Marshall!” - -But I looked up, and right into the business end of a revolver, and I did -not at all approve of what I saw. Had I looked toward the fence I would -have beheld two eminent Americans in the undignified act of “ducking.” -But I was too busily engaged in flattening myself against the window to -have eyes for anything but fragmentary visions of the world to come: I -shriveled so utterly that it seemed a million years before I had lungs -enough to shout. - -“Don’t shoot! It’s Marshall!” - -We never settled it to our mutual satisfaction—Hutton’s, and Booth’s and -mine, by which of us the world might have lost most had the revolver been -fired and hit one of us. Mr. Booth was the incarnation of modesty, Hutton -could eloquently praise any one but himself, while I—— But, as already -said, we never agreed as to which would have been the world’s greatest -loss. - - - - -XI - -THE UNEXPECTED - - Robert Hilliard and I and a Dog.—Hartford’s Actors and - Playwrights.—A Fit that Caused a Misfit.—A Large Price to Hear - a Small Man.—Jim Corbett and I.—A Startled Audience.—Captain - Williams and “Red” Leary.—“Joe” Choate to the Rescue.—Bait for - a Dude.—Deadheads.—Within an Inch of Davy Jones.—Perugini and - Four Fair Adorers.—Scanlon and Kernell. - - -In one respect personal experiences are like jokes—those least expected -cause the most lasting impression. I may be excused, therefore, for -recording some of both. - -Some years ago a party of ladies and gentlemen, among whom were Mr. -Hilliard and myself visited David’s Island, an important military post on -Long Island Sound. We were handsomely entertained during the day, so at -night we endeavored to return the compliment. There was a large gathering -in the mess room, the post band gave a few selections and Mr. Hilliard -announced that he would recite “Christmas Night in the Workhouse.” -Instantly a large Newfoundland dog who had been quite conspicuous, looked -sad, dropped upon the floor and went to sleep. The joke was on Bob and -every one was obliged to laugh. But when my turn came and I announced -a few stories about camp life that dog arose, looked straight and -reproachfully into my eyes and walked out of the door. When the laughter -subsided I felt obliged to say: - -“I don’t blame you, old chap.” - -As I was a Hartford boy, I have always had a special liking for the men -and women whom that city has given to the stage and platform. They make -an imposing array, too—William Gillette, Mark Twain, Otis Skinner, Harry -Woodruff, Lew Dockstader, Francis Carlyle, Musical Dale, Frank Lawton, C. -B. Dillingham and Mesdames Lucille Saunders and Emma Eames. - -I greatly admire Mr. Gillette’s plays; they contain so wonderful a -variety of characters that it seems to me he must have searched the whole -country for originals. One day he told me of a pleasant trip he had made -on the St. Lawrence River and said: - -“I’m going to live up there.” - -“Are you? Where?” I asked, supposing he would name a hotel where a large -lot of human nature could be studied, but he named a lonely part of the -Thousand Islands, and said he owned an island there, so I asked: - -“Why do you go there? You will be all alone.” - -“I want to be alone,” he replied. - -“Will no one live there but yourself?” - -“No one but a hen—a little bantam hen.” - -“What do you mean by that? What do you want of a hen?” - -“Well, I’ve always had great fondness and respect for hens, but have been -unable to get acquainted with them, but this is my chance.” - -Mark Twain was once asked to write a testimonial for a map of the world, -and this is what he wrote: - -“Before using your wonderful map, my family were afflicted with fits, but -since using it they have nothing but freckles.” - -There was a time when I wished for Mark’s wonderful map, for I was -afflicted by a fit. It was at an entertainment at Long Branch given in -aid of the Monmouth Hospital. Many actors and actresses who were stopping -at “the Branch” gave their services, among them Neil Burgess, Mr. and -Mrs. Oliver Dowd Byron, Mr. and Mrs. Matt Snyder, Mr. and Mrs. Frank -Chanfrau, Miss Maggie Mitchell, Miss Theresa Vaughn and others. I was to -appear, and when I arrived, I saw Miss Vaughn and Mr. Snyder, who was -stage manager, holding an animated discussion. Snyder came over to me and -said: - -“Miss Vaughn has been billed to follow you, but she doesn’t wish to. She -would like to precede you.” - -“All right,” I replied, “I’m perfectly willing.” - -She went out and made a great hit. Then my turn came, and I had just got -a recitation under way when a woman in the audience began to have a fit, -at the most critical part of my number. I had to stop as it was not a -duet, and go off of the stage. Mr. Snyder asked: - -“What’s the matter, Marsh?” - -“There’s a woman out there having a fit.” - -“Oh, go back and do the best you can,” he replied. - -“This is not where I fit,” I answered. But I went back and told my -pianist to play number seven of my repertoire, which was called “Poor -Thing!” - -The audience saw the joke, and helped me out, but I wish my readers -could have been in my position if they do not believe that fit was an -affliction—one which Miss Vaughn was fortunate enough to escape. - -A great many men have told me they greatly wanted to hear me recite, -and I am convinced that one in particular meant what he said. I refer -to Bingham the ventriloquist. He chanced to be in a town where I was to -appear before the Young Men’s Christian Association. He went to the hall -to reserve a good seat, but was told that no tickets would be sold; the -entertainment would be for members only. - -“But I want to hear Mr. Wilder,” he said, “and this is my only chance -within sight. Is there no way of my getting in?” - -“None: unless you join the Association.” - -Incredible though it may seem, Bingham did join the Y. M. C. A. for -the sole purpose of listening to me. He never asked me to refund his -initiation fee on the ground that he didn’t get the worth of it, either, -though I’ve scrupulously avoided recalling the incident to his memory. - -[Illustration: “There’s James J. Corbett!” “Which One?”] - -Nothing is more unexpected by any one than to be mistaken for some one -else. One day while I was walking with James J. Corbett, the handsome -actor-pugilist, who is about twice as tall as I, two young ladies passed -us and one exclaimed: - -“Why, there’s James J. Corbett.” - -“Which one?” the other asked. - -Light-weight though I am, there was a time when I got Corbett badly -rattled. He was living at Asbury Park, training for one of his fights, -and I, while in a railway car with him, got out some friends—a pack of -cards—and did some tricks for Jim. Soon I got him so puzzled that he -exclaimed: - -“Hold on there, Marsh! These tricks get me nutty.” - -It was the unexpected that brought James Young, the actor, a roar of -laughter one evening when he addressed as follows an audience composed -entirely of his own acquaintances: - -“My friends—I cannot call you ladies and gentlemen, for I know you all.” - -It was the unexpected, too, that only severely jarred Capt. Alex. -Williams, a noted ex-police official in New York. A woman fainted in -the street, the captain caught her by one arm, and “Red” Leary, a noted -criminal by the other. - -“Cap’n,” said “Red” politely, “this is the first time you and me have -‘worked’ together.” - -Minister Choate—“Joe” Choate, has a reserve fund of the unexpected. Some -American dishes were served up at a breakfast party in England, one being -ham and eggs. A young lady at the minister’s right was ignorant of the -slippery ways of fried eggs on a dish, so she accidentally spilled the -contents of her plate. - -“Oh, Mr. Choate!” she exclaimed, “I don’t know what to do, for I’ve -dropped an egg on the floor,” and Choate replied: - -“If I were you, I’d cackle.” - -[Illustration: “Ignorant of the Slippery Ways of Fried Eggs.”] - -Matt Snyder, the actor, found at his table one night a young man so -elaborately dressed as to be a startling dude, so he asked his daughter: - -“What did you bait your hook with to catch that?” but he was floored by -the sweet reply: - -“Cake, papa.” - -Sometimes the unexpected will cause a man to be grievously wounded in the -house of his friends. Here is an illustration, clipped from a New York -newspaper: - -“Marshall P. Wilder, the professional humorist, was in the Lambs’ Club, -surrounded by some spirits, yesterday evening. He looked at his watch and -remarked wearily, ‘I’ve got to run away, for I’ve got to go up-town to be -funny. It’s an awful bore.’ - -“Wilton Lackaye, who has been taking up the rôle of smart cynicism left -by poor Maurice Barrymore, drawled, in his most irritating manner: ‘I -wouldn’t do it, then. Why don’t you give your usual entertainment?’ - -“‘Cruel boy,’ chirped Wilder, as he made for the door.” - -Lackaye is also the man who gravely suggested to a patriotic Scotchman -that the reason the bagpipes were put in the rear of a regiment in battle -was that the men would be so anxious to get away from the music that they -would run toward the enemy. - -One of the greatest nuisances of the entertainment business, the theatre -and all other “shows,” is the persistent “deadhead.” Every good fellow -in the profession likes so much to have his friends see his performance -that he provides free tickets to the extent of his ability, often paying -cash for them. But people who are not friends—some who are not even -acquaintances, are the most determined deadheads; to have heard about -their deceased mother-in-law is reason enough—to them, for a demand -for a free ticket. Yet a man on the stage or platform is sometimes -startled by seeing close personal friends in the line, cash in hand, at -the box-office, and is reminded of the story Senator Jones of Nevada -tells about crossing a river out west. He reached the ferry but no boat -was there. He saw a man across the stream chopping wood, so he shouted, -“Hello, there! Where’s the boat?” - -[Illustration: The Passengers Consisted of Three Men and a Half.] - -“No boat, wade across,” was the man’s answer, “and I will direct you. -Walk ten feet to the right,—five feet to the left. Look out—there’s a d⸺ -big hole there! Now three feet to the right.” Arriving on the other side -of the stream, the senator asked, “What shall I pay you?” - -“Wa-all,” said the man, “there’s been a dozen men across this ferry, and -you are the first that ever offered to pay anything, so I guess I’ll let -you dead-head it.” - -Occasionally the unexpected is delightful in the extreme. - -Before Charles Frohman became the busiest man and Napoleon of the -dramatic stage, he used to affiliate frequently with the Lambs’ Club, -of which he was a member. One day the Lambs gave what they call their -“washing,” otherwise their summer treat or picnic, at an island in the -sound owned by Lester Wallack. At high tide boats could land passengers -on the island, and in the morning the Lambs were safely landed. But at -night the steamer which brought us was anchored out about a half mile -from the shore. When the entertainment was at an end, the members had -to be rowed in small boats to the steamer. The oarsman of the boat I -was in was a large, corpulent chap. The passengers consisted of Charles -Frohman, also a heavy weight, George Fawcett and myself, making three men -and a half. This weighed the boat down to almost within an inch of the -water, and coupled with the fact that neither Mr. Frohman, Mr. Fawcett -nor myself could swim, I fully expected it would be our last sail, but -we reached the steamer in safety. One little false move on the part of -either of us would have caused the head of the Dramatic Syndicate, an -excellent actor and “Merrily Yours” to be busy—for a moment or two, in -“Davy Jones’s Locker.” - -Augustus Pitou tells a suggestive story of the unexpected. Late at night -he asked for a barber at a hotel. It was “after hours,” but after much -delay one appeared and asked as a favor of Mr. Pitou if he would kindly -lie on the lounge and let him shave him in a horizontal position. Mr. -Pitou consented. The touch was so gentle he fell asleep. When he awoke -and felt of his chin he said: - -“That’s the gentlest shave I have ever had.” - -“Well, sir, you are the first live man I have ever shaved.” - -The man was an undertaker’s barber! - -Nat Goodwin tells how Billy Mannering, a brilliant old time negro -comedian, sprang the unexpected on a hotel proprietor. The company was -having hard luck on one night stands. Country hotels were as bad in those -days as now—even worse. The boys were eating breakfast one morning when -Bill came down late and said: - -“Boys, how is it? About the same as all the rest of the hotels?” - -“Yes, Billy.” - -In came the proprietor and said: “Good-morning, gentlemen.” - -Billy asked: “Who are you?” - -“I’m the proprietor, sir.” - -“So you’re the proprietor! Do you know you are a brave man? If I were -you, I would live out in the woods, and not come near the hotel. I would -be afraid to face my boarders.” - -“How’s that? Are not the beds all right?” - -“Yes, but we can’t eat our beds. Still, you have two things here that -can’t be improved on.” - -“What are they?” asked the proprietor, filling out his chest. - -“Why, your pepper and salt.” - -I played the unexpected on several people aboard a certain ocean -steamship, on which my friend Perugini was a passenger. Several of the -ladies on board became enamored of “Handsome Jack,” and were very anxious -to be introduced to him. They made me their confidant, but Perry was not -much of a “masher” and did not care to meet them. At this time, he had -an affliction of which I am glad to say he has been cured; he was deaf. -One morning I rapped on his stateroom door, and getting no response, I -concluded I would run the risk and go in. There he lay, sound asleep. His -valet had preceded me, and everything looked as neat and cozy as could -be. Perry did not hear me, no matter what noise I made. I went on deck, -found four of the young ladies and said: - -“Now’s your chance to meet Perugini; just follow me.” They accompanied me -and all four looked in at the door, but were afraid to go in. - -“Oh, don’t he look lovely,” said one. - -“Isn’t he charming—I could just hug him!” said another. I went in; as he -did not hear me they took courage and one by one they stole in and got -near to Perugini. I slipped toward the door and quickly closed it. The -girls were too frightened even to cry out. Then I took hold of Jack and -gave him a shake that awakened him. Poor Jack! He was more frightened -than the four girls put together. All I got out of him when he and I got -on deck was, - -“Oh, Marsh! How could you?” - -Kyrle Bellew was a passenger on the same steamer. My acquaintance with -Mr. Bellew is a most pleasant one, so I know he will forgive me if I -detail this little joke, which, like all my jokes, was played in good -nature. - -On the ship he wore a yachting cap and a full yachting costume, including -a big cord around his neck, to which was attached a telescope. In the -evening he would walk up to the side of the steamer, pull out this -glass full-length, gaze out on the ocean at some distant ship, close it -and again walk down the deck, posing in an effective manner, seemingly -unconscious of the amusement he afforded the other passengers. In a -burlesque spirit I arranged, as best I could, an imitation of him. I -got a seaman’s trousers, blouse and hat, and extemporized a sort of wig -as like to my friend’s as possible; to a piece of rope about my neck I -attached a Belfast beer bottle. At a safe distance I walked up and down -the deck and gave the passengers the benefit of my burlesque. I don’t -believe Bellew ever saw me. If he had, I fear it would have been my -finish; still, I think he would have enjoyed the practical joke afterward. - -Even a book-canvasser can be floored by the unexpected. James Whitcomb -Riley tells of an insinuating member of this profession who rang the bell -of a handsome residence and when a specially aggressive looking servant -opened the door he asked politely: - -“Is the lady in?” - -“What do ye mane?” the girl asked. “I’d have ye know we’re all ladies in -this house!” - -In another part of this book I have referred to entertainments I gave at -an insane asylum—a place where the unexpected should be the rule, to the -performer. But at the Bloomingdale Asylum I once saw it work the other -way, and to an extent that was pathetic all round. Among the inmates were -Scanlon and Kernell—two men who had thousands of times delighted great -audiences with song and joke. I knew of their presence but how they -would look or feel I had no means of imagining. - -One of my assistants for the occasion was Miss Cynthia Rogers of Toledo, -Ohio. The programme was not printed, nor arranged in detail, so we were -in ignorance as to what songs had been selected. Miss Rogers “went on” -dressed as an Irish lad, beginning in a copy of Scanlon’s familiar -make-up, the most popular song of his own composition, “Mollie O.” - -Everybody looked at Scanlon. His face was suddenly aglow with interest. -His lips followed, word by word, the course of the melody. He raised -one hand and motioned as if he were directing the music. At the close -of the first verse, when the building shook with applause, he smiled -happily. He was living his triumphs over at that minute, oblivious to his -surroundings. He was impatient for the next verse; he followed the words -intently; his face was flushed, the old inspiration showed in his eyes, -and when the applause broke forth again he laughed and bowed his head. - -“Did you see that man?” Miss Rogers asked me a second later. “Did you -ever see such an expression? Who is he—that young man yonder, with his -head bowed?” - -“Why, I thought you must have known,” I replied. “That’s Scanlon.” - -“Scanlon the actor?” - -“Yes. The author of your song.” - -Miss Rogers was tearfully uncertain, as she went on to respond to an -encore, whether she had done right or wrong. She sang “In It” and the -“Latch Key in the Door.” Then Scanlon was brought back to us and Miss -Rogers was introduced to him. - -“I want to thank you,” he said simply. “I felt as I used to, you know. -Some day I will sing it again. You are very pretty and you sing well.” - -If there was one man in the audience blind to the pathos of the scene -which had just occurred it was Harry Kernell, the comedian. He had looked -on quietly, his face impassive, his hands clasped loosely over one knee. -He smiled when Scanlon came back to the seat just in front of him; then -his face became fixed and vacant as before. - -Kernell raised his face again as his wife who had been sitting beside -him, left her seat. He seemed to have forgotten her, and to be hearing -nothing and seeing nothing, when I announced the next number on the -programme. - -“We have a pleasant surprise for you,” I said, smiling in anticipation. -“Mrs. Kernell is here; she came up to see her husband, my old friend, and -we wouldn’t let her refuse to sing for you.” - -But Kernell did not look up until his wife, Queenie Vassar, began -singing. The little woman watched him tenderly. The poor fellow -understood. After that, no lover could have been more appreciative than -he was. It was the one voice in all the world that could move him. -Scanlon turned and whispered to him, but Kernell’s soul was in the song. -Quickly he looked ten years younger than he does ordinarily. He seemed -grateful for the applause, and eager for another song, and another, so -Mrs. Kernell sang “Peggy Cline,” “Sligo” and “The Bowery.” - -After that Kernell sat still and gloomy. The spell was broken that had -made him young. The deep lines came back on his face, his shoulders -stooped and he was an old man again, listless and helpless. One could -hardly imagine him the man that scattered sunshine so royally, laughing -his way to fame, building his triumphs on the happiness he gave to others. - -Miss Claude Rogers played a mandolin solo of her own composing with -“Il Trovatore” for an encore. Later she played again, and was encored -repeatedly. As for me, I had as difficult an audience as ever confronted -a humorist, or any other sort of speaker, but the success was complete -and the fun was contagious. It was curious to see how an audience, of so -many different states of mind, could be affected by humor and music. I -have had far less appreciative audiences among sane people, and have been -at my wits’ end to rouse them. Here is a story that tells how Digby Bell -once roused a cold audience without giving offense; it proved the biggest -hit of his act. He recently had to deal with a particularly frigid -audience, and the best of his jokes met with but indifferent success. -There happened to be a little flag fastened on one side of the stage, -and the humorist, after delivering his last joke ineffectually, ran -over, gravely pulled the banner down to half-mast and made his exit. The -audience appreciated the sarcastic proceeding, and applauded him till he -was obliged to give them a little additional entertainment, and this time -he had no need to complain of their appreciation. - - - - -XII - -SUNSHINE IN SHADY PLACES - - On Blackwell’s Island.—Snakes and Snake Charmers.—Insane People - as Audiences.—A Poorhouse That was a Large House.—I am Well - Known by Another Profession.—Criminals are not Fools.—Some - Pathetic Experiences.—The Largest Fee I Ever Received. - - -For many years the late Cornelius Vanderbilt paid me a regular salary to -visit a lot of charitable institutions,—the Almshouse, the Penitentiary, -the Newsboys’ Lodging House and a number of other places, where laughter -was not part of the regular daily exercises and was therefore valued -most highly. One of the places frequently visited was the Insane Asylum -on Blackwell’s Island, and I was often invited to lunch with the -Superintendent. A harmless patient, who was employed as waiter, was at -times quite amusing through her faculty for seeing people where none -existed. She would often stop and argue indignantly with some one whom -she imagined was in her way, and to see how with a tray of dishes in -her hands she scolded the empty air, was first very funny and afterward -creepingly uncanny. Once she imagined that one of these annoying people -had climbed upon the table, and she attacked him so savagely with a broom -that we had to have a new set of dishes and goblets. - -One night a severe storm compelled me to remain at the Asylum. My friend -the house-surgeon gave me a comfortable room, near the wing where the -more violent patients were confined. In the middle of the night, one of -these began to rave and scream; his appeals for help were pitiful. I put -my head out of my door and asked an attendant what was the matter. - -[Illustration: “For God’s Sake Come! There’s a Woman in my Room.”] - -“He’s seeing snakes,” was the reply, “but he’ll be all right in a -few minutes.” Just then the man informed the neighborhood of a new -misfortune, by shouting, - -“For God’s sake come to me quick. There’s a woman in my room!” Again he -became quiet and the attendant said, - -“It’s all right now.” - -“Yes,” I replied: “she must have been a snake charmer.” - -I always found insane audiences very appreciative. Probably the majority -of them were “out of their head” on one subject only. Certainly their -enjoyment of song and pantomime was very keen, and their interest in -my exhibitions of ventriloquism was quite pathetic. Whenever I threw -my voice in a certain direction, some of them would look under chairs -and tables, in search of the supposed person who was talking. The poor -creatures took such hold of my sympathies that I exerted myself to amuse -them optically, for the eye is the surest route to the wits. I would, -while on the platform, make quickly different articles of colored paper -and give them to the patients, whose pleasure was as childlike as it was -sincere. - -On one of my visits I was startled by coming face to face with a notice -which read “Almshouse wagon reserved for Marshall P. Wilder and party -from 12 to 4.” On inquiry I learned that this wagon was a Pooh Bah among -vehicles, serving by turns as patrol wagon, ambulance and hearse, so it -took some jollying of myself to ward off gruesome imaginings and keep my -risibilities in working order. - -At one of the Almshouse entertainments at which the room was packed, I -said, “This is the first time I ever knew a poor house to be such a large -house,” and the audience “caught on” as quick as a flash. - -The only painful experience of my years as an entertainer among the -public institutions was at the Home for Consumptives, at Fordham. The -patients were cheerful and spirited, as consumptives always are, and -they seemed to enjoy my jokes mightily, but laughter usually brought -on violent fits of coughing, so I would have to wait from five to ten -minutes after a joke, before I dared venture another. - -I always recall with pleasure a visit to Elmira, where I had the -brightest and most responsive audience of my whole career. It was at the -State Reformatory, and there were three or four thousand prisoners in the -audience. Mr. Brockway, the Superintendent, said he would like me to talk -about ten minutes, and asked kindly if that would be too long to talk -continuously. Before I appeared he said to the boys, - -“We have with us this evening Mr. Marshall P. Wilder. How many of you -know him?” - -Fully three-quarters of that great assemblage raised their hands. It -was quite flattering to be so well known in a “profession” as cautious -and exclusive as theirs. I found my audience so quick, appreciative and -responsive that instead of restricting myself to ten minutes, I learned -afterward that I had talked an hour and thirty-five minutes! - -[Illustration: Laughter was not Part of the Daily Exercises.] - -It may be argued by some skeptics that these boys and young men, -being prisoners, were grateful for any entertainment that would break -the monotony of their daily routine, but I prefer to believe their -appreciation was due entirely to their native cleverness. It takes brains -to place and accomplish anything, whether legal or illegal, and prisoners -of the class that is sent to the Reformatory have proved their ability -to think, or they would not be there. There are thousands of clever men -who are good, and of good men who are stupid, but among criminals the -rule is not reversible, for I have yet to see a criminal who is a fool. - -I met many interesting and pathetic personalities while engaged in -the institutions. One old man in the Home for Incurables was so badly -paralyzed, that he could move only his hands, and these but a few inches. -He would lie all day on his back, with his hands on his chest, holding -a little switch broken from a peach-tree, with which he would gently -scratch his face and head. This was his only occupation and pleasure; -it was also the limit of his ability to move. Yet this pitiable old -man was always smiling and happy; he would have repelled the idea that -he was unfortunate, for he was constantly recounting his blessings and -comforts—his bed, his food, his kindly attention, and not the least of -all, his little peach-twig. - -Another interesting case in the same Home was a feeble minded boy—almost -an imbecile. His physical development was perfect; he was healthy and -very strong, yet his vacant eyes, dropped jaw and frontal expression of -head indicated plainly a sad lack of wits. He was gentle and tractable -and devoted to the matron, who by demonstration had taught him how to -be useful in many ways. His strength was utilized in moving helpless -patients from bed to chairs, or vice versa, and he had been taught to -change the beds and do other work in the men’s ward as neatly as a woman. - -[Illustration: It Takes Brains to Accomplish Anything.] - -But his chief duty, and one at which he excelled, was to act as baker -for the institution. The matron had taught him, and he had followed her -method so faithfully that every day he dropped a little flour on the -floor and then wiped it up; the matron had chanced to this “aside” in the -first lesson, so it was impossible to convince the boy that this was not -a necessary detail of bread-making. His bread was delicious too; he made -thirty-six loaves every day in a triple oven holding three pans of twelve -loaves each, and never had a failure. Being exact in every way, his -success was always assured. - -One old woman, who might have been admitted to this admirable home, -refused to enter it; she said she preferred the Almshouse. She had been -wealthy in her youth but, through unbridled extravagance, had been -reduced to poverty so dire, that for years she had eked out a miserable -existence by selling newspapers. When she became too ill and feeble -to do even this, it was suggested that she should enter the Home for -Incurables, but she refused, saying that she would go to no private -institution, but to the poorhouse, which, when she was rich, she had -helped to maintain. A charitable gentleman who would have helped her, and -to whom she expressed her desire, assured her that she should have her -choice in the matter, foolish though it was. She asked him if instead -of being conveyed in the almshouse wagon, she might be moved in some -other way; her would-be benefactor assured her she should go in his own -carriage, and he himself would be her escort. He invited me to accompany -them, I having already met the old woman and been interested in her. At -the appointed time we called for her and as she stepped into the carriage -she was visibly elated by the thought of once more going through the -streets in a manner like that of her wealthy days. She had dressed for -the occasion in style truly wonderful. Her bonnet, though of startling -construction, commanded attention by its antiquity; a rag of a camel’s -hair shawl was pinned tightly across her narrow chest; a black silk -reticule hung from one thin arm, which was encased in a long suede glove, -boasting the special advantage of leaving her fingers free while her -other hand was covered with a lace mitt of antique fashion. - -[Illustration: She had Dressed in a Style Truly Wonderful.] - -During the drive she sat stiffly erect, gazed with scorn at people who -were merely walking, and occasionally dropped a stiff, formal speech, -after the manner of polite conversation in her youthful days. When we had -almost reached our destination, she said to my friend her escort: - -“For your extreme kindness to me, I should like to bestow upon you a -slight remembrance, something saved from the beautiful things I once -owned.” She put her hand into her reticule and we expected to see a -trinket such as women prize, but she pulled out a pistol and apparently -leveled it at my friend. We gasped, instantly convinced that she had lost -the tiny bit of sanity that was left to her, but in a second we saw that -she was presenting it to, not at, him. It was a pretty toy with a pearl -handle and inlaid with silver, but, like herself, rusty and dilapidated. -It was her last bit of elegance and all the poor creature had to offer in -token of her gratitude. - -A touching feature of this Home was the manner of furnishing the rooms -for the pay patients. When the wing for this class of inmates was built -it was believed that a long time would elapse before there would be -money enough in the treasury to furnish the rooms. A kind hearted woman -who visited the house weekly with donations of snuff, tobacco and candy -conceived a clever plan. She had just lost her mother, in whose name she -presented the entire furnishings of her mother’s room to the Home. Word -of this got abroad; other people followed her example and in a short time -the entire wing was furnished in similar manner; so now the visitor -to the home sees a wing of four stories, the halls lined with doors on -each of which is a brass plate engraved with the name of the person who -furnished the room in memory of parent, brother, sister or child. - -This is an appropriate place in my story to tell of the largest fee I -ever received for entertaining, for although the giver was not heartily -interested in a public institution, he was _en route_ for one. - -I was traveling in the West and looking about the railway car for a -friend, an acquaintance or even some one with whom I might scrape -acquaintance, for I don’t enjoy being alone a long time, when I saw, in -one end of the car, an officer with a prisoner. It did not take long -to see that the prisoner was handcuffed, his feet were shackled to the -bottom of the seat, and behind him were two guards with revolvers in -hand. Evidently the prisoner was of some consequence, although he looked -like a mere boy. He sat with bowed head and a hopeless look on his white -face. His eyes, which in so young a man ought to have been bright and -merry, were downcast and full of gloom. - -I ventured over to the party and soon recognized one of the guards, as a -man I had seen in a similar capacity at the Elmira Reformatory. In reply -to my questions about the prisoner, he told me that the youth had been -brought on extradition proceedings from England, after evading capture a -long time. His crime had been peculiarly atrocious and he was now being -taken to Kansas City for trial. - -I was sorry for the officer and guards, as well as for the prisoner, -for there can’t be much that’s cheery in hunting down and manacling a -fellow man, no matter how bad he may be. Besides, they looked about as -uncomfortable as the prisoner, so I got off a joke or two to brace them -up. Soon the prisoner raised his head and manifested a trace of interest. -Then I asked if I might try some card tricks on them. Of course I might; -it’s hard to find a man so troubled, that he won’t forget his misery a -moment or two over a card trick. - -All the men in the car were soon looking on, but I kept my eye and heart -on the prisoner; no matter what he deserved, it was plain to see what he -needed. The poor wretch became thoroughly aroused from his dejection, -so I sandwiched tricks and stories and saw him “pick up” a little more -after each one. I “played at him,” and him alone, as actors sometimes -do at one man in a theatre audience. It was a big contract, and I was a -small man, but I was bound to see it through. It took two hours of hard -work, but at the end of that time the prisoner was an entirely different -man in appearance. His eyes were bright, the color had come back to his -cheeks, his whole manner had changed; he had forgotten his past and for -the moment he was a man again. When we were near Kansas City, he asked me -if I wouldn’t shake hands with him, and he said that I could never know -what my kindness in the past two hours had been to him. The look he gave -me, as I clasped his manacled hand, was the biggest pay I ever got in my -life. - - - - -XIII - -“BUFFALO BILL” - - He Works Hard but Jokes Harder.—He and I Stir up a Section - of Paris.—In Peril of a Mob.—My Indian Friends in the Wild - West Company.—Bartholdi and Cody.—English Bewilderment - Over the “Wild West” People.—Major “Jack” Burke.—Cody as a - Stage-driver.—Some of His Western Stories.—When He Had the - Laugh on Me. - - -My acquaintance with Col. William F. Cody—“Buffalo Bill”—dates back to a -time when I was a boy at Hartford and he was an actor in Ned Buntline’s -play “The Prairie Waif.” His life had been strenuous in the extreme ever -since he was thirteen years of age, but neither hardship nor danger had -ever suppressed his inherent merriment and his longing to get a joke out -of something or on somebody. - -Our acquaintance was renewed at Rochester, where I had for schoolmate -his only son, Kit Carson Cody, named for a famous scout of fifty years -ago. The death of this boy was a great and lasting grief to his father, -and his memory became more and more a link to bind the Colonel and me -together, so in time we formed a close and lasting friendship. Whenever -we chanced to be in the same city we were together so much that we became -nicknamed “The Corsican Brothers.” - -When the “Wild West” Company first went to Paris I was one of Buffalo -Bill’s guests for several weeks. The Paris shopkeepers and theatre -managers had heard of the enormous success of the “Wild West” in England -and some of them, who feared it might divert money which otherwise would -find its way into their pockets, arranged for a powerful “clacque” on the -opening day, not to applaud but to disturb the performance and discourage -Cody, so that he would leave the city. They did not know their man, so -they had only their expense for their pains. Besides, even a Paris mob, -which is said to be the meanest in the world, would think twice before -“demonstrating” much in the face of an arena full of Indians and crack -shots. The performance went on with little or no annoyance, but after -it ended a great crowd burst into the ring and almost caused a riot. -Suddenly another French peculiarity was manifested; a single gendarme -worked his way to the centre of the crowd and fired a bullet from his -pistol; in an instant the multitude dispersed. The worst of the French -people respect the majesty of the law—when it is backed by firearms. - -I soon duplicated, as well as I could, the Colonel’s plains costume, -which he always wore in the streets as an advertisement. I too appeared -in buckskin trousers, fringed leggings, pistol belt and broad sombrero -hat. I must have looked like an animated mushroom, but the Parisians were -quick to note the resemblance and to dub me “le petit Buffalo Bill.” Cody -himself generally called me his “stove-in-pard.” - -One morning the Colonel went out to be shaved and asked me to accompany -him. As both were dressed in wild west costume, to which the colonel -had added a pair of pistols and a knife, a large crowd followed on and -lingered about the shop we entered. A Parisian shopkeeper generally has -his wife with him, to act as cashier and general manager, and the barber -to whom we had gone had a chic and attractive wife, regarding whom Cody -and I exchanged admiring remarks in English, at the risk of the barber -understanding us and becoming disagreeable. Then Cody seated himself and -asked the barber: - -“Do you speak English?” - -“Non, m’sieur,”—with apologetic eyebrows and shoulders. The colonel -thrust his hands into his long brown curls and said: - -“I want you to put a little oil on my hair and rub it in; compre?” - -“Oui, oui, m’sieur.” - -Then Bill asked: “Marsh, what is French for shave?” - -My French was as limited as his, so I replied: - -“‘Razoo,’ I guess.” - -“And I want you to razoo my face, compre?” - -“Oui, oui, m’sieur.” - -The barber shaved his customer, but he had mistaken the sign language of -Cody’s first order, for he raised a pair of shears to clip the Colonel’s -long hair—one of his most treasured possessions and features; in fact, -like Samson of Biblical fame, his hair was the secret of his strength. -Just as the barber lifted a lock and posed the shears for the first snip -Bill saw the situation in a mirror. With a cowboy yell that would have -made a Comanche Indian green with envy he sprang from the chair to save -his hair. The barber, who had been working with bated breath, appalled by -the savage appearance of his customer, dropped his shears and his knees -shook, as, with chattering teeth, he begged for mercy. The wife’s screams -added to the confusion, the lingering crowd pressed in and was reinforced -by a gendarme who began a rapid fire of questions in excited French. No -explanations that were offered in either tongue were comprehended by the -parties who spoke the other language and, as the barber seemed consumed -with a desire to get rid of us, we hurried away in a cab, the barber’s -wife following us with a torrent of imprecations—and she so pretty, too! - -One day, while the show was at Paris, we saw a distinguished looking man -pressing against the rope stretched around Colonel Cody’s tent. When he -found opportunity he said, in excellent English: - -[Illustration: “We hurried away.”] - -“Pardon me, Colonel Cody, but I should like to speak to you. I have -many friends in your great country—a country for which I have a sincere -admiration.” - -“I am very glad to see you,” the colonel replied wearily; he had heard -this same speech so often. “May I ask your name?” - -“My name is Bartholdi,” modestly replied the sculptor whose magnificent -statue, “Liberty Enlightening the World,” has endeared him to Americans. -From the moment he made himself known to Cody he “owned the show.” - -Indians generally manifest extreme suspicion of white men, but while I -was Colonel Cody’s guest I made friends of some of the chiefs and braves, -especially Red Shirt and Flat Iron. The former, a famous scout and -warrior, has been called “The Red Napoleon” for his knowledge of military -tactics, his commanding dignity and reserve. He has a fine physique, and -a noble head, while his bearing is absolutely regal. He has always been -friendly to the whites, and was a valuable ally of Buffalo Bill in many -raids against his unruly brethren. - -I knew Red Shirt was fond of me, but no one else would have imagined it -from his manner toward me, for your Indian friend does not slap you on -the back or buttonhole you with a joke, after the manner of white men. -Later I learned of the earnestness of his regard through a story told -me by Bronco Bill, the Wild West Company’s interpreter. It seems that, -after Red Shirt had left the company for a few months and returned to his -reservation, he found an old illustrated paper in which was a portrait -he thought was mine. He could not verify it, for he was unable to read. -Although the winter had set in and snow was deep on the ground he rode -twenty miles to the home of Bronco Bill to ask if the face was mine. -Being assured that it really was a picture of his friend, he took it back -home and fastened it to the wall of his cabin—an unusual proceeding, for -an Indian regards it beneath his dignity to indicate emotion, even among -his own people. - -When the Wild West was last at Madison Square Garden, I again met -Red Shirt and Flat Iron. The former was very glad to see me, so the -interpreter told me, and I had reason to believe it, but no bystander -would have imagined it from his reserved manner and impassive face. Flat -Iron, who is an exception to almost all Indians in having a twinkling -eye and vivacious manner, rapidly asked me many questions: was I -stronger?—had I a squaw?—etc. The fact that I was unmarried had worried -him so greatly in the earlier days of our friendship that he offered to -select me a charming squaw from among his own grandchildren. - -[Illustration: “He offered to select me a charming squaw.”] - -Flat Iron is a shrewd financier, with a money getting system peculiarly -his own, which he had worked successfully on many whites. In New York, he -sometimes walked alone, in a street full of people, muttering to himself -and staring at the sky. When he saw that he had excited curiosity—and -an Indian can see out of the back of his head as well as out of both -sides of it, he would stop, place several nickels,—never pennies, on the -sidewalk, and make solemn “passes” over them, as if doing an incantation -act. Occasionally he would look aside, and indicate by signs that the -observers should add to the number of nickels. These additions he would -arrange in geometric figures, which always lacked some point or line. -Bystanders would supply the deficiency, the coins would be rearranged, -still with missing parts, and the mysterious passes would continue, -accompanied by solemn gazes heavenward. This pantomime would continue -until the crowd had parted with all its nickels; then suddenly the old -man would pick up the entire collection, stow it in his pocket and stalk -off as jauntily as a broker who has succeeded in unloading a lot of -wild-cat stocks on a confiding public. - -While the Wild West was at Manchester I had my hundredth laugh—perhaps -it was my thousandth, at the density of intelligent Englishmen’s -ignorance regarding American people and ways. Colonel Cody, his partner -and business manager, “Nate Salsbury,” were standing together, when an -Englishman approached and asked for Mr. Salsbury. Nate asked what he -could do for him and the man replied: - -“I’m the Greffic.” - -“The wha-at?” - -“The Greffic—the London Greffic. I make sketches, don’cher know?” - -“Oh! The London _Graphic_? All right. Sail right in. You might begin with -Cody.” - -“And who is Cody?” the artist asked. - -“Why, Cody is Buffalo Bill!”—Salsbury almost screamed, he was so amazed. - -“And does he speak English?” - -It may be admitted, in explanation, that some artists are as ignorant as -idiots of anything but their own profession. But list to a tale of an -American lady and an English clergyman who was an Oxford graduate and a -great reader. He was also of charming manner and conversed brilliantly. -The lady was the first American he had ever met, and he confessed to -her that he was startled by her complexion, for he had supposed that -all inhabitants of this country were copper-colored! When she spoke of -driving near her own home the clergyman said: - -“Er—may I ask if you drive the native animals?” - -“‘The native animals?’” the mystified lady echoed. - -“Yes;—the elk, and moose, and buffalo, you know.” - -A notable “character” of the Wild West organization was Major Burke. -He was so witty and genial that every one liked him at first sight. -The Indians almost worshiped him and his authority over them was -unquestioned. He had been made a member of one tribe by the “blood -brotherhood” ceremony, but it had not needed this to make him regarded -as “big medicine” by all the others. He had been associated with Buffalo -Bill ever since “The Prairie Waif” days, and, though his nominal -position with the Wild West was that of press-agent, he was an all-round -and indispensable part of the management. His quick wits have served on -many occasions to put an end to difficulties which less able men would -have endured. For instance, on one occasion a number of women were -standing on the front benches and obstructing the view of a hundred or -more people behind them. Burke shouted,—though his voice was smooth and -exquisitely modulated,— - -“Will the beautiful young lady in front please sit down?” And -twenty-eight women dropped as one. - -Long before he went on the stage Colonel Cody had earned several -desirable reputations in the West. One was as a stage-driver, in which -capacity he was so much talked of that several Englishmen who went West -insisted on riding in his coach. They made so much fuss about it, even in -anticipation, that Bill resolved to give them a ride they would remember -as long as they lived. His only special preparation was to fill his -pockets with pebbles. The four mules started at a good pace, at which the -passengers expressed delight. At the first down-grade, the driver pelted -the mules furiously with the pebbles; their rough hides would have been -insensible to the whip. Soon the pace became terrific, for the shower of -pebbles continued; Cody looked back, saw the Englishmen huddled on the -front seat, and shouted: - -“Sit on the back seat!” - -“It’s no use, old chap,” one of the frightened tourists replied. “We’ve -just left there.” - -When Cody is not acting or riding or fighting Indians or ranching or -asleep he is likely to be telling stories, and he has so many that it -is hard for him to tell any story twice, unless by special request. One -that has been frequently called for is of an Eastern man who was employed -by Colonel Cody out West. The man had not been out long enough to know -the illusive tricks of the clear atmosphere of the plains and hills. -A picturesque mountain, that seemed only a mile away, interested him -so greatly that he started early one morning to visit it and return by -breakfast time. He didn’t return for three days. A few days later the -colonel saw him beside an irrigating ditch, and asked him what he was -going to do, for the man was taking off his clothes. - -“I’m goin’ to swim across this river,” was the reply. - -“Swim? Why don’t you jump it? It’s only three feet wide.” - -“Ye-es; I know it looks that way, but I ain’t goin’ to be fooled again.” - -One evening, at the Hoffman House, he told this story to two or three -friends with whom he was spending the evenings while he was General -Sheridan’s chief of scouts. There was “a little affair” in camp at which -every one present got drunk but Cody; he had determined to keep sober, -and succeeded. Toward morning he went to the cottage where he lived, -rapped on the window, and made himself known, and his wife, who refused -to open the door, said: - -“Go away, whoever you are. Colonel Cody isn’t home yet.” At this point of -the story Cody laughed and continued: - -“Boys, I’d gone home sober, and my wife didn’t know me! I went back to -the camp, got as full as any one else, returned to my house, approached -the door unsteadily, fumbled the latch, and my wife’s voice greeted me, -saying: - -“‘Is that you, Willie?’” - -When this story ended, we started from the Hoffman House for the Lambs’ -Club, which was then in Twenty-sixth Street. With Cody and me were Steele -Mackaye and Judge Gildersleeve, both of whom were tall, strong men. As we -neared the club we met a crowd of very tough-looking men, and stood aside -to let them pass, which they did, to my great relief. Then my companions -got the laugh on me, for I remarked with earnest confidence: - -“I’d like to see any four men get away with _us_!” - - - - -XIV - -THE ART OF ENTERTAINING - - Not as Easy as it Would Seem.—Scarcity of Good Stories for - the Purpose.—Drawing-room Audiences are Fastidious.—Noted - London Entertainers.—They are Guests of the People Who Engage - Them.—London Methods and Fees.—Blunders of a Newly-wed Hostess - from America.—Humor Displaces Sentiment in the Drawing-room.—My - Own Material and Its Sources. - - -An entertainer always leaves a pleasant impression on other men; -otherwise he is not an entertainer. Sometimes his gestures and manner are -more effective than his words. Yet he is not necessarily an actor. He is -a sort of half-brother of the man on the stage, for, like the actor, he -must endeavor to please his entire audience. The humorous paper or book, -if it is not to the reader’s taste, may be dropped in an instant, but in -a crowded hall or drawing-room one must listen, unless he is deaf. - -So the entertainer must be very careful in selecting his material. -Hundreds of jokes that are good in themselves and decent enough to tell -to one’s wife and children are called vulgar by some people who aren’t -noted for refinement in other ways. Other stories that are all right -to try on your minister when you invite him to dinner, are shockingly -irreverent to some folks who never go to church. Every man knows of -honest hearty jokes that he wouldn’t venture when ladies are present, but -entertainers know of some stories told by good women that would make all -the men in a drawing-room face toward the wall. Selecting stories for -society is almost as dangerous as umpiring a baseball game. - -John Parry was the original entertainer in England, a country so loyal to -whoever amuses it that it honors its favorites, even after they have lost -the power of pleasing. He wrote many sketches for use in drawing-rooms -and became very popular and successful. The entertainers most in vogue in -England, until recently, were Corney Grain, a six-footer, who died about -three years ago and George Grossmith, whom many Americans remember and -who was quite prominent in connection with D’Oyley Carte productions of -the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. These gentlemen, both of fine appearance -and manner, had their fill of engagements throughout the London season, -going from one drawing-room to another and always hailed with delight. -Their monologues never wearied, no matter how oft-repeated, for it is an -amiable characteristic of the Englishman, that he can never get too much -of a good thing. The American goes so far to the other extreme that he -will stand something awfully bad if it is only new. - -In England, the jester’s arrangements are made with great ease and -simplicity. There are no annoying business details. His terms of -fifteen or twenty pounds an evening are already known, so money is not -mentioned by him or his host and there is no attempt at “beating down,” -such as sometimes occurs in bargaining America. He goes to the house -and the table as a guest and is treated as an equal by the hostess and -her company, when he is making his adieus, which he does soon after -completing his monologue, a sealed envelope is handed him, or the money -reaches him at his hotel in the morning, and let me say right here for -this custom, that in my own hundreds of English engagements I never lost -a penny through bad pay. - -Some of the more wealthy people do not limit themselves to the customary -prices. For instance, Baron de Rothschild often pays sixty pounds for an -entertainment not lasting more than ten minutes—a little matter of thirty -dollars a minute, and by a strange coincidence, he never fails to get the -entertainer he wants; some hosts do. - -Most of my own London engagements are in May and June, up to July when -the Goodwood races end the season. They are made some time in advance, -the only preliminary on my part being a batch of letters I send off -when my steamer reaches Queenstown. The fast mail reaches London before -me, so by the time I reach my hotel, some replies are awaiting me. The -receptions usually begin at ten in the evening. The hostess does not -announce me formally, as if she owned me, body, soul and breeches, but -asks graciously if Mr. Wilder will not kindly favor the company with some -of his interesting experiences or reflections. Then I mount the piano, -or a chair, if the affair is a dinner party, and the other guests listen -politely, instead of all beginning to talk on their own account. - -Entertainers almost never are subjected to snubs or other rudeness; when -such unpleasantnesses occur they are promptly resented. An American woman -who had “married into the nobility” invited me to come to her house -at half past nine in the evening. I naturally assumed that this meant -dinner. When I arrived, the flunkey took me into the parlor and left me -there, saying Lady So-and-so and her guests were at dinner. I waited -some moments, but as no one came to relieve me of my embarrassment, I -rang the bell, requested the flunkey to take my card to his mistress and -say I had been invited at that hour and had arrived. Word came back that -“my lady” would be up in a few minutes. Then the ladies came into the -drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to their wine and cigars; those who -knew me, the Princess Mary of Teck was one of them, greeted me kindly, -but my hostess and countrywoman did not seem to think me worthy of notice. - -Then my American spirit rose to boiling point. I called my cab and was -bowling down the street when a panting servant overtook me and gasped: - -[Illustration: “My cab was bowling down the Street.”] - -“Lady Blank would like to see you a moment, sir.” - -“Oh, would she?” I replied. When I returned I found the fair American -in great distress. She wanted to know why I had deserted her at the -critical moment, and when I told her bluntly that I was not in the habit -of going to houses where I was not welcomed as a guest, she assured -me her rudeness was unintentional, it was due to her ignorance of the -custom, etc., etc., and she begged me not to leave her in the lurch. Of -course, I pretended to be pacified, but the story got around London and -did me much good, which is more than it did for her ladyship. - -A peculiar thing about the English sense of humor is that although it is -there and of full size, one must sometimes search hard to find it. Some -types of American joking are utterly wasted on the Englishman. - -The English greatly prefer burlesques on American characteristics to -those on their own ways. I can’t call this a peculiarity, although -Americans specially like to see themselves and their own people “hit -off,” even if some one is hit hard. I am glad to say that although I am -given to personalities, and exaggeration, I try never to cast ridicule -on the people of whom I talk and I have never knowingly hurt any one’s -feelings by my character sketches. - -In London the theatres are almost countless and are steadily increasing -in number, and comedy, burlesque and farce are the rule—all because of -the demand for fun. The English enjoy eating and sleeping more than any -other people on earth, but English chops and sleep without some fun -between, are as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal, for dyspepsia will -knock out the chops and insomnia will knock out sleep. But fun takes -dyspepsia on one knee and insomnia on the other and bounces both into -forgetfulness. - -Since the days when Ward McAllister came into style, there has been a -marked change in the work of the American jester. Time was, when here, as -in England, any old thing would do for parlor entertainments, no matter -how often it had been heard before. It did not even have to be funny, -either; who can exaggerate the number of times he heard “Curfew Shall Not -Ring To-night,” in those good old times? Now, however, the entertainer -must continually supply something new, or he will fall by the wayside. -It must be something funny too; people used to crowd lecture rooms, and -enjoy serious talks by great men—the greatest in the land, but whoever -hears a lecture-course now? Fun—fun—fun, is the demand everywhere, so -every entertainer is a joker. - -In fact, to speak with my customary modesty, this demand for amusement -places Mr. Depew and me on the same footing. Often I get letters from -people who say they expect my friend the Senator, but, if he cannot come, -will want me to fill the gap. Not long ago Mr. Depew cheated me out of -a famous dinner at Delmonico’s, so I grumbled a bit when I met him. He -got off the big, hearty laugh, on which he has a life patent, with no -possible infringement in sight, and replied, - -“Why, Marsh, why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known it, I wouldn’t have -gone.” - -[Illustration: “Enjoying serious talks by great men.”] - -Ha, ha, pretty good, wasn’t it? - -Where do I get the material for my own sketches? From the originals every -time. I pick it up in the streets, in the cars and restaurants, get it -from the newsboys, from men of all sorts on the curb-stone, from almost -everywhere, but never from books or newspapers, for the world is full of -fun if one only has the ear to hear it. - -When I get hold of a new thing that seems to be good, I always “try it on -the dog”—that is, on my friends. I take it down to the Lambs’ Club and -work it off on some of the good fellows there. If I escape alive with it, -I inveigle a couple of newsboys into a dark corner and have them sample -it. If it “goes” with them, I am pretty sure it is good, so I add it to -my repertoire; but if it fails there, I never disagree with my critics; -it is damned—absolutely, no matter who may think it might be made to work. - -Few Americans are busier than the successful entertainer. His hands -are full of the work of brightening up the heavy parts of the social -affairs that crowd the long winter afternoon and evenings, so with -hurrying between New York, Boston and Chicago, with occasional moves to -Philadelphia and Baltimore, he is kept “on the jump.” Yet the public -hears little of his work, for it is not advertised. Why, not long ago I -went to a large party at a house only three blocks from my apartments, -and I am sure thirty or forty of the guests had never heard my name -before. - -Such is fame. - - - - -XV - -IN THE SUNSHINE WITH GREAT PREACHERS - - I am Nicknamed “The Theological Comedian.”—My Friend, Henry - Ward Beecher.—Our Trip Through Scotland and Ireland.—His - Quickness of Repartee.—He and Ingersoll Exchange - Words.—Ingersoll’s Own Sunshine.—De Witt Talmage on the - Point of View.—He Could Even Laugh at Caricatures of His Own - Face.—Dr. Parkhurst on Strict Denominationalism. - - -Nat Goodwin once nicknamed me “The Theological Comedian,” because many of -my entertainments were given in churches. On such occasions a minister -would generally preface the proceedings with prayer—whether that I, or -the people, might be strengthened for the ordeal I never was able to -discover. But the ministers always laughed at every joke I cracked, so -there is a very warm spot in my heart for them. - -One of the first of the profession I ever met was Henry Ward Beecher. -I became well acquainted with him and—of far more consequence, he was -always friendly, fatherly and merry when I met him. I had the pleasure -of traveling through Scotland and Ireland with him, and no man could -have been better company. Yet he was not traveling merely for pleasure. -Wherever he went and was known the people welcomed him effusively, -insisted on hearing from him, so whenever he spoke in a church or -Sunday-school he had a crowded house. - -[Illustration: “Getting Properly Dismal for Sunday.”] - -We spent one Sunday together in Glasgow, and the depression of that city -on the holy day cannot be imagined. I have heard that some Scotchmen -get full of bad whiskey on Saturday night for the sole purpose of being -properly dismal on Sunday, but perhaps that is not true. But the street -cars do not run; there is no sign of animation; the very houses look as -dull as if they were untenanted; to a person accustomed to the cheer and -bright faces of Americans on Sunday the town seemed enveloped in the -gloom of death. - -In the morning I awoke very early; I veritably believe that the appalling -silence disturbed my slumbers. I felt so lonely and dismal that I -instinctively went over to Mr. Beecher’s room; better a drowsy American -than a whole city full of wide-awake Scotchmen—on a Scotch Sunday. Mr. -Beecher was also awake, though in bed, and in spite of the morning being -quite chilly he lay with one toe uncovered. I said: - -“Mr. Beecher, aren’t you afraid of catching cold?” - -“Oh, no,” he replied, “I always sleep that way.” I was greatly mystified -at this, and asked him the reason. He laughed—and what a laugh he had! It -was as big and solid and enduring as the Berkshire hills amid which he -was born. Then he replied: - -“Marshall, that toe is the key to the situation.” - -In Ireland we went about a good deal together in jaunting cars and -extracted a lot of high-grade Hibernian wit from the drivers. Although -Mr. Beecher was one of the sensible souls who could discern the -difference between poverty and misery, he had an American’s innate soft -spot in his heart for a man in rags, so he overpaid our drivers so -enormously that Mrs. Beecher, who was with us, begged that she might be -allowed to do the disbursing. - -One day we were driven to our hotel in Belfast through a drizzling rain. -When I paid the driver I said: - -“Are you wet, Pat?” With a merry twinkle of his eye he replied: - -“Sure, your honor, if I was as wet outside as I am inside, I’d be as dry -as a bone.” - -Mr. Beecher’s quickness at repartee, of which Americans knew well, was -entirely equal to Irish demands upon it. One day in Ireland, after he had -made an address to a Sunday-school, a bewitching young colleen came up to -where we stood chatting and said: - -“Mr. Beecher, you have won my heart.” - -“Well,” replied the great man quickly, with a sunburst of a smile, “you -can’t get along without a heart, so suppose you take mine?” - -Which reminds me of the day when he and Col. “Bob” Ingersoll were on the -platform together at a public meeting and Beecher went over and shook -hands heartily with the great agnostic, though he knew that the act would -bring a storm of criticism from people with narrow-gauge souls. Then -Ingersoll brought up one of his daughters and introduced her, saying: - -“Mr. Beecher, here is a girl who never read the Bible.” Bob delighted in -shocking ministers, but he missed his fun that time, for Beecher quickly -replied: - -“If all heathen were so charming I am sure we should all become -missionaries.” - -Ingersoll himself was as quick as the quickest at repartee. One day a -malignant believer in an awful time for the wicked after death asked him: - -“Are you trying to abolish hell?” - -[Illustration: “If all Heathen were as Charming.”] - -“Yes,” said Ingersoll. - -“Well, you can’t do it.” - -“You’ll be sorry if I don’t,” the Colonel replied. - -Agnostic though he was, Ingersoll is frequently quoted by preachers, -for in one respect he was very like the best of them; he never wearied -of urging men to right living, not through fear of eternal punishment, -but because goodness is its own excuse for being. No pastor was ever -more severe than he in condemnation of everything mean and wicked in -human life, so he was worthy of place among the great teachers of -ethics. Personally he was as kind, sympathetic and helpful as some -ministers are not; whatever he thought of systematic theology, he was -practically a teacher of the brotherhood of man as defined by the founder -of Christianity. In his lighter moments he was one of the merriest -companions that any one could meet; no matter what he had to say, he -would always illustrate it with a story. One day he was talking of people -who have a knack of saying the right thing at the wrong time, and told -the following, as a sample: - -A well-to-do merchant out west lived in a town not remarkable for much -but malaria and funerals. His wives had a way of dying, and whenever he -lost one he went into another county and married again. A loquacious lady -in the healthy county kindly assisted him in finding young women who were -willing to marry him and take the chances. About six months after burying -his fourth wife he appeared again in the healthy county, called on his -friend and was greeted with: - -“How’s your wife, Mr. Thompson?” - -“She’s dead,” he replied sadly. - -“What? Dead again?” the woman cried. - -Ingersoll was full of stories hinging on the place he believed did not -exist. Here is one of them: - -[Illustration: “His Wives had a Way of Dying.”] - -A man who wanted to visit hell was advised to buy an excursion ticket. He -did so, and when the train stopped at a place full of beautiful trees, -warbling birds and bright sunshine he did not get off. The conductor said: - -“I thought you wanted hell?” - -“Is this hell?” the passenger asked; “I didn’t think it looked like -this.” Then he walked about and met a man to whom he said: - -“I am surprised to find hell such a beautiful place.” - -“Well,” the man replied, “you must remember that there have been a -great many clever people here for many years, so the place has greatly -improved. You ought to have seen it when I came here.” - -“Indeed? And who are you?” - -“I am Voltaire.” - -“I am very glad to meet you, Voltaire, and I wish you would do me a -favor.” - -“With pleasure. What is it?” - -“Get some one to buy my return ticket, please.” - -Colonel Ingersoll arrived late one evening at a Clover Club dinner -in Philadelphia, to which he had been invited, and while looking for -his seat he regarded the decorations so admiringly that Governor Bunn -exclaimed: - -“You’ve found heaven at last, Colonel, and a place waiting for you.” - -At a Lambs’ Club dinner in New York, of which the late Steele MacKaye was -chairman, Ingersoll was formally introduced and made a speech, in the -course of which he made so unfortunate a remark about Deity that he sat -down amid silence so profound as to be painful. MacKaye arose and with -admirable tact brought the Club and the speaker en rapport by saying: - -“Gentlemen, we all know that Colonel Ingersoll dare not believe in God, -but those of us who know Colonel Ingersoll and do believe in God know -that _God_ believes in _him_.” - -The late T. DeWitt Talmage never lost a chance to emphasize a point with -a good story. As I knew him to be a good man and a first-rate fellow, I -used to be indignant at newspaper abuse of him, and particularly with -some caricatures that were made of his expressive features. I took -occasion to tell him of this, but he replied: - -“Marshall, I’m as thick-skinned as a rhinoceros, and I never mind what is -said about me. Some of the caricatures annoy me, but only because they -pain people I love—my wife and family. You see, my boy, it doesn’t pay to -be too sensitive, for it breaks a man up, and that’s the worst thing that -can happen to him if he has any duties in the world. Besides, everything -depends on the point of view. Once a German family emigrated to America -and settled in Milwaukee. The oldest son, in his teens, concluded he -would start out for himself. He ‘fetched up’ in New York, and without -any money, so he wrote home, ‘Dear father, I am sick and lonely and -without a single cent. Send me some money quick. Your son John.’ The old -man couldn’t read, so he took the letter to a friend—a great strapping -butcher with a loud gruff voice and an arrogant manner of reading. When -the letter was read to him the father was furious and declared he would -not send his son a cent—not even to keep him from starving. But on his -way home he kept thinking about the letter and wanting to hear it again, -so he took it to another friend—a consumptive undertaker who had a gentle -voice with an appealing inflection in it. When this man read the letter -the father burst into tears and exclaimed, ‘My poor boy! I shall send him -all the money he wants.’ You see, the same thing viewed from a different -point takes on a different color.” - -After the Rev. Dr. Parkhurst visited some notorious New York “dives” and -preached his famous sermon on New York politics he was the sensation of -the day and also one of the best abused men in the land. He was besieged -by reporters until he had scarcely time to say his prayers and came to -hate the sight of a newspaper man. About that time I was making a trip to -Rochester and saw Dr. Parkhurst enter the car I was in. I said to some -friends: - -“That is Dr. Parkhurst. Now watch me; I’m going to have some fun with -him.” - -His chair was at the other end of the car and he was having a good -time with newspapers and magazines and far away, as he supposed, from -reporters. I passed and repassed him two or three times; then, assuming -as well as I could the manner of a newspaper man I stopped and said: - -“Dr. Parkhurst, I believe?” - -He looked up with a savage frown, and I saw that he took me for -one of the tormenting fraternity. I continued in an insinuating, -tooth-drawing manner until he became so chilling that I could hear the -thermometer falling with heavy thuds. When I felt that I had made him as -uncomfortable as I could I said, - -“Pardon me, Doctor, but evidently you don’t remember me.” Then I handed -him my card. His manner changed like a cloudy day when the sun breaks -through, and he said cordially: - -“I am glad to see you, Mr. Wilder. I mistook you for a reporter.” - -“I thought, you would,” I replied, “for that’s what I was trying to make -you believe.” - -We laughed together and for the remainder of the trip we were -close companions. He is a delightful talker, full of anecdotes and -reminiscences. I never met a keener lover of good stories than he, and, -beside being an appreciative listener, he is so good a raconteur himself -that a listener is willing that he should do all the story telling. He -has no patience with narrow, hide-bound denominationalists; he defined -them by telling me a story of a minister who preached a sermon so -touching that all his hearers were melted to tears—all but one man. When -asked how he had succeeded in keeping his eyes dry the man replied: - -“Well, you see, this isn’t my church.” - - - - -XVI - -THE PRINCE OF WALES - -(_Now King Edward VII_) - - The Most Popular Sovereign in Europe.—How He Saved Me From a - Master of Ceremonies.—Promotion by Name.—He and His Friends - Delight two American Girls.—His Sons and Daughters.—An - Attentive and Loving Father.—Untiring at His Many Duties - Before He Ascended the Throne.—Unobtrusive Politically, yet - Influential. - - -If all kings were as competent as the genial and tactful gentleman who -recently ascended the British throne, it would be a thankless job to -start a new republic anywhere. Personally, I have strong grounds for -this opinion, for I had the pleasure of meeting His Majesty many times -while he was Prince of Wales, and these meetings were due entirely to his -kindness of nature and generally were of his own initiative. - -I don’t imagine he knew it, but the Prince of Wales once lifted me out -of as uncomfortable a fix as I ever got into in London. The Ancient -and Honorable Artillery, Boston’s swell military organization, visited -England in 1896, as guests of the Ancients and Honorables of London, who -entertained them handsomely and had them presented to Her Majesty the -queen. The Boston company in turn, gave a great dinner to their hosts. -Some Americans then in the city were invited, and I had the good fortune -to be of the number, through the kindness of Mr. B. F. Keith, who was one -of the Boston Ancient and Honorables. - -The spectacle was brilliant in the extreme, nine out of every ten men -present being in full dress uniform. The entire assemblage was gathered -informally in two long, glittering rows, awaiting the Prince of Wales, -who was always the soul of punctuality. I had many acquaintances in the -two uniformed bodies, as well as among the non-military guests, and was -moving about from one to another. I was in conventional evening dress, -and had a tiny American flag pinned to the lapel of my coat. - -The Master of Ceremonies, whose manner was more consequential than -that of any distinguished person in the room, seemed annoyed that any -civilians were present, and he did his utmost to separate them from the -soldiers. I had the misfortune to become his _bête noire_; whenever he -found me among the military men he gently but persistently pressed me -away, but no sooner did he eject me in one direction than I reappeared -from another and between two pairs of gaily-appareled soldiers’ legs, so -I made the poor fellow nervous and fussy to the verge of distraction. - -[Illustration: “I had the misfortune to become his _bête noire_.”] - -Exactly at eight o’clock the Prince of Wales was announced and every -one came to attention. He entered with the genial smile which was an -inseparable part of him and shook hands with the American minister and -other dignitaries. Soon he spied me, came across the room, greeted me -very kindly, and said: - -“How are you, little chap?” - -“Very well, thank you, sir,” I replied. - -“I am to hear you to-morrow night at the Duke of Devonshire’s, I -understand,” he continued. “Won’t you give us that mother-in-law -pantomime of yours?” - -“Certainly, sir,” I answered; as the Prince left me and ascended the -stairs I saw that the Master of Ceremonies, who had witnessed the -meeting, was visibly disturbed. Soon he literally hovered about me and -displayed a fixed and conciliatory smile. The guests began to follow the -Prince, and as they passed up the stairs many of them greeted me. Senator -Depew remarked: - -“Hello, Marshall, how are you?” - -That dear old gentleman and English idol, John L. Toole, passed, blinked -merrily at me and said: - -“Glad to see you again, Marshall. How are you?” - -Presently the Master of Ceremonies turned nervously to an English officer -and asked, with an aggrieved tone in his voice: - -“Who is this little chap, anyway? Everybody seems to know him.” - -The officer did not chance to know me, but an English Sergeant who was of -the attendant guard and was willing to impart information said: - -“He belongs to the American Army. He’s a marshal.” The great functionary -immediately regarded me with profound respect, not unmixed with -wonder at the modesty of great American soldiers, for an officer of my -supposedly exalted rank was entitled to follow close behind His Royal -Highness. - -[Illustration: “They regarded me with profound respect.”] - -At the Duke of Devonshire’s on the following evening I was assisted by -two young Americans—twin sisters, the Misses Jessie and Bessie Abbot. -Miss Bessie had a wonderful voice, and has since achieved a great success -in Paris in the title part of the opera “Juliet.” Both girls were clever -and charming and we three maintained a friendship which was delightful to -me and which they, too, seemed to enjoy. At that time they were living -in London with their mother, and taking part in private entertainments, -but the evening at the Duke of Devonshire’s was their first appearance -before the Prince of Wales or any of the Royal family. They charmed the -audience and were loaded with compliments, some of which were expressed -by the Princess of Wales in person. - -While the Princess was conversing with the sisters she mentioned the -Prince, upon which Miss Jessie said: - -“I have not yet met the Prince, but I wish to very much.” - -“Oh, have you not?” the Princess exclaimed, as she smilingly regarded -the pretty girl who was unconscious that she had committed a breach of -etiquette. “Then I shall arrange it.” Immediately she walked the entire -length of the long picture gallery in which the entertainment had been -given, found the Prince, came back on his arm, and Miss Jessie’s request -was granted. The Prince, noting the resemblance of the sisters to each -other, asked if they were really twins. - -“Oh, yes,” Miss Jessie replied, and then turning to me she continued, -“Aren’t we, Marshall? Her ingenuous manner compelled the Prince to laugh, -after which he said to me: - -“You seemed to be posted, little chap.” - -Among royal children whom I have had the honor to entertain, none are -more widely known, through their portraits and also by common report, -than the sons and daughters of the present King and Queen of England. -The first time I ever appeared before them was at an exhibition given for -the benefit of the Gordon home for boys. It was a social affair of great -prominence, the audience being composed principally of the royal family -and the nobility. The Prince and Princess of Wales were accompanied -by their children—Prince Albert Victor, who has since died but was -then heir-apparent, Prince George, who is now Prince of Wales, and the -Princesses Louise, Victoria and Maude. Other members of the royal family -in the audience were the Duke of Connaught (brother to the Prince), the -Duke and Duchess of Teck and the Princess Louise of Teck. - -I suppose I ought to do the conventional thing by likening King Edward’s -daughters to Washington Irving’s “Three Beautiful Princesses,” but my -first impression of them has remained clear that I frequently revert to -the day I received it—three wholesome, pretty, dainty English little -girls of demure manner, with exquisite complexions, and whose blonde -hair was very long and their simple white frocks rather short. They had -many points of resemblance to one another, but their brothers were quite -dissimilar in one respect, Victor being slight and delicate while George -was sturdy and robust. All seemed to enjoy the entertainment, but did not -forget and lose control of themselves, as well-bred American children -sometimes do in public. Princess Louise of Teck, who is considered the -handsomest of the princesses, was at that time a very beautiful and -attractive child. - -I afterward met them all at the Duke of Devonshire’s and found that in -conversation with their elders their manner was marked by the simplicity, -thoughtfulness and kindness inseparable from good breeding. They -frequently rode or drove in the park, accompanied by a lady-in-waiting or -a gentleman of the Queen’s household. The universal respect manifested -for them did not turn their heads in the least; in acknowledgment of -the bared heads about them they did not bow haughtily, but graciously -and kindly, as if grateful for the attention bestowed upon them. It -seemed impossible, to any one who had observed the condescending and -even arrogant manner in public of so many English children whose dress -and equipage indicated parental wealth and station, that the Prince -of Wales’s children could be what they really were—scions of the most -firmly-rooted royal stock in all Europe and that from among them would in -time come an occupant of the only throne whose influence is felt entirely -around the world. - -But the key to the mystery was not far to find; one had but to go -back to the parents of these model children—to the Prince of Wales -and his consort, the daughter of a king whose tact and sense are -universally recognized and admired and who to this day, although past -his eighty-sixth birthday, is a model for rulers everywhere. The Prince -of Wales was, as under his new title of King Edward he still is, as -affectionate and attentive a father as can be found in the world. Despite -common report, founded on his affable and leisurely manner in public, he -has for many years been a close student of affairs and a very busy man, -yet there never was a time when his children had not free access to him, -nor when he was not his children’s industrious teacher and mentor. For -years he has been known as the most tactful man in England, and without -a superior in this respect in the world. Speaking literally, royalty is -his life business; it is also to be the life-business of his children, -so he has made it a matter of sense as well as of duty that his sons -and daughters should be prepared to so comport themselves as to make -their royalty secure and themselves safe. History has taught him that -neither great armies nor well-filled coffers can maintain a family on the -throne, and that the only security of a ruler is found in the respect and -affection of the people. While his mother was on the throne he probably -heard thousands of times—indirectly, of course, the common prediction -of “advanced” politicians that he never would succeed her. Probably this -prediction never caused him to lose a single hour of sleep, for he never -allowed himself to neglect one of the thousands of duties that devolved -upon him as his mother’s personal representative. Never obtrusive -politically, he nevertheless became a positive influence in national -politics; he appeared at all public functions that asked royal sanction, -always said and did the right thing, made himself approachable, always -was affable though never lacking in dignity, and gave to every man, great -or simple, the full measure of attention and respect that was due him, -seasoning the same so thoroughly with courtesy as to make a lifelong -admirer of the receiver. He imparted his manner to his sons and daughters -and his consort added to his influence by motherly training similar to -his own. No breath of scandal has ever touched one of these children; in -this respect the family is almost unique, for black sheep are prominent -in almost all royal families of Europe, and one such character is enough -to inflict a lasting smirch on the entire house. - -The Prince of Wales whom I met is now King of England and his children -are men and women. His official presence is overshadowing his unofficial -past, almost to the extent of forgetfulness. But no thoughtful observer -will forget that King Edward and his children as they now appear date -back to many years of His Majesty’s life when he was Prince of Wales and -in apparent likelihood of being outlived by his mother. - - - - -XVII - -SIR HENRY IRVING - - A Model of Courtesy and Kindness.—An Early Friend Surprised by - the Nature of His Recognition.—His Tender Regard for Members of - His Company.—Hamlet’s Ghost Forgets His Cue.—Quick to Aid the - Needy.—Two Lucky Boys.—Irving as a Joker.—The Story He Never - Told Me.—Generous Offer to a Brother Actor-manager.—Why He is - Not Rich. - - -The American people at large know Henry Irving as a great actor, -scores of Americans and hundreds of Englishmen of his own and related -professions know him as one of the most friendly and great-hearted men -alive. Many volumes could be written about his thoughtful kindnesses, and -at least one of them could be filled with mention of his goodness to me, -for, in my many visits to England, he never failed to “look me up” and -show me every kindness in his power—and his power is great. If I were -to go into details regarding myself, I should offend him, for, like any -other genuine man, he does not like his left hand know what his right -hand does, but it shouldn’t hurt for me to tell some open secrets about -his kindness to others. - -Lionel Brough often talks of the time when he and Irving, both of -them young men, were members of a company in Manchester. In those days -Irving was a dreamer of dreams and had a fondness for being his own only -company, so his associates made him the butt of many jokes that did not -seem to disturb his self-absorption. He had no intimates in the company, -although he was of lovable nature. Near the theatre was an upholstery -shop, the owner of which became acquainted with Irving, understood him -and loved him, as did the family; they called the young actor “Our -Henry,” always had room and a hearty welcome for him, and in many ways -served as balm to his sensitive nature. - -When Irving went to London he did not forget his Manchester friends—not -even after he became a successful and very busy manager. He sent them -frequent evidences of his regard, though he had no time to make visits. -On coming into possession of the Lyceum Theatre he determined to -reupholster every part of it. A large London firm desired the contract -and made estimates but Mr. Irving sent to Manchester for his old friend, -and, as the Irving company was leaving England for a long American tour, -gave the upholsterer _carte blanche_. - -On Irving’s return from America be inspected his theatre, was delighted -with the renovation, and asked the upholsterer for the bill. After -looking it over he sent for the London firm that had offered plans and -estimates, and asked them what they would have charged to do what had -been done. They named a sum five times as large as the Manchester man -had charged; Irving discovered later that his old friend had charged -only for materials, the work being “thrown in” for old affection’s sake. -But Irving disregarded the bill entirely and drew a check for twice the -amount of the London firm’s estimate. - -But it does not require memories of past kindnesses to open Mr. -Irving’s purse, for he is almost as susceptible to the influence of -old association. He has always maintained a far larger company than -his productions demanded, and retained old members long after their -services would have been dispensed with by a manager at all careful of -his pennies. Many Americans have pleasant remembrances of old “Daddy” -Howe, who died in Cincinnati some years ago while a member of the -Irving company on tour. At a memorable dinner given Mr. Irving by his -professional admirers in America, Mr. Howe arose and told of his offering -to retire when the company was preparing to come to this country, and -how his suggestion was received. Although he was eighty years old at -the time, he had been a member of but three companies, one of which was -Mr. Irving’s. He knew that the expenses of the American tour would be -enormous, and that the small parts for which he was usually cast would -be well played here for far less than his own salary, so his conscience -compelled him to write Mr. Irving saying that he comprehended the -situation and would either retire or accept less pay. As he received no -reply, he repeated his suggestion in person to Mr. Irving. - -“Dear me!—Ah! yes!—Well, I’ll let you know presently,” was the evasive -answer from which Howe assumed that he would be retired, so it was with -trembling hands that he opened a note from the manager the next day. He -read: - -“Of course I expect you to go to America, and I hope the increase of your -salary will indicate my appreciation and good wishes.” - -As Howe told this story his eyes filled and overflowed, but Irving, when -all eyes were turned toward him, looked as if he did not see that there -was anything in the incident to justify the old actor’s emotion or the -applause of every one around the tables. - -I am indebted to my friend, Mr. J. E. Dodson, who came over with Mrs. -Kendall’s company, for these stories illustrating Mr. Irving’s manner on -the stage in circumstances which would make almost any manager star drop -into rage and profanity. Here is one of them: - -“Old Tom Meade, beloved by all English players, and the best stock ghost -any company ever had, was much given to reading in the dressing-room -between his cues. “Hamlet” was on one night, and after his first -appearance as the murdered king, Meade went to his room for the long -“wait” before the closet scene. With his heels on the table, a black clay -pipe in his mouth and silver spectacles astride his nose he was soon in -the profoundest depths of a philosophical work. The call boy gave him -notice of his cue. - -“Uh-yes,” was the reply, but Meade went on reading. Several minutes later -there was feverish excitement in the wings and messengers from the stage -manager poured into Meade’s room; the lights had been lowered, the stage -was enveloped in blue haze, but there was no ghost! Dropping his book, -Meade hurried to the stage, but in his excitement he entered on the wrong -side, and almost behind Hamlet. It was too late to go around to the other -side, so Meade whispered huskily to Mr. Irving: - -“Here, sir, here—just behind you!” - -About this time the man who managed the calcium light succeeded in -locating the dilatory ghost and in throwing the blue haze upon him, as -Hamlet exclaimed: - -“See where he goes e’en now, out at the portal!” - -Poor Meade was in agony until he was able to speak to Mr. Irving. - -“Gov’n’r,” he faltered, “reading in my dressing-room—heard call, but -forgot. Rushed to wrong side of stage, sir. Never happened before—never -will again, sir. And after all, it didn’t go so bad, sir.” For a moment -Mr. Irving looked him through and through, after which he said icily: - -“Yes, Tom—but I like it better the other way.” - -One day Mr. Irving chanced to meet McIntyre, with whom he had played in -the provinces in his own struggling days. The two men had not met in -years, and Irving’s eyes—marvelous eyes they are, beamed with delight, as -they always do when they see an old companion. - -“Well, well, McIntyre!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”—and he -led the way into Haxell’s, where they might have a quiet chat over cigars -and brandy and soda. - -“Nothing,” was the comprehensive reply. - -“Have you settled on anything?” - -McIntyre admitted that he was expecting to play in something at the -Holborn. Before they parted Irving said: “You must come down and have -seats in the house, so you can tell me what you think of us.” Next day he -sent to the Holborn a most cordial letter containing tickets for the two -best seats in the lyceum and an urgent request for another chat. Merely -as an afterthought was this postscript: - -“Forgive me for handing you a ten-pound note as a loan at your -convenience. You may need to get something new for the play.” McIntyre’s -feelings may be imagined when I repeat his confession that at that moment -he did not know where his next meal was coming from. - -Mr. Irving is very fond of children and—as does not always follow in -other men’s fondness of the same nature, he is very attentive to them. -When he produced “Olivia,” the juvenile part was played by a nine year -old boy who kept himself very clean and tidy, but his street clothes were -so old that extreme poverty was evident. One night Mr. Irving asked: - -“Where do you live, my lad?” - -“Beyond Hammersmith, sir”—a London section some miles from the theatre. - -“And how do you get home?” - -“I walk, sir,” the boy replied, surprised by the inquiry. - -“Yes, yes. But after this you must ride”—and Mr. Irving ordered that -the boy should be supplied with bus fares thereafter. Later Mr. Irving -noticed that the boy had a troubled look on his face. Asked if he didn’t -enjoy riding, he confessed that he had been walking to save his ’bus -fares, for his mother was ill and his father out of work. An order was -given that the boy’s salary should be raised; throughout the summer, -though the company was not playing, the child continued to receive his -salary, at Irving’s personal order. - -Still more significant of his cherishing regard for children is a -story of how he squandered time—more carefully guarded on the stage -than anything else,—to make a boy happy. It occurred in a one-act -piece—“Cramond Brig,” in which there is a supper-scene in a cottage, a -steaming sheep’s head and an oat-cake are brought in and the cottar’s -little son is supposed to do boyish justice to the feast. The little -chap who played the part did not look as if he had eaten more than his -allowance, which was not to be wondered at; stage feasts are not prepared -by chefs, and the sheep’s head was indifferently cooked, the only stage -demand being that it should send up a cloud of steam and look piping hot. -One night, when the meat chanced to be well cooked, Mr. Irving noted that -the boy entered into the spirit of the scene with extreme realism, so -with a smile at the youngster’s energy he asked: - -“Like it, me boy? Ah, yes; I thought so. Boys are always hungry.” - -No sooner was that hungry boy out of hearing than Mr. Irving ordered -that the sheep’s head and oat-cake should in future be properly seasoned -and carefully cooked; still more, he informed the players that the -supper-scene was not to be hurried, but was to be governed by the boy’s -appetite. And how that boy did enjoy the change!—though Mr. Irving seemed -to get as much pleasure out of the feast as he. - -“Old John,” Irving’s personal servant and dressing-room valet, used to -go on a spree about once a year. With the fatality peculiar to such men, -his weakness took possession of him on a night of “The Lyon’s Mail”—a -play in which the leading character must make so rapid a change that -quick and sober hands must assist him. Just as the change was impending -poor John stole into the theatre and stood in the wings with comb, brush -and other necessary articles hugged to his breast, though he was plainly -incompetent to use them. He cut a ludicrous figure, though the time was -not one for fun—not for the star. Mr. Irving grasped the situation; -almost any other actor in similar circumstances would have grasped the -valet also and shaken the life out of him. Irving merely said mildly—very -mildly: - -“John, you’re tired. Go home.” - -Almost any man possessing a sense of humor has one and only one way of -manifesting it, but in humor as on the stage Mr. Irving is protean. In -the course of a long chat which he and Richard Mansfield had one night -at the Garrick Club, Mansfield spoke of his noted Jekyll-and-Hyde part, -which was very long yet called for but two notes of his voice—a severe -physical strain, and he said: - -[Illustration: “John, you’re tired.”] - -“You know, Mr. Irving, it is longer than your great speech in Macbeth. I -have been advised by our New York physicians not to do it.” - -Irving looked thoughtful for a moment or two, which is a long period of -silence for an eloquent man. Then he asked: - -“My boy, why _do_ you do it?” - -Members of the Dramatists’ Club (New York) still recall with delight a -story he once told them and which promised a brilliant climax that they -could distinctly foresee. The end was quite as effective as they had -imagined, yet it was entirely different and consisted of but two words. - -Irving can turn even his peculiarities to account in story-telling. -Like any other man of affairs he had sudden and long periods of -absent-mindedness—which means that his mind is for the time being not -only not absent but on the contrary is entirely present and working at -the rate of an hour a minute. One day while we were driving together he -turned to me and said: - -“Marshall, I have a story you can add to your repertoire—a very quaint -one.” Then he went into deep thought and we had gone fully a block before -he spoke again; then he said: - -“And you know——” - -Then we went another block, then farther, but suddenly he asked: - -“Now wasn’t that droll?” It certainly was, no matter what it was, if -he said so, but he still owes me the story, for he had told it only to -himself. - -Such details of Irving’s thoughtfulness—almost fatherly solicitude, for -other members of his profession, as have become generally known are but -a small fraction of what might be told had not the beneficiaries been -begged to hold their tongues. But here is one that was made public by -my friend, E. S. Willard, an English actor already referred to and very -popular in America. To realize its significance, one must imagine himself -an American manager with an appreciative eye for Lyceum successes. At a -dinner given at Delmonico’s by Willard to Irving, Mr. Willard said: - -“When he heard of my first venture into the United States, Mr. Irving, -without telling me of it, wrote a lot of friends over here that I was -not a bad sort of chap, and they might look after me a bit. He gathered -around me the night before I left London, a lot of his friends whom he -knew I would like to meet. When I was about to leave the room he took me -aside and said: - -“‘If you find when you get to the other side that your plays don’t carry, -or that the American people don’t take to them, just cable me one word. -Here is my new play at the Lyceum, a beautiful success, and you shall -have it—words, music and all, as soon as the steamer can get it to you.’” - -[Illustration: “My boy, why _do_ you do it?”] - -It is not generally known that before being knighted Sir Henry Irving had -twice refused a title, and accepted only after he had been convinced, -by men prominent in other professions, that his “elevation,” as the -English call it, would redound to the benefit of the profession at large. -Personally the rank could have placed him no higher socially than he -already was, for ever since he became known he has been surrounded by an -aristocracy of brains. He will not and cannot be patronized, and, through -the lasting respect which he has earned, he has done wonders for the -dignity of the actors’ calling. His title has not changed his manner in -any way. His great dinners on the stage of the Lyceum and his lunches at -the Beefsteak Club are matters of history. His social engagements are as -numerous as ever; often he does not retire until three or four o’clock -in the morning, generally to arise in time to conduct a rehearsal at -ten, so his duties require an executive genius equal in degree to his -artistic endowment. - -It is strange to many people that a man of Mr. Irving’s business ability -and personal popularity should be in comparatively poor circumstances -instead of having acquired a fortune. He lives plainly, in hired -rooms, not indulging in the luxury of a house of his own, with horses, -carriages, etc. He spends money freely for books, and professionally for -anything that may enhance the effect of his art and that of his theatre. -But the few incidents cited above, are illustrations of the manner in -which thousands of pounds have leaked from his pockets and show that it -is bigness of heart that keeps Henry Irving from being a rich man. - - - - -XVIII - -LONDON THEATRES AND THEATRE-GOERS - - Why English and American Plays do Best at Home.—The Intelligent - Londoner Takes the Theatre Seriously.—Play-going as a Duty.—The - High-class English Theatre a Costly Luxury.—American Comedies - Too Rapid of Action to Please the English.—Bronson Howard’s - “Henrietta” Not Understood in London.—The Late Clement Scott’s - Influence and Personality. - - -I believe I can explain why most English plays have failed to please -American audiences, and that I have discovered the reason of the -appalling apathy with which Londoners usually receive an American play. - -When I say “Londoners” I refer to the better class. The common people -flock to the comedies, farces and burlesques, of which London is full; -they laugh at whatever is placed before them and demand a lot more of -the same kind. But the educated, well-bred Englishman makes a serious -matter of theatre-going. He goes to the play with the same face that he -displays in “the city,” as the business section of London is called. He -changes his clothes, for it is bad form not to be in evening dress when -one goes to a London theatre of the better class. But he does not change -his face. Play-going is as much a duty with him, as business is, and I am -inclined to believe it is quite as much of a bore. However that may be, -it is a matter of his serious daily routine. He goes to the theatre to -think; goes as solemnly as an American on his way to church. - -Indeed, the talk one overhears in the lobby and stalls of a high class -English theatre recall some church experiences to an American. The play -is analyzed; so are its parts, as if the whole thing were a matter of -conscience or morals, as occasionally it is. A “problem” play which would -drive Americans out of a theatre, unless in Boston, where they would doze -through the performance, trusting to the morning papers for points enough -to talk about, will make its way to the profoundest depths of the English -heart and head. - -It must not be inferred that English gentlemen and ladies do not enjoy -good comedies. They are grateful for anything that is humorous and witty, -but they regard such performances as mere relishes or dessert; the _pièce -de rêsistance_ must be solid. - -The best London audiences are drawn from the fashionable set—the “smart -set,” all members of which attend the theatre whenever their evenings are -unoccupied by social duties. There are no matinées—by name; the English -say “morning performance,” which means the same thing; and of course -“morning” means afternoon, for the fashionable set turn night into day so -successfully, that the old fashioned morning is gone before they get out -of bed. - -[Illustration: “He reads what the papers say about it.”] - -Only a man of good income can afford steady theatre-going on the English -plan. His seat costs him about $2.75, and his program twenty-five cents -more; to these expenses must be added cab fares both ways, for your -Londoner won’t walk more than a block after dark, if he can help it. -After he has seen and heard the performance he talks a lot about it, -and thinks it over, and next day reads what the papers say about it, and -these say as much and say it as seriously as if the playhouses were of as -much importance as the House of Parliament. Only recently have American -literary weeklies taken up the theatres, but the Englishman has seen -solemn critiques of plays in the _Athenæum_ and _Academy_ ever since he -began to read those papers. - -The well-to-do American wants change, relaxation and fun when he goes to -the theatre. He is fully as intellectual as his English cousin and has -quite as keen comprehension of the best dramatic work; this is proved by -his enthusiastic support of all productions of Shakespeare. But a coldly -correct drama with a sad end does not appeal to him, no matter how good -the acting. - -American plays are usually too compact and too rapid of action to succeed -on the English stage. Bronson Howard’s brilliant “Henrietta” was highly -praised by the London press and Londoners loyally try to like whatever -their newspaper tells them to. Yet “The Henrietta” did not quite suit. -The audience simply could not understand the character of “Bertie” the -millionaire’s indolent, cheery, stupid son who pretended to be a devil of -a fellow at his club, but really had no head for liquor and tobacco nor -any heart for the society of chorus girls. London society has many young -men with some one of Bertie’s peculiarities, but the combination—why, as -one Londoner said: “No chap can be so many things, don’t you know.” - -Even Mr. J. L. Shine, the accomplished actor who played the part, did -not seem to understand it. Another mistake was with “The little English -Lord,” as he was called in the play—a lordling whom a rich American girl -had married. Here he was a fussy little fellow, an undersized dude—a -caricature, in fact, and made no end of fun, but on the London stage he -was the real thing, and taken seriously. The management seemed to be -afraid to travesty so sacred a personage as a noble lord. I imagine this -was a mistake, for at least a portion of the British people had been so -far emancipated as to appreciate fun poked at the “hupper classes.” - -I have mentioned London’s respect for dramatic criticism. Let us admit -for a moment that London is the centre of the universe—the great wheel -that sets all the rest in motion, and that what is successful there ought -to succeed everywhere else—even if it doesn’t. Then, in logical sequence, -let us understand that the greatest critic of the metropolis can make or -break any “attraction,” and that this commanding position was held by the -late Clement Scott,—poet, _littérateur_ and playwright, for more than a -quarter of a century and have we not practically admitted that Mr. Scott -was theatrical dictator of the universe? - -Even logic is sometimes at fault. I remember being taught at school -that dry bread was better than heaven, because dry bread is better than -nothing and nothing is better than heaven—see? This is not cited to imply -that what I have said of Clement Scott is wrong, but to convince the -skeptical that all men cannot be expected to reason alike. - -There was no doubt of the greatness of the London _Daily Telegraph’s_ -critic, for nothing was easier of comprehension. He was a master of -word-painting; the grace and truthfulness of his word-pictures were -evident to the most careless reader. There was nothing vulgar or flippant -in anything he wrote, and irrelevant witticisms, such as many would-be -critics indulge in, were entirely lacking in his work. Slow to condemn, -when he corrected a player the work was done with gracious gentleness, -although his satire, when needed, was biting and deep. In the righting of -wrongs he proved himself utterly fearless, and regardless of consequences -to himself. By this course he made many friends and more enemies. Indeed, -one of his peculiarities was his readiness to make an enemy, if by so -doing he could win a friend. - -Mr. Scott was truly a friend to the friendless, a helper of the helpless -and a clever adviser to all. Both he and his wife were very active in -charitable work, but his greatest energies seemed to have been exerted in -securing employment for needy actors and aiding aspiring ones by word and -deed, for he did so much for both classes that his friends wondered how -he found time for anything else. His kindness knew no bounds of nation -or tongue, and the antagonism supposed to exist between Englishmen and -Americans found no echo in his big heart. - -In appearance Mr. Scott resembled a rugged oak-tree that has grown so -vigorously in all directions that any part seems fully as strong as any -other. He was rather tall, with broad shoulders that drooped slightly, -and was quite fleshy although not obese. His ears were set far back on -his head and his face, though intellectual, was largely modeled—high -forehead, heavy eyebrows, kind and thoughtful gray eyes, a large nose and -mouth and in his later years a white moustache. His hands, though large, -were so shapely as to command attention. - -In manner he was emphatic but never dogmatic, as some members of his -profession are. His prominence was greater than can be imagined in the -United States, where the people seldom know the names of the dramatic -critics whose work they most admire, yet he was as modest and unaffected -as any of his admirers. There was nothing of the _ergo ego_ about him, -nor anything pretentious. Yet there lurked behind his mild, quiet manner -an enthusiasm for work and a scholarly application to work, that were -absolutely remarkable. At the theatre he was the last man whom a stranger -would suspect of being a critic, for the bored look and the feigned -weariness that some of the dramatic reviewers affect were entirely -lacking in him. He did not even make notes on his programme. Men like -Scott do not have to affect wisdom or the resigned look that is supposed -to result from it. I know a young whipper-snapper with a nice, fast-black -bored look that cost years of effort to cultivate. He is said to wrap it -in a silk handkerchief and keep it in a bureau drawer when not in use, -but he never forgets to dust it and have it properly adjusted when he -calls on a lady or attends the theatre. - -Clement Scott was not that kind of man. He had some little peculiarities, -like all men of genius but they were neither affected nor obtrusive. The -most noticeable of these was a habit of saying “yes, yes,” and “what?” -continually. Some of his gestures were a bit odd and he had an amusing -way of belittling his own work. He said to me one day, - -“I make no money from my books. It is all I can do to give them away.” - -[Illustration: “A nice fast-black bored look that cost years of effort to -cultivate.”] - -He had the coziest possible little home at 15 Woburn Square, London, -and a wife who would reflect honor on any mansion in the land. Her -portrait hangs before me while I write—the face of an intelligent, -refined, charming English lady, and on its margin is written “Yours in -all faith, Margaret Clement Scott.” That describes her perfectly—“in all -faith” she was the best possible helper to her husband, aiding him in -his correspondence, taking proper care of his memoranda, writing at his -dictation and assisting him in many other ways. - -In Mr. Scott’s study were many hundred valuable books, some of which -are very rare, and a great collection of curios. One of the walls was -hung with old prints of noted theatrical people of earlier generations; -another with fine china. The room was richly furnished and had an air -of oriental luxury which, combined with picturesque disorder, was more -than charming—it was bewilderingly bewitching. In one corner was an -interesting souvenir in a frame; his first letter of credential as -dramatic critic, and was given by the _Sunday Times_, with which he was -first connected; he went to the _Telegraph_ in 1872. - -Mr. Scott was playwright as well as critic and had several plays -successfully produced—“Tears, Idle Tears,” an adaptation from Marcel; -“Peril,” taken from Sardou’s “Nos Intimes,” “Diplomacy,” written in -collaboration with B. C. Stephenson; “Sister Mary,” of which Wilson -Barrett was part author; “Jack in the Box” (with George R. Sims); “The -Cape Mail,” “Serge Panine,” adapted from Georges Ohnet for Mrs. Langtry, -“The Swordsman’s Daughter,” in which Brandon Thomas had a hand and -“Denise,” in collaboration with Sir Augustus Harris. Among his published -books are “Round About the Islands”; “Poppyland”; “Pictures of the -World”; “Among the Apple Orchards”; “Over the Hills and Far away”; “The -Land of Flowers”; “Thirty Years at the Play”; “Dramatic Table Talk”; “The -Wheel of Life”; “Lays of a Londoner”; “Lays and Lyrics”; “Theatrical -Addresses” and his famous “Patriot Songs.” - - - - -XIX - -TACT - - An Important Factor of Success.—Better than Diplomacy.—Some - Noted Possessors of Tact.—James G. Blaine.—King Edward - VII.—Queen Alexandra.—Henry Ward Beecher.—Mme. Patti.—Mrs. - Ronalds.—Mrs. Cleveland—Mrs. Langtry.—Colonel Ingersoll.—Mrs. - Kendall.—General Sherman.—Chauncey M. Depew.—Mrs. James Brown - Potter.—Mme. Nordica. - - -I have had the good fortune to meet a great many distinguished people, -and the misfortune of hearing many of these talked of afterward as -if human greatness was merely a machine, which had some peculiar -secret of motion. I don’t like to listen to analyses of my friends and -acquaintances; it is too much like vivisection; it is unkind to the -subject and hardens whoever conducts the operation. - -Besides, I have a theory of my own as to greatness. It is that tact is -generally the secret. Almost all famous men and women admit that certain -other people are superior to them at their own special work. They will -attribute some of their success to luck and some to accident, but the -close observer can usually see that tact has had far more influence than -either, for success depends largely on getting along well with other -people, and nothing but tact can assure this. - -Diplomacy alone cannot take the place of tact, for it comes only from -the head; tact is from the heart. The prominent people to whom I refer -did not lack great qualities of head; they would have failed without -them, but these alone would have been insufficient without the softer -sense—“The inmost one,” as Hawthorne named it; the quality to which -Oliver Wendell Holmes referred when he said—“I am getting in by the side -door.” Diplomacy, as distinguished from tact, is something with a string -to it: or playing for a place; tact is a subtle, timely touch from the -heart. - -A few years ago I returned from Europe on the steamer with Mr. James G. -Blaine. Every one on board wanted to talk with him and learn of things -which taste and prudence forbade his mentioning. Yet Mr. Blaine was so -tactful throughout this ordeal, that no one suffered a rebuff and every -one became his friend. He went further by discovering the good but -shrinking people who in a great ship became isolated, and bringing them -into the general company and conversation. Yet all the while he was a -model to many other married men on board by his constant and knightly -courtesy to his own wife. - -I have referred elsewhere to the tact of King Edward VII of Great -Britain, the most popular sovereign in Europe. This quality is not -restricted to public purposes; his acquaintances know that it is -untiringly exercised for the benefit of Queen Alexandra, of whose -deafness he is never unmindful. Often, when I had the honor to entertain -the royal family and their friends, it was my duty to face the King (then -Prince of Wales). Sometimes this placed me—embarrassingly too, with my -back to the greater part of the audience. But the Prince was regardless -of custom and his own royal prerogative, when his consort’s enjoyment was -endangered; on one occasion when he saw that the Princess was not hearing -me distinctly, he said softly to me, “Mr. Wilder, kindly turn your face -toward the Princess!” - -And Her Royal Highness is as tactful as he. The audience at a special -entertainment given the Shah of Persia in London included the most -distinguished and wealthy people in the city. I was among those -engaged to entertain the Shah, beside whom sat the Princess (now Queen -Alexandra). As His Persian Majesty was ignorant of the English language -it was not strange that he held his programme upside down. This might -have occasioned a laugh and caused the Shah some mortification had not -the Princess deftly turned her own programme upside down and kept it so -during the performance. - -[Illustration: “The Shah held His Program Upside Down.”] - -One of the “nerviest” illustrations of tact is to the credit of Henry -Ward Beecher. After the war, he made a lecture tour of the South and -appeared at Mozart Hall, Richmond, with an address entitled, “The -North and The South.” He was rather doubtful as to the reception he -would have but he knew what he wanted and was determined to get it. No -applause welcomed him as he appeared on the platform, but a few hisses -were heard in the gallery. In the better rows of seats were some grim -ex-Confederates—General Fitzhugh Lee, General Rosser, ex-Governor Smith, -Governor Cameron and others. Beecher fixed his eye directly on Lee and -said—(I quote a newspaper report of the incident): - -“I have seen pictures of General Fitzhugh Lee, sir, and I assume you are -the man. Am I right?” - -The General, slightly taken back by this direct address, nodded stiffly, -while the audience bent forward, breathless with curiosity as to what was -going to follow. - -“Then,” said Mr. Beecher, his face lighting up, “I want to offer you -this right hand, which, in its own way, fought against you and yours, -years ago, but which I would now willingly sacrifice to make the sunny -South prosperous and happy. Will you take it, General?” There was a -moment’s hesitation, a moment of deathlike stillness in the hall, and -then Fitzhugh Lee was on his feet, his hand was extended across the -footlights and was quickly met by the warm grasp of the preacher’s. At -first there was a murmur, half of surprise and half of doubtfulness -from the audience, then there was a hesitating clapping of hands, and -before Beecher had unloosed the hand of Robert E. Lee’s nephew, there -were cheers such as were never before heard in old Mozart, though it had -been the scene of many a war and political meeting. But this was only -the beginning of the enthusiasm. When the noise subsided, Mr. Beecher -continued, - -“When I go back home, I shall proudly tell that I have grasped the hand -of the nephew of the great Southern Chieftain; I shall tell my people -that I went to the Confederate capital with a heart full of love for the -people whom my principles once obliged me to oppose and that I was met -half-way by the brave Southerners, who can forgive as well as they can -fight.” - -Five minutes of applause followed, and then, Mr. Beecher, having gained -the hearts of his audience, began his lecture and was applauded to the -echo. That night, he entered his carriage and drove to his hotel amid -shouts such as have never greeted a Northern man in Richmond since the -war. - -Women who are prominent as hostesses are always remarkable for tact. -No matter how they may differ in years, beauty, tastes, nationality, -attainments and means, they are classed together by their tact, in the -minds of men who know them and know also how arduous are the duties of a -successful hostess. I know many such women,—Madame Patti, Mrs. Ronalds, -who is one of the most distinguished Americans in London, Mrs. John -A. Mackey, the Baroness de Bazus (Mrs. Frank Leslie), Mrs. Kendal—but -I could fill a chapter with names. The power of these women in the -drawing-room is simply marvelous. Their consummate tact is something for -civilization in general to be proud of. It matters not if they are not -in their best health and spirits and mood; everything uncongenial in -themselves is hidden by their gracious welcome, like Hamlet’s father’s -ghost by the rising sun. In a large company there is likely to be a -social knot or tangle that would appal a well meaning novice in the rôle -of hostess, but the woman who is fit for the position knows what to -ignore and what to illumine. - -[Illustration: “There is Apt to Be a Social Tangle.”] - -And cleverness at introductions in a large company—what a world of tact -it requires! Small wonder that introductions are few at most fashionable -affairs. But the tactful hostess keeps untoward spirits apart and welds -congenial souls together; some of the world’s closest friendships have -come of able hostesses’ introductions of people who otherwise would never -have met. - -But what keen watchfulness and knowledge this presupposes, of the -jealousies, petty or large, whether in politics, literature, art, the -drama, of a large assemblage of representative people! It requires -nothing less than genius to peep into the nooks and crannies of the -hearts about them, throbbing with varied purposes and passions, but these -women possess it. Hence they are centres in themselves, about which -antipathetic souls may gather with a common good-will and cordial good -word. It takes all these qualities to be a leader in society: many women -possess them, but compared with all who should, how few they are! - -I know one woman who possesses them all supremely. She is a wonder, -even among Americans. Her name is Mrs. Grover Cleveland. Think of that -schoolgirl passing from books to White House receptions and diplomatic -balls, from the quick but embarrassed flush of eighteen years, to the -sustained, well-poised position of first lady of the land “all in a -twinkling” and, more’s the wonder, all in a triumph! She went through -her ordeal at Washington, for it was an ordeal, without having an enemy -in that Babel of bickerings, cunning social plots and desperate plunges -after prestige. The platform of the politicians was tariff reform, -the people’s was Mr. Cleveland, little Ruth, furnishing the “Bye Baby -Bunting” plank. - -The way this remarkable woman earned love and respect, was illustrated -by a little scene, that came under my eye at Lakewood. The parlor of the -hotel is so large that men can stand at one end of it with their hats -on and escape criticism. But one day, when Mrs. Cleveland, unattended, -entered at the other end, with girlish haste and captivating naturalness, -all heads were uncovered in an instant. She merely wished to find a -friend who was dining at the time, so she walked to the table of her -friend. All eyes were upon her, but she manifested no consciousness. -She with her friend slipped out of the room and into the elevator, and -probably up-stairs for a cozy chat. She was not thinking of the admiring -glances of hundreds, but only in a great-hearted, every-day way of her -friend. Such is the woman. She has won her crown, woven from the blossoms -of the people’s love, and she wears it gracefully. - -No woman of my acquaintance has more tact than Mrs. Langtry. I will -guarantee, that her use of it will win any man who may meet her. When -she was last in New York a certain newspaper man was “cutting” her -savagely. Did she horsewhip him after the manner of some indignant -actress? Nay, nay! First she learned who he was, then she determined -to meet him. Her manager invited the young man to dine with him at -Delmonico’s, and the invitation was accepted. While at dinner the manager -accidentally (?) saw Mrs. Langtry, at another table, in the same great -dining-room and exclaimed, - -“By Jove! There’s Mrs. Langtry! Would you like to meet her?” The scribe -hesitated; then consented. “First, let me ask her permission,” adroitly -continued the manager. - -“I shall be delighted to meet him,” was the lady’s reply. Two moments -later the scribe and the actress were in close conversation; the young -man was invited to Langtry’s hotel; he walked down Broadway with her to -the Hoffman House, and he knew a thousand men saw him and envied him. In -the following week, his paper contained a beautiful article on Langtry. -The question may be asked, “Was this tact or diplomacy?” But every one -ought to know that mere diplomacy could never make a dramatic critic -change his tone so startlingly. - -But tact is not confined to incidents in the world’s eye. Several years -ago, when that clever and beautiful young woman Mrs. James G. Blaine, -Jr. (now Mrs. Dr. Bull), was greatly afflicted with rheumatism, her -friend, Mrs. Kendal, the well known English actress, advised massage. -Mrs. Blaine objected, she disliked the idea, but Mrs. Kendal won her over -by calling every day and massaging the sufferer with her own hands. - -Men can do the tactful thing as well as women, and it is to their credit -that they often do it when they can’t imagine that any one will ever know -of it but the beneficiary. One rainy day at Broadway and Twenty-third -Street, an ill-clad, shivering fellow stood, probably he had nowhere -in particular to go, and would rather look at people than think of -himself and his condition. I saw a tall, stout man with an intellectual, -kind face stop, hold his umbrella over the tramp, and engage him in -conversation; it was a mean place to stand, too, for crowds were hurrying -past the big policeman standing at the crossing. I dashed in front of the -chap the instant the tall man left him. - -“See what that man gave me!” he said, showing me a two dollar bill. - -“It’s no wonder,” I replied; “that was Colonel Bob Ingersoll!” - -“Hully gee!” the man exclaimed. “I’ve heard o’ him. And here’s what else -he gave me—listen.” The Colonel had told him the story of “Nobody’s -Dog,” as follows:— - -“A poor brute of a dog entered a hotel with three travelers. ‘Walk in, -gents,’ said the host heartily. ‘Fine dog, that; is he yours, sir?’ - -“‘No,’ said one of the men, and ‘No,’ ‘No,’ repeated the others. - -[Illustration: “I Saw Him Hold His Umbrella Over a Tramp.”] - -“‘Then he’s nobody’s dog,’ said the host, as he kicked the cur into the -street. - -“You’re nobody’s dog, but here you are,” said the Colonel in conclusion, -pressing the money into his hand and hurrying away. - -I have myself been the gainer by the tact of some men, who would -have been excusable for having their minds full of some one of more -importance, so I am correspondingly grateful. Dear General Sherman was -one of these; his tact was as effective in civil life as his armies had -been on the battle-field. In the fall of 1899, just after I had published -my book—“The People I Have Smiled With,” I received the following written -by the General’s private secretary. - - “MY DEAR SIR: - - “I beg you to accept my hearty thanks for a copy of your book, - the same which, I assure you, will give me much pleasure in - perusing. - - “With best wishes, as always, I am, - - “Your friend, - - (Signed) “W. T. SHERMAN, General.” - -Evidently the General thought a moment after signing the above, for -he wrote at the bottom of the sheet “Over,” where he added in his own -handwriting: - - “Pardon me for this seemingly formal answer to your bright - and cheery volume, which, as yet, I have merely glanced at, - but contemplate much pleasure and profit in reading. The - ‘Introduction,’ by our mutual friend ‘Cockerill,’ is so - touching that it calls for the sympathetic tear, rather than - a smile; so are your opening words in the first chapter about - your acquaintance with Beecher, etc., etc. But more in the - hereafter. - - “I am glad you enroll me in your list of friends, and will be - only too happy to smile with you in person over your types, as - occasion may require. - - “Your sincere friend, - - “W. T. SHERMAN.” - -I might also call attention to the above as an illustration of the -occasional opaqueness of the private secretary as a medium between great -men and their personal friends, however humble. - -I was at Chicago’s famous hotel, “The Auditorium” during the dedicatory -exercises of the Columbian Exposition, more popularly known as “Chicago’s -World’s Fair.” A great dinner had been given the evening before to men -distinguished throughout the world. The affair was under the direction of -the Fellowship Club, prominent in which was Editor Scott of the Chicago -_Herald_, and such a gathering of famous men I had never seen before. -Richard Harding Davis described it graphically in _Harper’s Weekly_. - -Next morning quite naturally, the atmosphere of the hotel was hazy -and dazy. Such of us as dropped into the café for breakfast were not -especially “noticing.” - -I sat alone at the end of the room. In came Chauncey M. Depew with -a handsome young lady. Before long his quick eye discerned me in my -isolation. He arose, walked the entire length of that great room, leaned -over me and said, - -“Marsh, most through your breakfast?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then come over and be introduced to my niece. She wants to meet the -celebrities of the day.” Continuing he was kind enough to say that some -of my recently delivered jokes were new, and he must have been right, -for I heard afterward that he used them himself. But many men of less -importance would have sent a waiter for me instead of coming in person; -many more would have succeeded in not seeing me at all. - -When Mrs. James Brown Potter first visited London, she was chaperoned -by Mrs. Paran Stevens, whose daughter, Lady Paget, was a member of the -Prince’s set, and had full entrée to all social circles. On one occasion -Mr. Wilson Barrett set aside a box for Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Potter, and -their friends, I being among the number invited to see “Clito” performed. - -In London it is the pleasant custom for the actor-manager to send up -refreshments, ices, etc., between the acts, and invite his guests down -into his dressing-room. Eccentric Mrs. Stevens hesitated when asked to -join us all in going down-stairs to visit Mr. Barrett between the acts. -It may have been that she did not wish to incur a social obligation, but -whatever the reason, Mrs. Potter, with infinite tact, assumed the rôle -of charmed and charming guest, allowing Mrs. Stevens to remain quietly -unobserved and free from any future embarrassment. - -Mme. Nordica displayed her charming tactfulness one Sunday at a musicale -given by Mrs. Ronalds in London. It was when peace was declared between -England and the Boers. The news arrived about 4 P. M. Instantly Mme. -Nordica sprang to her feet, and sang “God Save the King.” It was most -inspiring, coming just as it did, and those who were present will never -forget how the people stood about clapping their hands and rejoicing over -this great event, which was announced by an American. - - - - -XX - -ADELINA PATTI - - Her home in Wales.—Some of Her Pets.—An Ocean Voyage With - Her.—The Local Reception at Her Home-Coming.—Mistress of an - Enormous Castle and a Great Retinue of Servants.—Her Winter - Garden and Private Theatre.—A Most Hospitable and Charming - Hostess.—Her Local Charities Are Continuous and Many. - - -Craig-y-Nos (Craig-of-the-Night) in the Swansea Valley, Ystradgnlais, -South Wales, by river and meadow and mountain, is the home of Madame -Patti. - -Among madame’s pets at her castle is one Jumbo, an American parrot, who -carried with him to Wales his country’s admiration for his mistress. For -when she goes forth into the great world, he puts on a dejected bearing, -and in a voice touched with tears keeps calling, “Where is Patti? Where -is Patti?” But the parrot only gives word to what is felt by all the good -folks of Swansea Valley; for the pets and the people, of high and low -degree, miss this wonderful little woman when she is away, and she in -turn longs for her pets and her peasants, her country roads and princely -retreat, with that whole-hearted longing which doubtless gives much to -the depth of feeling the world knows in her rendition of “Home, Sweet -Home.” This little song, that makes the whole world kin, bears to the -difficult song work of Patti some such relation as does her life of -artlessness to her life of art. Her nature undisguised is childlike and -spontaneous. - -When I took ship on the _City of New York_ in May, 1892, in the same -party with Madame Patti, and her husband, Signor Nicolini, she was full -of greetings, and words of parting to those coming and going just before -we sailed. - -Nicolini’s devotion to his wife was the remark of the ship. He was ever -thoughtful of her, and his services were continual, from his first one in -the morning, that of delivering her mail to her. - -Previous to sailing, a Boston lady friend had sent aboard seven or -eight letters, with the direction that one should each morning be -delivered to Madame Patti. What a merrymaking there was when the usual, -or rather, unusual letter bobbed up every morning! A fresh-cheeked -young country girl could not have been more demonstrative. But such is -her single-mindedness: her heart is young, and that is no doubt one of -the great causes of the depth of her beauty. An ocean voyage generally -washes out the skin-deep variety, but when I saw Patti every day, rich -Spanish beauty turned up with her every time. She was the pet of the -people without seeming to be conscious of it, and went along through the -days like other folks, speaking to friend after friend in the language -of their preference, for it makes no difference to her—German, French, -Spanish, Italian or English; and with all her naïvete, she is an adroit -and charming diplomat. - -“You must visit me,” she said one day on the steamer to me. “I will not -take no for an answer. I will follow you all over England with telegrams, -if you do not.” - -[Illustration: “I will follow you all over England with telegrams.”] - -I went. - -At Paddington station I found that my hostess was truly a royal one, for -there was the private car of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, -awaiting her. The interior was banked with flowers, from end to end, and -snatching up bunches here and there, Patti would be all in a glee over -them. As the train moved, three beautiful young girls ran down the length -of the station to get a last glimpse of Patti. Two of them threw up their -hands, their faces flushed with the race; but the third sped to the end -of the platform. It was a pretty picture. - -In our party were Madame and Monsieur Nicolini, madame’s companion and -two maids, Nicolini’s attendant and valet. I completed the group, and -with reason was congratulating myself, knowing the scarcity and luxury of -the private car in England. As we swept by Neath, the former home of my -hostess, then the seat of Henry M. Stanley, her eyes sparkled, for home -meant so much to her, and she was almost there. What a lark there was -too on our short run, with Patti singing “On the Bowery,” and snatches -from other “fad” airs, Nicolini joining in, and now breaking away on his -own account into “Annie Rooney” with the refrain, “Adelina Patti is my -sweetheart.” - -We were met at the station by a corps of servants, a big drag, and -equipages for guests, and were driven in handsome style around the -frowning brow of the great craig, into full view of the castle, spreading -out its arms as if in gladness at the happy home-coming of its queen. - -As we neared the great gate all the household gathered to meet us, from -the head man Heck, to the stable boys. It seemed to me that I had been -assigned to the choice of the eighty rooms of the castle, so luxurious -were all the appointments about me. - -[Illustration: “The clever bird surprised me by ejaculating Pity Patti.”] - -I spoke of the pets. There were twenty-five or thirty varieties of birds, -besides donkeys, ponies and rare dogs, of which Patti is very fond, -always having numbers of them accompany her in her walks. Ten of these -birds were parrots. Each one of these birds had acquired that peculiar -style of eloquence best suited to his disposition and temperament. -For example, one day when Patti got a trifling hurt, the clever bird -surprised me by ejaculating, “Pity Patti!” This gushing bird has ever -since maintained a steady sympathy, spending most of his verbally unhappy -life saying “Pity Patti! Pity Patti!” As you go up to each parrot, he -thus, with some different speech unburdens his mind to you. They are -sociable birds, spending most of their time together, and when, new and -then, a sewing-society notion strikes them all at once, it might be -called a unanimous change of subject. - -From the moment of arrival, a valet is put at the service of the guest, -and orders are taken by him at night, for the following morning’s -breakfast. There is no rising time. While Patti is an early riser, she -makes no such demands upon her guests. The valet appears at the hour -ordered, prepares the bath, and serves breakfast at any time desired. -Patti after her regular morning bath, takes her breakfast, and reads her -daily mail before going out for the day. The guest is absolutely free to -do as he wishes until half-past twelve. During my morning strolls I often -met Patti sauntering through the grounds with her well-beloved dogs. - -At half-past twelve all meet at luncheon, and all must be prompt. At this -little _déjeuner_, which is by no means a light meal, Patti is a gale of -joyous chat and greeting. The trivial incident is touched into color by -her vitality. - -Then comes the famous afternoon drive. As a rule the homes of the -neighborhood are connected by telephone with the castle, and invitations -come and go. One afternoon we drove to a farmhouse of a neighbor, where -we saw a contest between three sheep dogs. There were three sheep to each -dog, and that one was proclaimed winner who most quickly drove his three -sheep through one opening into a corral. It was an intensely interesting -illustration of the instinctive sheep-driving skill of the dogs. Then -again we would go for a long spin over the hills through the keen -mountain air. - -A light English tea at five, after which we had until half-past seven -to rest and dress before appearing at dinner, the great event of the -day. All, of course, wear full dress, gathering in the boudoir where -one sees pictures and autographs of famous people the world over. Among -the photographs I noticed those of Mrs. Cleveland, Christine Nilsson, -Nieman, Albani, Scalchi, Hans Richter, Verdi, and the King and Queen of -Italy. A full length portrait of Mrs. Cleveland appears beside that of -the Princess of Wales. The coloring, hangings, and wall coverings are all -suggestive of restfulness in their richness. - -The first announcement one has of dinner is a melody of silver bells. The -notes seem to cling to the bells until they are fairly shaken off like -bubbles into the air; then there seem to be two melodies, one the tender -musical shadow of the other. - -Nicolini would go in front of madame, who quickly took his arm and -they would lead the way into the great conservatory or winter garden, -where flowers are rushing into bloom the year round. The fragrant air -is musical with singing birds, and the effect is magical under the -effulgence of the electroliers. The windows command a magnificent view of -the country around, mountain and valley and winding river, spread just at -the feet of the castle; salmon brooks, stretches of thousands of acres, -and hunting grounds covering nearly ten miles of fine shooting. With her -own fingers Patti puts a boutonnière on guests here and there, and then -we intrust ourselves to the mercy of one of Britain’s greatest chefs. - -Just here I am reminded of Norris, the Irish butler, whose sense of humor -almost broke up his self-possession. At the table while I was telling -stories he would hold down his upper lip with his teeth, like the side of -a tent, afraid to let it go, lest it might be blown away by a breeze of -laughter. As it was, the lip kept wrinkling. Both Madame Patti and I saw -it, but concealed our knowledge from Norris, for the poor conventional -soul’s heart would have been broken, had he suspected that we knew of -his having lost the icy calm of a properly conducted butler. He would -“list” his head over to one side, cough, fly around in unnecessary ways, -and altogether expend a great deal of energy in keeping down the humorous -side of his nature. - -The attachment of Patti’s servants to her is as constant as that of -her friends and her pets. Norris had been with her thirteen years; one -servant had been with her five years; another, her Swedish valet, for -nine years; then there were the driver, Joe; George, her courier; and -the general manager, a man of varied accomplishments and great executive -ability, Guillaume Heck. - -Among all those about her, none is so close as is Caroline Baumeister, an -Austrian woman, her companion, who has been with her nearly forty years. -Constantly at her side with her council and care, Caroline is Patti’s -friend in every sense of the word. Of excellent family, robust in mind -and body, of that well-balanced, soothing and serene temperament which -has finally made Patti a child in her dependence upon it. Caroline has a -Mexican girl, Padro, as her assistant. - -After dinner we pass into the billiard rooms, of which there are two, -with French and English and American tables. At the end of one of these -rooms is a monster orchestrion, which cost thirty thousand dollars, and -which furnishes music during the games. Anything may be played on it, -from Wagner to the latest popular air, by simply inserting a roll. These -rolls, by the way, cost one hundred dollars each; in truth golden music. - -During these little after-dinner billiard games the sincerity and -simplicity of Patti is seen to great advantage. For instance, imagine -the picture of the great diva catching up a billiard cue, and marching -around the room, followed by all the guests, to the tune of the Turkish -March played on the orchestrion. Often during the course of the evening, -when she could stand the buoyant effect of the music no longer, she would -break into song, trilling as naturally as a bird, and as spontaneously. - -After a certain time spent in the billiard rooms, we would wander through -a continuation of the winter garden, into one of the most cherished -possessions of Patti, her private theatre. This theatre was erected at -a great cost, and with a care for detail which may be imagined, when -it is known that Mr. Irving sent down his head carpenter from London, -to see that perfection was reached at every point. Mr. Irving has said -several times that it was the most perfect thing of its kind he had ever -seen. Every property is complete; there are the traps, the thunder and -lightning, everything metropolitan, even the floor, which is adjustable -either for inclined auditorium purposes or for the level of a ball-room -floor. There are six dressing-rooms, and the stage, built for sixty -people, has a “run” of eighty feet, while the auditorium will accommodate -three hundred and fifty and the gallery eighty people. During the little -evenings, the gallery is generally filled by domestics and peasants. -Programmes are prepared with elegance for each entertainment. I have one -now—the operatic matinée in honor of His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of -Battenberg, and party: - -Overture “Martha,” orchestra. Vocal concert (artists, Madame Adelina -Patti-Nicolini, Madame Giulia Valda, Signor Vovara), “Faust” Act III, -Garden Scene, in which Signor Nicolini, as Faust, took part. The -conductor was Signor Arditi. The programme is richly embellished in -purple and scarlet and gold. - -One of the ornaments on the walls of this beautiful little theatre is -the armor worn by Patti in her creation, at the age of nineteen, of the -character of Joan of Arc. She also appears in a splendid painting on the -curtain, as “Semiramis” in her triumphal car. - -During my stay the idea struck Patti of having a little entertainment -in my honor. So George, the courier, was posted off to Swansea to -get an orchestra, and other parts of the equipment needed for this -hasty-pudding matinée, for there was only one day in which to get ready. - -It took place June 15th, 1892. The programme was filled by Patti and four -or five friends, including myself in the humorous number. Patti’s voice -can never be heard to such advantage as under the shadow of her mountains -in this peaceful valley; here she sings from very gladness because she is -free. She is out of the cage (for Patti is never so caged as when before -the public) in her own home where song is not an article of merchandise, -but the gratuitous offering of nature. So it is that her trills are more -brilliant and spontaneous than the same flights for which she receives -five thousand dollars a night. - -Every Christmas a thousand children are entertained, and a charity -concert is given, when presents are distributed by her to the poor of -Swansea and Neath districts, being handed out by her personally. - -Her good offices to the poor are done in numberless ways, the greater -part unknown. I heard during my visit this story: there was a poor -child born just inside the big gate one evening. The quivering peasant -mother, homeless and alone, turned instinctively in her agony to the good -mistress of the valley, and had crawled within the friendly shelter of -the lady’s wall. Patti, returning from a drive found them and took them -to her home and had them cared for. She named the little tot Craig-y-Nos. -When all was well, the woman offered to work out the debt, but “No,” said -her hostess, “you are my guests.” - -There is a standing rule that no poor shall be turned away from the -castle. Each one, no matter how deserving, is given bread and beer, and -they come in continually from miles around. - -“Lady of the Castle,” she is affectionately called by the plain folk of -that country. Can one wonder then that when she drives out all greet -her with grateful deference, and the little children curtsey as if to a -queen. Whenever I drove out with her I saw the same demonstration. - -Patti has a retinue of sixty domestics while she is at home, and leaves -twenty-five to look after things when she is away. There is a complete -electric plant with a power-house so far away as to avoid the noise of -the machinery; also a gas plant, if this light is preferred; a telephone -and telegraph service connect the castle with the outside world. Let me -not forget the dairy, the steam laundry, and the refrigerating facilities -for the meats. The stables are elegantly constructed and equipped, there -being seven pairs of carriage horses beside the riding horses, ponies and -donkeys. - -One of the ponies had been pensioned after long and faithful service, -and spent most of his time browsing in the paddock with Jenny, the little -pet donkey of the place. The two were uncommonly knowing and the fastest -of friends, one running in front of a person trying to catch the other. -This manœuvre they could successfully carry out, until the one trying to -catch either of them would retire in disgust, to the great satisfaction -of Tom and Jenny, who would peacefully resume their tête-à-tête meal. - -With all the paraphernalia of comfort and convenience, it remains only -for the personality of Patti to convert the castle into home. What -a hostess! During my stay everything seemed to be done with special -reference to me. Even the American flag was hoisted on the castle in -honor of my nationality. Thus special guests are always flatteringly -recognized by the sight of their own country’s flag. The individual -tastes of the guests are studied to the minutest degree by all. For -instance, I have always been very fond of ice. Imagine this trifling -taste of mine being detected without my knowledge. I found out that -it had been in this way. When I left I found my lunch providently and -daintily put up, and among the delicacies I discovered a piece of ice! -It had been frozen into a small block specially for me, and I enjoyed it -very much, all the trip. - -Then again, I had expressed an interest in her jewels, so during my stay -she decked herself every night with different ones, all in my honor, as -she assured me. - -Do what she will, this woman, worshiped of all nations, is the willing -slave of a loving heart. Her old parents, whom she loved and revered when -they were living, she loves and honors now that they are dead, and not a -day passes, without some fond reference to them. - -A friend of Patti’s, a French lady, met with distressing financial -losses. In her need Patti said to her, “Come and live with me!” and she -did, for many happy years after that. - -When Joe was driving me to Penwyllt I thought of it all as the road -lengthened between me and my friends. I remembered that Patti had told me -that of all American cities, Richmond and Syracuse were her favorites, -but I feel sure she is the favorite of all our cities. - -The world has been made glad by her song, but not more glad than the -mountain district by her presence. There she lives a queen, crowned by -the love of all about her. - - - - -XXI - -SOME NOTABLE PEOPLE - - Cornelius Vanderbilt.—Mrs. Mackey.—The Rockefellers.—Jay - Gould.—George Gould and Mrs. Edith Kingdom Gould.—Mary - Anderson.—Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske.—Augustin Daly.—Nicola - Tesla.—Cheiro. - - -The mass of the people envy most the men and women who have most money; -my own envy goes out hungrily to those who are happiest, though I have -sometimes inclined strongly toward the majority. One day in London, -while my mind was full of the good that a great lot of money would do -me, I learned that Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, who was still suffering -from the effects of a paralytic stroke, was at a hotel in Piccadilly. -Besides being one of the best men in the world, he had been one of my -best friends, so I called on him, hoping I might cheer his heart in some -way and make him forget his trouble. It was hard to get at him, for his -secretary had been ordered by the physician to admit no one, but I got -my card to him, and he was kind enough to express a wish to see me and a -belief that my visit would do him good. - -From Mr. Vanderbilt’s hotel I went to the home of Mrs. John A. Mackey, -whose son Willie had recently lost his life by being thrown from his -horse. I had no desire to intrude upon grief, but Willie and I had been -merry friends together, and I believed remembrance of our acquaintance -would make Mrs. Mackey willing to see me. Here again I had great -difficulty; the butler had received positive order, and it took me twenty -minutes to persuade him that Mrs. Mackey would not refuse to receive -my card. I was right, for she was very glad to see me. Her house was -a veritable palace, containing everything valuable and artistic that -money would buy, yet amid all these evidences of wealth the bereaved -mother sat in deep black, mourning the loss of her beloved son and, like -Rachel, “would not be comforted.” So my visits to these two good friends -convinced me that money could not do everything. - -Probably the most envied man in America is John D. Rockefeller, for his -income alone is believed to exceed half a million dollars a day. There -are many men and women near Owego, N. Y., who attended school with John -Rockefeller, in the little schoolhouse on the old river road. They did -not regard him as a prospective millionaire: he was merely “one of the -Rockefeller boys,” yet they knew him from the first as the leader of boys -of his age. He was the first to suggest a game of sport, and those who -remember him best assert that unless John had his own way he would not -play. He did not fly into a rage when opposed and overruled, but he would -watch the play without taking part in it. And such has been his business -policy; it is a matter of record that he has embarked in no business -ventures not of his own suggestion, nor in any of which he had not full -control. - -Like another great financier, Jay Gould, his personality dominated every -undertaking in which he was interested; neither he nor Gould allowed -any one to think for them. Both men were alike in another respect; -they brought up their sons in the same self-reliant manner, instead of -allowing them to drop into luxury and self-indulgence, after the manner -of most millionaires’ sons. - -Young Mr. Rockefeller is a man of simple and regular habits, but not -at all afraid to enter the field of labor in competition with great -brain-workers. He is a creditable exponent of his father’s business creed. - -Jay Gould once wrote as follows, in a letter to a personal friend: - -“Man seems to be so constituted that he cannot comprehend his own -situation. To-day he lends his ear to the charming words of the deceiver -and is led to believe himself a god; to-morrow he is hissed and laughed -at for some fancied fault, and, rejected and broken-hearted, he retires -to his chamber to spend a night in tears. These are certainly unwarranted -positions: the first to ingratiate himself or obtain your notice, and -therefore his delusion of greatness is unwarranted, while the latter is -the voice of the envious—those who look with a war-like spirit upon the -tide of your prosperity, since they deem themselves equally meritorious. -And this last assumption, over which you have shed your tears, is the -true voice of your praise!” - -[Illustration: “Luxury and self-indulgence after the manner of most -millionaire sons.”] - -Only the man who had thus accurately gauged the world’s estimate of -wealthy men could have been the example and inspiration of George Gould, -upon whose shoulders was laid a burden of almost incalculable weight, -which he has borne successfully and without making a public show of -himself and his millions. He is a genuine man, and has a worthy companion -in his wife, who as a bride went from the stage to the home of one of -the wealthiest young men in the land, yet whose admirable womanhood -has never been marred by consciousness of great riches. She has never -forgotten her old professional associates whom she liked, nor, indeed, -any mere acquaintance. Not long ago she happened to see me in the studio -of Marceau, the photographer. Leaving some friends with whom she had been -conversing she came over to me, greeted me cordially, and congratulated -me heartily on my marriage, yet with the unstudied simplicity and -directness for which she is noted. - -Early in life I became an autograph hunter and an admirer of stage -deities of both sexes, and one of the first autographs I ever got was -that of Mary Anderson, who gave it very graciously. Since then she -has favored me with others, but that first one is among my dearest -treasures. The American people were in accord with me in admiration of -Miss Anderson. She was lovingly referred to as “Our Mary” and her success -in this country was regarded as a guarantee of an enthusiastic reception -abroad. - -But the English public is hard to approach; to please on this side of -the water is not an assurance of success over there, and Miss Anderson’s -appearance did not make an exception to the rule. For sometimes she -had poor audiences at the Lyceum (London). Efforts were made to have -the Prince of Wales attend a performance, but for a time they were -unsuccessful. One night he entered the theatre and was so much pleased -that after the first act he sent word to the stage that he wished to see -Miss Anderson. The lady’s mother, Mrs. Griffen, who received his message, -requested that he would defer the meeting until the end of the play, as -she feared the honor might “upset” her daughter and mar the performance. -The Prince replied: “Certainly,” like the considerate gentleman he always -is. - -Meanwhile Michael Gunn, the manager of the theatre, with characteristic -managerial shrewdness, saw a great chance for advertising, so he rushed -off by a cable to America a message which read: - -“Mary Anderson refuses to see the Prince of Wales without the Princess.” - -The difference in time—five hours, between the two countries gave him -the advantage he wanted. The New York papers got it barely in time for -their last editions. Next day they cabled London papers for particulars, -but the day of a great American morning paper does not begin until -noon or later, by which time, say 6 P. M. on the other side of the -Atlantic, all London is at dinner or getting ready for it and must not be -disturbed. Besides, the English papers do not exhibit American taste and -enterprise in nosing out news. So they published the story as a fact, and -without comment. It was too small a matter for either of the parties to -formally deny in print, but it was large enough to make no end of talk -and of interest in the American actress. From that bit of advertising -shrewdness—some Englishmen gave it a ruder name, dated Miss Anderson’s -success in London. - -Mention of Miss Anderson recalls a reception in her honor which I -attended, at the home of Mrs. Croly (“Jennie June”). Among the guests was -a young actress who was just coming into notice—Miss Minnie Maddern, now -Mrs. Fiske. Her beautiful, expressive eyes followed the guest of honor so -wistfully that I said: - -“I see you are observing Miss Anderson intently.” - -“Yes,” she replied. “What a beautiful woman she is! And what an actress! -What wouldn’t I give to be able to act as she can!” - -Such modesty has its reward. Mrs. Fiske has not only reached the plane of -Mary Anderson’s ability, but has gone far above it, and stands to-day -upon a pinnacle of art that no other American actress has ever climbed. -One night, at a performance of “Hedda Gabler,” I asked my friend Charles -Kent, whose high rank as an actor is admitted by every one, if Mrs. Fiske -was not our greatest actress. He replied: - -“Mrs. Fiske is more than our greatest actress She is the greatest -personality in the profession. She is the Henry Irving of America.” - -One of the greatest losses the American stage ever sustained was through -the death of Augustin Daly. I have heard some of his most determined -rivals call him the greatest stage manager in America, and since his -death they have expressed doubt that his equal would ever appear. I was -his neighbor for quite a while; I saw him often and chatted much with -him, but I never knew a man less given to “talking shop.” Apparently -he had no thought for anything but his two sons, both of whom were -then living, and on Sunday mornings it was a great pleasure to me to -see him walking with his boys to the Catholic Church, of which he was -a devout member. But he lost both sons in a single week, one dying, -broken-hearted, after the death of the other. The double loss was one -from which Mr. Daly never recovered, though he sought relief in hard -work. I often met him after midnight on the old green car that passed -through Thirty-fourth Street, yet next morning saw him leave the house -as early as eight o’clock. Busy though he was, he never forgot his -friends; he was so kind as to keep them under continual obligations. I -recall a complimentary dinner which Major Handy wished to give Mr. Daly, -but when he approached the prospective guest, Daly said: - -“Oh, you invite your friends, and I’ll give the dinner.” - -New York managers are seldom visible in the front of the house during a -performance, but Mr. Daly’s eyes seemed to be there as well as on the -stage. At the hundredth performance of “The Taming of the Shrew” the -house was packed; after endeavoring in vain to buy a seat I stood at the -railing, where Mr. Daly saw me and said: - -“Come with me, Marsh.” - -We went up-stairs to the balcony where he got a camp-stool from somewhere -and placed it for me in the middle aisle, whispering me at the same time -to fold it at the end of the performance and bring it down to him, as -he was breaking one of the ordinances regarding fires in theatres by -allowing me to sit in the aisle. - -Dr. Nicola Tesla, the great electrician, is an oft-seen figure, yet his -retiring disposition and his distaste for society make him personally -unknown. Any one who has visited the Waldorf in the evening must have -seen this interesting man sitting alone at a table in a corner of the -winter garden, for there he is, night after night, after his solitary -dinner, wrapped in his thoughts. He has told me that here, in an -atmosphere of bustle and chatter, he can think better than anywhere -else: he is oblivious to the people who stare curiously at him, for his -mind is absorbed in the details of some wonderful invention. He lives -at the Waldorf; once he thought of leaving, so he packed his trunks. -His departure was postponed from day to day, so his trunks remained -unopened: rather than unpack them he purchased new things from time to -time according to his necessities. Finally he decided to remain at the -Waldorf, but for all I know to the contrary the trunks still remain -unpacked. - -I have the honor of being numbered among Dr. Tesla’s friends, so I have -often stopped at his table for a chat, but never without his invitation. -Most sensitive natures are so self-absorbed as to be utterly selfish, but -Dr. Tesla, although sensitive in the extreme, is always considerate of -the feelings of others. I know of many occasions on which he displayed -this rare quality, and I may be pardoned for mentioning one which -concerned myself. I sent Dr. Tesla a copy of my book “People I’ve Smiled -With” and received a polite acknowledgment, which was followed almost -immediately by a long letter, as if he feared I had been hurt by the -shortness of the earlier communication. - -[Illustration: “He was reading a lady’s palm.”] - -Several of my friends were at the Victoria Hotel in London while I was -also stopping there, and among them was Miss Loie Fuller, who usually -held an informal reception after theatre hours—the Thespian’s only -“recess.” One evening, on returning from an entertainment I had given, -I went into Miss Fuller’s parlor and found the hostess and her friends -clustered about a gentleman whom I did not know. He had dark hair and -eyes and was extremely good looking—a perfect type of Irish manhood. -He was reading a lady’s palm, and the others were listening with great -interest. Soon Miss Fuller said: - -“I want you to read Marshall’s palm.” - -“Oh, yes,” said the others; “let’s hear what Marshall’s luck will be.” - -We were introduced; his name was Louis Warner, and on looking at my hand -he began to tell my characteristics with an accuracy which was startling. -I had no opportunity for conversation with him that evening, so I invited -him to lunch with me the next day. He came and we had a very interesting -chat about palmistry. I asked him if he made a business of it and he said -he did not—he was an actor, and playing at the Princess Theatre. - -“Do you ever think of taking up palmistry as a business?” I asked. - -“No,” he answered, “but I may some day.” - -I told him I thought there was a great deal of money in it, to which -he assented. During the conversation he kept calling me Mr. Marshall; -when I corrected his mistake and told him what my name was, he was much -surprised, and asked my pardon for making the mistake. I told him I was -glad he had, for it showed me more clearly the truth of his palmistry. - -“Of course I know you by reputation,” he said. “You did a great deal for -Heron-Allen in America, helping him to get acquainted there.” - -“Yes,” I replied, “and if you ever come over there I’ll do what I can to -introduce you.” - -A year later I was walking through the corridor of the Imperial Hotel -(New York) when I was stopped by a gentleman, who said: - -“You don’t remember me, do you, Mr. Wilder?” - -“Yes,” I answered, “you are Louis Warner of London.” He laughed and said: - -“You have a very good memory, Mr. Wilder, but I have taken another name. -I wish to be known as Cheiro. I have chosen that name as it is the Greek -word for ‘hand,’ and while appropriate it is also an attractive one for -professional work. You see, I have followed your advice, and taken up -palmistry as a business.” - -I introduced him to a great many of my friends, and he was most -successful in reading their palms correctly. A little later, a lady -called upon me, asking me to give her topics for newspaper work. I gave -her some letters to friends of mine,—well known men, asking them to let -her take an impression of their hands. She visited, among others, Mr. -Russell Sage, Mr. Chauncey Depew and Sir Henry Irving, who was in town, -taking impressions of their hands on paper with printer’s ink. She also -entered the Tombs and obtained the impression of the hand of a notorious -forger. These she took to Cheiro, and without knowing whose hands they -were he read each and every one correctly. Among them was an impression -of my own hand. He picked it up, and said immediately: - -“This is the hand of my friend, Marshall Wilder.” To my mind, this was -the greatest test of his powers. - -The story was written up, readily sold to a newspaper, and was copied -many times, widely read and commented upon. Since then Cheiro’s work has -become known all over the world. - - - - -XXII - -HUMAN NATURE - - Magnetism and Its Elements.—Every one Carries the Marks of His - Trade.—How Men are “Sized Up” at Hotels.—Facial Resemblance of - Some People to Animals.—What the Eye First Catches.—When Faces - are Masked.—Bathing in Japan.—The Conventions in Every-Day Life - that Hide Us from Our Fellows.—Genuineness is the One Thing - Needful. - - -The oftener a man—any man, from the beginner at vaudeville to the great -actor or orator—appears before audiences, the more he is impressed -by the many varieties of human nature and the many ways there are of -comprehending it. - -A few people who have to meet large numbers of their fellow-beings have -no trouble on this score, for they possess something that for lack of -a better name is called magnetism. Some actors who are full of faults -succeed by means of this quality; twenty times as many who are more -intelligent and thorough fail through lack of it. The same may be said of -Congressmen, lawyers, preachers and presidents. Magnetism seems to be a -combination of sensitiveness, affection, impulse and passion, so it is -not strange that only a few people of any profession possess it. - -For instance, go into Weber & Fields when both Lillian Russell and Fay -Templeton are on the bill. The former delights the eye and ear, for -she is beautiful with a charming voice. Yet Miss Templeton gets beyond -the eye and ear to the heart; she takes possession of the company as -well as of the audience; even the “chorus”—and the chorus is noted for -paying no attention to anything or anybody but itself and its personal -friends—loves Fay Templeton and manifests close interest in her work. - -But one need not be on the stage to study human nature. Wherever there is -a successful business organization, there you will find close observers -of human nature. Go into a great hotel—the Astoria for instance—and even -the bell-boys are adepts to it. Walk down the lobby, supposing yourself -unobserved, and you are “sized up” at once. If you are a reporter, the -whole house from the bell-boys to the head clerk know that you are not -of a class that can be “pigeon-holed.” The Southern man, with his family -on a pleasure jaunt, is accurately “tabbed” at once. So is the public -man—not always by his clothes, but by his manner. The “drummer” signifies -his business by a side-to-side movement, something like a wheat-hopper in -an elevator. The prominent man betrays himself by using his legs as if -they were intended solely to hold up his body, which, no matter how well -off he may be, is almost sure to have an empty buttonhole somewhere. The -needy man is likely to be carefully clad, but his trousers are out of -season, a trifle short and pieced out with gaiters. The hotel clerk takes -in all these signs at a glance, and gives answers and rooms accordingly. - -[Illustration: “The needy man is likely to be carefully clad.”] - -I believe many men size up people by resemblances to animals; I know -I do, and with uniform success—when I select the right animal; so my -mind contains a menagerie of acquaintances and a few strangers not yet -identified. It is almost impossible to see a man with a fox-face without -finding him foxy. Then there are monkey faces, with eyes close together -and shifty—eyes that seem to look into each other. Beware of them! I have -heard good housekeepers say that they prefer servants with eyes wide -apart, for the other kind have invariably been connected with missing -silver and other portable property. Nearly every criminal whose portrait -appears in the “Rogues’ Gallery” has monkey eyes; the criminal class is -recruited from this type. - -The bulldog face may be seen every day among the never-give-up men in -every business. The late William M. Evarts’ face suggested the eagle, -and he made some great fights side by side with our national bird. What -is the matter with Joseph H. Choate as the owl, the late Recorder Smyth -as the hawk, Dr. Parkhurst as the wary tabby on watch for the mouse? -We have some orators who look like pug-dogs; preachers who resemble -fashionably sheared poodles, and I know one unmistakable Dachshund of -the pulpit. Strong combinations are occasionally seen; Roger A. Pryor -suggests a clean-cut greyhound with the face of a mastiff. Other men -resemble great-hearted St. Bernards, with intelligent eyes and a reserve -force that is never squandered on trifles or bickerings. Daily, one may -see a man in a carriage with his dog, and the two look so alike that you -hesitate to say which dog is driving. - -The first thing apt to be noticed about a man is his hat; then his shoes, -collar and clothes in the order named; the face is generally left to the -last, though it should be the first. Nothing is so significant to me as -the eye, especially if it won’t look straight at me. Some men of great -mental vitality carry so much strength focalized in the eye that they -absolutely absorb. After an earnest conversation with such a person one -feels as if he had done a day’s work. - -[Illustration: “You hesitate to say which dog is driving.”] - -Men often suggest their business occupations by their walk. A dentist -displays the gait and bearing he has when he is coming to the side of -your chair to draw a tooth. A printer carries his arm forward, as if -feeling for the “case.” The preacher you can almost hear saying “Now we -will hear from Brother Hawkins.” The rôles of stage people stick to them -on the outside; the tragedian I rarely mistake; the “leading man” can’t -get rid of his descriptive look. The villain and the comedian you will -know apart, although, strange to say, their real characters are generally -diametrically opposite to the parts they play. - -Faces are like looking-glasses; they generally reflect the treatment -they receive. Driving in the park, the wealthy lady wants Mrs. Jones to -know she is on deck—footman, mountings, dog-chairs and all. You can tell -her by the “Oh-have-I-to-go-through-with-this-again?” sort of look. The -young Wall Street plunger’s face says, “You thought I wouldn’t be here, -eh? well, here I am.” One man’s face tells you he is driving with his -sweetheart; the simple soft quietude of one woman’s face tells you that -she is beyond all else a mother. - -As a rule, however,—and more’s the pity—a man’s real nature is obscured -when he is in pursuit of gain—absorbed in business, of any kind. You -would no more know him then, than you would your own house-cat when the -Mr. Hyde side of his nature crops out on your garden fence late at night. -Two boys were selling newspapers on a car; the larger in his eagerness -for business, pushed the other off. The little fellow fell, dropped -and scattered his papers and began to cry. Instantly the big boy was a -different being; he lost all thought of business, hurried to his disabled -rival, put the little chap on his feet and got his papers together for -him. - -Some people have a magnetic manner that is both instant and quelling -in its effect. A certain woman enters a parlor, and for some subtle, -indefinable reason all eyes are fixed upon her. She may not be brilliant -yet she holds the winning hand; she bears on her face “a royal flush,” -yet let her go out and some inferior will say, “now that she’s gone, we -can talk about her.” Her quality is generally called instinctive, but -probably it was slowly acquired, for lives are like lead-pencils—it takes -long experience to sharpen them so they will leave a clear, keen line. -Sometimes this line appears in the profile, which I have often believed a -sure indication of character; so did Talleyrand. - -Human expression is much affected by geographical location and custom. -An American in Japan asked his host’s servants for a bath, and was soon -informed it was ready. As he saw nothing to indicate its whereabouts, he -asked, - -“Where?” - -“Look out into the garden, sir.” He looked and saw his hostess and host, -the latter being governor of the town, awaiting him, beside an artificial -pool, and entirely nude. He was told that according to Japanese custom -the first plunge is the right of the guest, so there was no time to lose, -for the good people were shivering while they waited. The guest went out -looking like Adam before the downfall, and much embarrassed besides. -Stepping into the water he found it too hot and begged for cold water; -the Japanese take only warm baths, but at once the pool was emptied -and cold water was turned in. Meanwhile the lord and lady stood as -unadorned as Greek statues, this being Japanese custom while waiting at -a bath. Such a performance in New York would cause even Tammany to rally -around Dr. Parkhurst, but in Japan it “goes.” This gentle, courteous, -considerate family also expressed wonder at the straightness of their -guest’s legs, their own being bent through the habit of sitting on them -in tailor-fashion;—Japanese custom again. - -When men do not act in accordance with their looks, some tradition or -custom of their ancestors or associates will account for it; a man is -generally a Democrat because his father was one, though it doesn’t -invariably follow that because “the governor” is a total abstainer the -“Martigny” is unknown to his son. Men unconsciously initiate other men -and their ways, because other men have done it. We dress in black when -some one dear to us dies. - -Why, oh men of Athens, do we do these things? Should any dear relative of -mine die, I think I would go to the theatre that night,—if I felt like -it. I believe, with Mr. Beecher, in rose-colored funerals; not in those -which are gray and ghostly with ashes. There is too much convention about -these things. Why do we have all the formal funerals, when the only real -sentiment is attended to by the hearts of the bereaved? When the body is -dead it should be put away quietly, kindly, reverently, but without any -display of tears—and without the cards and flowers. They are the style, -you know, but—why cards? Why shouldn’t we send flowers anonymously, so as -to spare the real mourners the pains of writing an acknowledgment? Let us -steer clear of conventional sorrow when we can, for there is enough of -the real article to go round. If the night must come, sprinkle it with -stars; if there be the winding sheet of snow, tinkle sleigh bells over -it. The living want your love far more than the dead want your tears. - -But, after all that can and must be said against it, human nature is -kind. Deceit, love of gain, suspicion and even violence are often mere -means of defense. Get through the joints of any one’s every-day armor and -reach the heart and the same sweet response of sympathy rings out, the -world over, in tones as mellow as old Trinity’s chimes on New Year’s eve, -and self-disguised people become genuine. For illustration, let an old -man or old woman enter a streetcar crowded with men whose faces are hard -with business cares; why every seat is at their disposal; there is the -genuineness of the people. - -Yet if we were all and always genuine there would be no human nature to -study, for “Truth is simple, requiring neither study nor art.” - - - - -XXIII - -SUNNY STAGE PEOPLE - - “Joe” Jefferson.—I Take His Life.—His - Absent-Mindedness.—Jefferson and General Grant.—Nat Goodwin and - How He Helped Me Make Trouble.—Our Bicycling Mishap.—Goodwin - Pours Oil on Troubled Dramatic Waters Abroad.—George - Leslie.—Wilton Lackaye.—Burr McIntosh.—Miss Ada Rehan. - - -Every class of people on earth contains a pleasing number of cheery folk, -but far the greatest proportion is found in the theatrical profession. -Get together, if you can, all the companionable, hospitable souls of all -other classes and the stage people by themselves can make almost as good -a showing. When talking of them I never know where to begin or how to -stop, for they have loaded me with kindnesses, and began it when I was on -the extreme outer edge of a profession which they regarded as a mere side -show to their own. - -Years ago when I was on the lecture platform I used to have some cloudy -hours, in spite of my efforts to be sunny, for, unlike theatrical people, -lecturers are usually their own only traveling companions, the railway -runs are long, the engagements are what the dramatic agents call “one -night stands,” so the stops are so short that the lecturer has no chance -to adapt his digestive apparatus to the surprises that unknown chefs -of unknown hotels delight in springing upon him. Years ago—as I said a -moment ago, I was thinking of all these miseries, as I left a train at -Utica on a snowy, stormy afternoon of the Christmas holidays, when I -specially longed to be with some friends in New York. I had four blank -hours before me, for I was not to appear on the platform until evening, -and it was one of the days when I was too tired to study or read and too -shaken up to sleep. Suddenly a negro porter in drawing-room car uniform -accosted me with: - -“Mr. Wilder, Mr. Jefferson would like to see you.” - -He pointed to the right, and there in the window of a parlor car, -sidetracked for the day only, stood “Joe” Jefferson. When I got into -the car and looked about me I saw the great “all-star” cast of “The -Rivals”—dear Mme. Ponisi, Mr. John Drew, Viola Allen, W. J. Florence, -Otis Skinner, Frederic Paulding, Frank Bangs, George Dunham, Elsie C. -Lombard (now Mrs. John T. Brush), and Mr. Jefferson’s sons, Tom, Charlie, -Joe, Jr., and Willie. - -These good people were all seated around the dining-table of the special -car that I entered, and the cordial greeting I received, combined with -the contrast with “all-outdoors” and all else that had been depressing -me, made me the happiest man on the continent. I remained there two -or three hours, partly because, when manners suggested I should go, I -was forcibly detained. I told stories whenever I could, but I was more -entertained than entertaining. The time came when I was really obliged to -go and I said: - -“Mr. Jefferson, I am booked here to-night at a church, and I must begin -my hour-long entertainment at seven o’clock.” - -“Well, Marshall,” was the reply, “that will give you a chance to see our -performance, so we’ll reserve a box for you.” - -I thanked him, seized my bag, hurried to a hotel and prepared for my -work. The church in which I appeared was crowded—packed, in fact; I -afterward learned that, although I was well and properly paid, there had -been no charge for admission. When I reached the theatre the house was -only half full, but the performance of “The Rivals” was of full size. -After the curtain fell I went to my hotel, packed my bag and hurried to -the station; I had almost two hours to spare, but there are times when -the station is more interesting than the hotel. Soon Charlie Jefferson -stumbled over me and took me back to the company’s car, where I had -supper with the entire cast. - -My train was due about an hour after midnight and as I rose to make my -adieux, Mr. Jefferson looked kindly down on me, took me by the ear and -said, in his own inimitable plaintive manner, - -[Illustration: “I Seized My Bag and Hurried to a Hotel.”] - -“Friends, I want you to look at this little scoundrel. He comes up here -from New York; we entertain him; we dine him for three hours, he queers -our house, yet gets a big fee for his own work. We again entertain him -for hours by giving a “Rival” show, and yet he is not satisfied without -taking my life”—with this he handed me a beautifully bound book, “Memoirs -of Joseph Jefferson,” with the inscription in the fly-leaf, “Presented -to my little friend, Marshall P. Wilder.” - -Everybody tells stories of Jefferson’s absent-mindedness, and he -sometimes tells them himself. I can venture to repeat two which he -himself has told. A friend of young Joe was making a long visit at Mr. -Jefferson’s house, so the comedian saw him at the table every day for a -fortnight. One evening young Joe took his friend to the Player’s Club, -in New York. The elder Jefferson was there, and on being reminded of the -young man’s presence he said cordially, - -“My boy, I’m very glad to meet you. Why don’t you come up and see us? Do -come and make me a visit.” - -But here is Jefferson’s star story against himself. - -“I was in a down-town office building in New York, a few years ago, and -when I entered the elevator a short stout gentleman with a cigar in his -fingers spoke to me, saying, - -“‘How do you do, Mr. Jefferson?’ - -“‘I am very glad to see you,’ I replied. He continued, - -“‘You don’t know me, do you, Mr. Jefferson?’ - -“‘Well, really, you must pardon me, but your face is quite familiar but -your name has escaped my memory.’ - -“‘My name is Grant,’ he said quietly, with a twinkle in his eye. I got -out at the next floor; I was so afraid I might ask him if he had been in -the war.” - -But there is no accounting for absent-mindedness. Charles Wyndham, the -English comedian, tells of an enthusiastic hunter, a man who thought of -nothing else. One morning his wife saw him leaving the house and asked: - -“Where are you going?” - -“Hunting,” was the reply. - -“But where is your gun?” - -“Bless me! I was sure I had left something behind.” - -Regarding sunny-hearted actors, it is well to remember that they too -have troubles peculiarly their own, and one of the worst is to have an -impulse where only solemnity is in order. Nat Goodwin who has been making -audiences laugh for the last thirty years and I “took” a certain degree -of masonry together, and as all masons know, the proceedings were quite -as solemn as a church ceremony. Taking the degree with us was a worthy -German, whose hold on the English language was both weak and spasmodic, -as was manifested when it became our duty to repeat certain obligations, -sentence or sentences after an officer of the lodge. Both Goodwin and I -were fully impressed by the gravity of the occasion, yet we could not -help hearing that German; he had a dialectic utterance that would have -driven a Philadelphia vaudeville audience wild with delight and although -he caught the sense of all the responses required of us, he unconsciously -repeated many of them backward according to the constructive forms of the -German language. - -Goodwin and I knew it would be an unpardonable breach of decorum, as -bad as laughing aloud in church in prayer time, if we gave way to our -feelings. I bit my lips till they bled. Nat, less conventional, tried -to stow his entire handkerchief in one side of his mouth, while he -voiced the responses from the other. We had almost got full control of -ourselves; the beautiful and impressive service was almost over, but -when the oath was required, that engaging German repeated it backward. I -yelled; Goodwin had a spasm—almost a fit. - -To square ourselves, required a dinner for the entire lodge, and Goodwin -and I were the hosts. - -This was not the only scrape I was in with Nat Goodwin. During the -bicycle craze of a few years ago, when wheels were as numerous at any -good road-house as free-ticket beggars at a theatre, Nat and I met at -the Casino, in McGowan’s Pass, Central Park, and he asked me to wait for -him, so that we might ride home together. We found many acquaintances -about the tables, remained till after dark and then started homeward -on bicycles without lamps. We had not expected to be out after sunset. -At that time the law was very stringent and rightly so, about lights on -bicycles, so I urged haste. Luckily I had many friends among the Park -Police; they knew I was not a “scorcher” and that I had proper respect -for my own life, so they kindly looked aside as we passed. But Nat—well -they probably had seen him on the stage again and again and been the -better for it, but actors don’t wear their stage clothes and wigs and -paint when they go bicycling, so none of the officers recognized him. At -a turn of the road we came upon a policeman who didn’t know me either, -and he shouted—“Here you fellows—stop!” I don’t believe I am a slippery -chap, but I slipped past that officer before he could touch my wheel, but -alas for poor Nat! he didn’t. I did not remain to hear the conversation, -for I knew I could not make any useful addition to it. Goodwin was to -play the next night in Boston, so I expected to see a “scare head” -story in the morning paper about his arrest. But fortunately while he -was reasoning with the policeman, a friend came along in a carriage and -succeeded in rescuing Nat and his bicycle from the clutches of the law. - -I wish the carriage had been mine for Nat Goodwin has come to my -rescue more than once. I recall one of the (London) Green-room Club’s -annual dinners, which Nat and I attended. It was given at the Crystal -Palace; Mr. Bancroft—“Squire” Bancroft, “Squire” being his name and not -a title—Mr. Bancroft was in the chair. About the middle of the evening -a four cornered discussion between Sir Augustus Harris, Henry Arthur -Jones, Henry Pettit and Comyns-Carr, all good fellows, became so heated -that something had to be done to restore quiet, so Chairman Bancroft in a -suave, diplomatic manner of which he has a mastery, arose and said, - -[Illustration: “I Slipped Past, But Alas for Poor Nat, He Didn’t!”] - -“Gentlemen, we’re here to-night for a good time. Let’s quarrel -to-morrow. I take great pleasure in calling upon our American friend, Mr. -Marshall P. Wilder.” - -I arose, but the excitement had got all around the tables; my job was too -big for me, and I could not raise a laugh. - -As I dropped into my chair, the chairman called upon Mr. Goodwin. Nat got -up; he began gently to spray oil on the troubled waters; then he drizzled -it; showered it and finally poured it on by the tub full until he got the -entire assemblage laughing and saved the day. I mean the night. - -Some actors produce sunshine, that is, laughter, by direct means, others -indirectly and by inversion. George Leslie and Wilton Lackaye are to -the point, for Leslie is an optimist and “jollier,” while Lackaye is -sarcastic. One day Lackaye said to Leslie: “The only difference between -you and me is that you bless people and things and I damn them—and -neither of us is on the level.” - -At a dinner at the Lambs’ Club, Lackaye bet Burr McIntosh that Burr would -“make a break” nine times out of ten in whatever he did, and he added, -“McIntosh, I’ll let you select the times.” It was amusing to hear Lackaye -say, at the beginning of every dinner,—“Burr, that bet still goes.” I -believe it has not yet been decided. - -But Lackaye is best when telling a joke against himself. While he was a -member of the Daly Company, he said: - -“Miss Ada Rehan is a charming lady, and I’ve always considered her a -great comedienne—a creative one. At rehearsal one day we were standing -aside and chatting, the scene not being ours and I asked off-hand, - -[Illustration: “How Long Would it Take You to Like Me?”] - -“‘Are you a quick study?’ - -“‘Oh, yes, very,’ she replied. I looked at her doubtingly and asked, - -“‘How long do you think it would take you to like me?’ - -“‘Present?—or absent?’ she asked. That floored me.” - - - - -XXIV - -SUNSHINE IS IN DEMAND - - Laughter Wanted Everywhere.—Dismal Efforts at Fun.—English - Humor.—The Difference Between Humor and Wit.— Composite - Merriment.—Carefully Studied “Impromptus.”—National Types of - Humor.—Some Queer Substitutes for the Real Article.—Humor is - Sometimes “Knocked Out,” Yet Mirth is Medicine and Laughter - Lengthens Life. - - -Perhaps the reason that the true jester is always sunny of heart and -manner is that his output is always in demand. Busy though his wits and -tongue may be, the demand always exceeds the supply. Laughter, like gold, -is never a drug on the market, and, as is true regarding gold, people -will endure some frightful substitutes rather than go without it. In -countries that have no real fun in them—and there are such countries, -the people insist on having laughter provided for them, even if they -must depend on the public executioner to do it. It is said that in some -Asiatic countries the people become wildly mirthful at the contortions of -a criminal’s body from which the head has just been severed; as to that, -there are solemn Americans—men who would think it sinful to smile at a -comedy, who almost split their sides with laughter over the floppings of -a beheaded chicken. - -[Illustration: “Split their sides with laughter over the flapping of a -beheaded chicken.”] - -As to that, I assert on my honor that I have seen Englishmen laugh over -the pages of _Punch_ and Frenchmen roused gleefully by a copy of _Le -Petit Journal Pour Rire_, though both papers seem as dismal, to the -average American, as an old-fashioned German on the doom of the finally -impenitent. According to competent judges the best thing that ever -appeared in _Punch_ was a poem on the death of Abraham Lincoln, which -was not exactly a laughing matter. Yet the English are a good-natured -people, and full of laughter. Sometimes it takes them a lot of time -to get off a laugh, but, when the climax is really reached, the sound -resembles an Indian war-whoop tangled up in a thunder-storm. They don’t -take their pleasure sadly, for there are no more cheery-faced people -in the world, but their joke-makers are not successful when at work on -serious subjects. _Punch_ was never more popular than during the recent -war in South Africa, when the greatest and best nation in Europe was -being humiliated in plain sight of all the world by a few thousand Boers, -not one in ten of whom ever fired a shot. It made me almost wish I could -be an Englishman, just to see where the fun came in, for it was plain to -see that it came. - -But, to get back to my subject, every healthy man likes to laugh; -therefore he likes whoever will make him laugh. Ella Wheeler Wilcox -voiced a great truth when she wrote “Laugh, and the world laughs with -you.” Men are so fond of laughing that they will endure nine wormy -chestnuts, badly served, if the tenth effort produces the genuine thing. -Much of the best fun comes by accident; that is, from incongruity. Two of -the few immortal figures of humorous literature—Don Quixote and Sancho -Panza, owe their existence to this double motif; in the knight, by -idealized chivalry being put down among pigs and kitchen wenches; while -the persistent coarseness and vulgarity of his squire are thrown into -juxtaposition with the chivalry and splendor of lords and ladies. - -Every soul, man and woman, as well as many who are not, tries to provoke -smiles, but not one in a thousand succeeds; as for those who actually -create new humor, their name may be called on the fingers of two hands. -Almost all humorists, whether amateur or professional, get no further -than to evolve variations of old forms and climaxes, but what does it -matter so long as they compel a laugh? At this sort of thing Americans -beat the world. A cook who can serve a dozen different soups from one -kettle is a bungler when compared with the American joker. - -Mark Twain says there are only seven original jokes in existence and he -ought to know, yet out of them has come an output that is incomparable, -in proportion, except to the evolution of the entire English language, by -varying the changes on the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. - -The demand for laugh-making gives employment to many who might otherwise -be in far worse business. These men are the founts of inspiration for the -newspapers and the stage. The press and the footlights are ever clamoring -for new fun and numberless are the attempts to supply the demand and -incidentally utilize it in the form of cold cash. This stimulus has -produced the humorist pure and simple, the paragrapher, the comic -versifier, the compounder of burlesque and the maker of witty dialogue -to spice the works of serious playwrights. There is also the humorous -artist; when there isn’t, there can always be found half a dozen tipsters -who can’t draw a line unless they have a yardstick to help them but who -have enough funny concepts on tap (and for sale) to make fame and money -for all the artists in the land. - -The clever impromptu you hear in a vaudeville sketch, the delicious eight -line dialogue you chuckle over in the morning paper, the flashing contest -of wit you enjoy in a society drama often represent the labor, not of one -but of a half dozen intellects trained to the elaboration of humorous -conceits. - -If all the humor which appears daily in print and on the stage could -be clipped and put into scrap-books, it would fill forty large volumes -in a year, yet nine-tenths of it—yes nine hundred and ninety-nine one -thousandth would consist of variations of old facts, personalities, -situations and plays upon words. - -[Illustration: “The latest _jeux d’esprit_ of Chinatown.”] - -Besides all these clever fellows and their works, there are specialists -in many other lines. Even a language serious enough in itself, may be so -twisted as to make people laugh, especially if the twist can be nicknamed -“dialect”; so we have the purveyor of German humor (so called) the -manufacturer of Irish “bulls,” the sedlac of French jokes, the broker in -Italian bon-mots, and a few days ago I heard of a cosmopolitan individual -with a high sounding Celt-Iberian name, who offered to supply a prominent -comedian with the latest humor of Portugal and Brazil. I don’t doubt -that before long some enterprising Mongolian will be trotting around -among vaudeville managers with a stock of the latest _jeux d’esprit_ of -Chinatown, Canton, and Hong-kong, or that some one will put them in good -enough shape to make people laugh. Good luck to them, for after all, the -laugh is the thing. No one joke will be equally amusing to everybody, -for each person has his own ideas of fun. For instance on a sunny Sunday -afternoon in the country, a lot of good healthy minded folks will munch -red winter apples and gather round the piano and sing “Happy Day,” and -other Sunday-school songs, and look as full of fun as any comedian’s -audience. And the grab-bag at the church fair! Around it there is more -fun visible in human faces, than some great men get out of the cleverest -jokes ever cracked. There is no end to fun, no more than there is to the -melodies that keep rising, like birds from the eight keyed home of song, -that octave that reaches from “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay” to “Tannhäuser.” - -And there is no need of it all, for “mirth is medicine and laughter -lengthens life.” That is what my good friend Colonel Robert Ingersoll -wrote under his picture which adorns my wall. The Colonel was one of -us entertainers, though not professionally. Our merry champion he! The -spirit of his tender epigram seems to haunt the dim twilight ways of men, -looking with cheery solicitude for those who are weary, to take them by -the hand and tell them tales full of dawn and breaking day, and rush -of rosy life in rising sun. It stands on the side of light and love -along the paths where flowers bloom and birds are glad in song. And it -is needed, for from the start, there has been a fight between merriment -and misery and the latter has its stout advocates. The gloomster and the -jester have ever been sparring for paints and sometimes the jester has -gone down under swinging right-handers; then, something that its enemies -call Puritanism, probably because it hates all purity not of its own -peculiar brand, has clapped its hands, all smeared with brimstone, until -you could see the blue flames of the place that Ingersoll said didn’t -exist. - - - - -XXV - -“BILL” NYE - - A Humorist of the Best Sort.—Not True to His Own Description - of Himself.—Everybody’s Friend.—His Dog “Entomologist” and - the Dog’s Companions.—A Man With the Right Word for Every - Occasion.—His Pen-Name was His Own.—Often Mistaken for a - Distinguished Clergyman.—Killed by a Published Falsehood. - - -In one respect entertainers closely resemble preachers;—they greatly -enjoy listening to the greater members of their own profession. -Consequently, I never lost a chance to listen to Bill Nye, and I worship -the memory of him as he was—a gentle yet sturdy and persistent humorist -of so good a sort, that he never could help being humorous, no matter how -uncongenial the surroundings. Although he saw hundreds and thousands of -chances of hitting other men so hard that the hurt would last forever, he -dropped every one of them and trampled them so hard that they never dared -show their faces again. He was an apostle of the Golden Rule, which he -exemplified in himself, so there never was a sting in his jokes; gentle -raillery was the sweetest thing he ever attempted, and even this he did -with so genial a smile and so merry an eye, that a word of his friendly -chaffing was worth more than a cart-load of formal praise. - -I speak what I do know, for he and I were close friends for many years -before his untimely death, and he was so solicitous for my welfare and -comfort, that after he had played father and mother to me successfully, -he couldn’t help going on till he had become my grandfather and -grandmother, as well as a number of sisters and cousins and aunts. - -I don’t believe he ever had an enemy but himself, and he injured himself -only by his peculiarities of self-description. Any one reading his -humorous articles would imagine him an undersized scrawny backwoods -invalid with an irritable disposition and an unquenchable thirst for -something else than water. In reality he was a tall, broad-shouldered, -deep-chested, healthy, genial chap so in love with the mere fact of -living, that he took scrupulous care of himself in every way. He was as -abstemious as any clergyman who is not a total abstainer, and he never -lost his temper except when some deliberate scoundrelism was inflicted -upon him. He would go out of his way—a whole day’s journey out of his -way, with all the railway fares and other discomforts in such cases made -and provided,—to help a friend out of a sick bed or other trouble, and he -endured all the torments of a busy entertainer’s season on the road as -cheerfully, as if he were perpetual holder of the record for patience. - -People often wondered how he could go on year after year digging the -same kind of fun out the same old vein, but the secret was that he lived -right in the centre of that vein and was merely digging his way out of -it. He had a full assortment of polite commonplaces, and carried them -as gracefully as he did his full-dress clothes, but as soon as he got -well acquainted with a man—and it didn’t take him long to get inside of -any decent fellow’s waistcoat—he would talk in his characteristic droll -manner all day and seven days a week, and as much longer as they two -traveled together. - -As seriously as if he were talking of audiences or hotel tables or -railway nuisances, he told me a story of a dog he had owned. It was a -Dachshund, and Nye described him as two and a-half dogs long by one dog -high. He had named the animal “Entomologist,” because it was a collector -of insects. In fact, the dog lived up to his name so strenuously that -something had to be done. A friend suggested soaking the dog in kerosene, -saying, - -“If it doesn’t rid the dog of fleas, it will rid you of the dog.” - -So kerosene was tried and the dog passed away. After all was over -Bill felt so bad that he went out for a walk, which did him no good. -Returning home with dejected spirits and a sorrowing soul, he was smitten -afresh with remorse when he realized that there would be no little dog -awaiting him. But yes, surely there was something on the steps. Looking -closer he saw seven hundred fleas sitting there, and they all looked up -into his face as if to say, - -[Illustration: “He has named the animal ‘Entomologist.’”] - -“When are you going to get us another dog?” - -Few of the great world’s great dispatches contained so much wisdom in so -few words as Nye’s historic wire from Washington— - -“My friends and money gave out at 3 A. M.” - -He had an enviable faculty for suppressing annoyances in the course of -an entertainment—something more dreaded by any entertainer than a thin -house. In the course of one of his lectures in Minneapolis a late-comer -had some difficulty about his seat, and lingered inside the inner door -to voice some loud protestations. Of course every head in the audience -turned toward the door;—anything for a change, no matter how good a thing -has been provided. - -[Illustration: Lingered inside the inner door to voice some loud -protestations.] - -Nye endured the disturbance for some time; then he said politely but -icily, - -“This is a large auditorium, and a difficult one in which to hear, but -fortunately we are provided with a speaker at each end of the house.” It -is needless to say which speaker received attention after that. - -Mr. Nye was engaged to speak at Columbus, Ohio, in a newly-finished -church with which the minister and his flock were as well pleased as a -small boy with his first pair of trousers. So, in a short preliminary -and self-congratulatory address the minister referred to the church -edifice, called attention to its many details of architectural beauty and -convenience, and laid special stress on its new and improved system of -exits. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” drawled Nye a moment later, “I have appeared in a -great many cities, but this is the first time I have been preceded by any -one instructing the audience how to get out.” - -Every man has his special trouble, but Nye had two; one was the -reluctance of the public to believe that his pen name was his real name, -and the other was the persistency of some people at mistaking for another -fine fellow in a somewhat different public position—The Rev. Morgan Dix, -D. D., LL. D., Rector of Trinity Parish, New York. Mr. Dix’s stories are -as good as his sermons, which is saying a great deal, and Nye’s face when -in repose suggested a man who could preach a strong sermon of his own. -Nevertheless, it is awkward to be mistaken for any one but yourself. As -to his name, every one who heard of Bill Nye associated him mentally -with the oft-quoted person of the same name who first appeared in Bret -Harte’s poem “The Heathen Chinee,” and assumed that the humorist’s -professional name was assumed. The poor chap explained at length, through -a popular magazine, that he came honestly by his name, having been -christened Edgar William Nye and nicknamed “Bill” from his cradle, but to -his latest days he was besieged by autograph-hunters who asked for his -signature—“your real name, too, please.” - -This genial man of cleanly life and good habits was brutally slaughtered -by the public to whom for years he had given laughter and sunshine. -People throughout the country turned against him when they heard the -first breath of calumny. Without waiting to hear whether the story told -of him was true or false, “The Dear Public” treated him so meanly that it -crushed his spirit, sturdy, honest man though he was, broke his heart, -and caused his death within a year. - -It came about at Paterson, New Jersey, where he had been engaged to -deliver a lecture. He had been suffering greatly from insomnia, for which -expert medical direction he had taken a certain anodyne (non-alcoholic). -Before his evening nap preceding the lecture he may have taken an -overdose, or it may have worked slower than usual. Whatever the medical -cause—for he had taken nothing else, he was drowsy and slow of speech -on the platform. To make matters worse from the start, he tumbled over -a loose edge of carpet as he came before the audience; although very -near sighted, he had good professional precedents for disliking to wear -glasses on the platform, otherwise his eyes might have saved his feet. -But the succession of accident and manner impressed the audience wrongly. -When the lecture was over some rough characters who had been in the -audience followed Nye’s carriage to the railway, throwing eggs at it and -whooping like demons. - -Next morning almost all the New York papers published the report that Mr. -Nye had appeared before an audience the night before in an outrageously -intoxicated condition, and had been egged off the platform! Newspapers -are entirely at the mercy of the men whom they employ to collect news for -them; some which used the Paterson story were honest enough to publish -corrections afterward, but no correction is ever strong and swift enough -to catch up with a lie. What I have said regarding the causeless cause of -the untimely death of a humorist who can never be replaced is of my own -knowledge; I was very close to Mr. Nye in the last year of his life and -know what he thought and said. - -I also had a strange reminder of the night on which the story started. -Some of the audience had complained to the lecture committee that they -had not received their money’s worth, so it was decided to give another -lecture without charge, to make amends for the disappointment. I chanced -to be the man chosen to give the entertainment which was to apply salve -to the wounded pockets of that audience, though I did not know it at -the time. I did notice however, that the committee seemed to be “in a -state of mind” and urged me to do my best. It also seemed to me that, -metaphorically speaking, the entire audience had a chip on its shoulder; -still, I succeeded in pleasing it. - -After I had finished I learned that I had been selected to pacify the -very people whose ignorance, stupidity and folly had caused the death of -a good man who had been my friend. By a sad coincidence, it was on that -very day that dear Bill Nye was buried! - - - - -XXVI - -SOME SUNNY SOLDIERS - - General Sherman.—His Dramatic Story of a Trysting-place.—The - Battle of Shiloh Fought Anew.—Sherman and Barney - Williams.—General Russell A. Alger On War.—General Lew - Wallace.—The Room in Which He Wrote “Ben Hur.”—His Donkey - Story.—General Nelson A. Miles and Some of His Funny Stories.—A - Father Who Wished He Had Been a Priest. - - -Soldiers are popularly supposed to be the grimmest men in the world, -but I have found them a jolly lot, and the more prominent they were the -greater the assortment of fun in them. - -The first of the military profession whom I came to know well was General -Sherman, and I never had a kindlier or cheerier friend. He had no end of -good stories at his tongue’s end, and no one cared if they were funny -or serious when Sherman told them, for his manner was so earnest and -animated that it was a treat to listen to him and look at him. Besides -having a fluent tongue and a voice with no end of modulation, he talked -also with his eyes and all his features, his head, hands and shoulders. -It used to seem to me that a deaf man could understand all that Sherman -was saying. He was one of the few talkers who could interest all sorts -and conditions of hearers, from wise men and women, to simple boys and -girls. Speaking of girls, reminds me of a story that General Sherman told -one day at a dinner I attended with my friend Col. John A. Cockerill: - -“When I was driving one day with General Grant, I asked him what he -was going to have as a hobby, now that the war was over. He answered -promptly, ‘Horses,’ and continued, - -“‘What’s to be yours, Sherman?’ and I replied, - -“‘Oh, I’ll take the girls!’ My fondness for the fair sex seems to be -pretty well known, but I’m not ashamed of it; on the contrary, I’m very -proud of it, for I don’t know of any better company than nice girls of -all ages—say from a hundred minutes to a hundred years. My fondness for -them began early; why, when I was a mere boy I had a little sweetheart -down South of whom I was very fond. We used to take long walks in the -scented pine woods, and ride down the white ‘pikes’; but our favorite -spot—it became almost a trysting-place,—was a little hill on her father’s -plantation. No matter where we rode or walked, we were pretty sure to -find our way to that spot, for it commanded a view of all the country -round, yet it could scarcely be seen from the lower ground, for some -pine-trees screened it. - -“But this love idyl of mine came to naught, like many other boyish -affairs. I went to West Point, the girl married another fellow and the -next time I found myself in that part of the country was on the day of a -desperate battle. The enemy was pressing us closely, we were contesting -every step, yet losing ground, for lack of a good position for our -batteries. Trees were so numerous that it seemed impossible to find a -clearing or elevation from which the guns could be served to advantage. - -“Suddenly, in spite of a head full of business and trouble, for my aides -and other men’s aides were bringing me dismal reports, and things were -looking very dark, I realized where I was and remembered our beloved -knoll. My mind’s eye informed me that a more perfect position for field -artillery could not have been designed, for it commanded the surrounding -country to the full range of our guns. Yet for a moment I hesitated. It -seemed desecration, for I had absolute reverence for the ground which -that dear girl’s feet had often pressed. But—yes, war _is_ hell—my duty -at the moment was to the nation, so I turned to an aide, described the -knoll and told how the artillery could reach it. The batteries were soon -in position there, and, as most of the enemy were in the open beyond the -trees, they were quickly checked by a deadly fire, and we were saved.” - -This story was told as simply as I have repeated it, yet the manner of -telling affected all the listeners noticeably. Colonel Cockerill leaned -over me and whispered, - -“I’m going to write that story up some day, Marshall, so you be careful -to let it alone, and leave it to me.” - -I promised, but Cockerill’s untimely death prevented him doing it. -Besides, I have not attempted to “write it up.” - -Sherman’s pen was quite as descriptive as his tongue, as the following -letters to me will attest. One is on a subject on which he was very -sore—the oft repeated story that on the first day of the battle of -Pittsburg Landing, or Shiloh, our army was surprised and defeated. - - “_No. 75 West 71st St., New York, Jan. 1., 1890._ - - “DEAR MARSHALL:— - - “I thank you for sending me the printed paper containing the - observations and experiences of our friend Cockerill about the - battle of Shiloh or Pittsburg Landing, April 6 or 7, 1862. - Having leisure this New Year’s day, I have read every word of - it, and from his standpoint as a boy, four miles from the war, - where the hard fighting was done, his account was literally - true. His father (a noble gentleman) and I were fighting for - _time_ because our enemy for the moment outnumbered us, and we - had good reason to expect momentarily Lew Wallace’s division, - only six miles off, and Buell’s whole army, only twenty miles - away. By contesting every foot of ground, the enemy was checked - till night. Our reinforcements came on the 7th. We swept our - front and pursued a retreating enemy ten miles, and afterward - followed up to Corinth, Memphis, Vicksburg, etc., etc., to - the end. That bloody battle was fought April 6 and 7, 1862. - After we had actually driven our assailants back to Corinth, - twenty-six miles, we received the St. Louis, Cincinnati and - Louisville papers, that we were ‘surprised,’ bayonetted in our - beds (blankets on the ground) and disgracefully routed. - - “These reports we heard at the river bank, and from steamboats - under high pressure to get well away. And such is history. - - “In the van of every battle is a train of fugitives. We had at - the time 32,000 men, of which, say five or six thousand were at - the steamboat landing, but what of the others? A braver, finer - set of men never existed on earth. The reporters dwelt on the - fugitives, because they were of them, but who is to stand up - for the brave men at the front? - - “We had no reporters with us. Like sensible men they preferred - a steamboat bound for Paducah and Cincinnati, where they could - describe the battle better than we, who were without pen and - ink. - - “This to me, is straw already threshed, for we had fought this - battle on paper several times—a much more agreeable task than - to fight with bullets. - - “When in England some years ago, I was gratified to listen to - old veterans fighting Waterloo and Sebastopol over again. So, - I infer, our children will continue the fight of Shiloh long - after we are dead and gone. - - “Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am, - - “Sincerely yours, - - “W. T. SHERMAN.” - -[Illustration: “Preferred a Steamboat Bound for Paducah.”] - - “_75 W. 71st St., New York, Sept. 20, 1889._ - - “_Marshall P. Wilder, Esq., The Alpine, New York City._ - - “MY DEAR MARSHALL:— - - “I have now completed the first reading of the volume entitled, - ‘The People I’ve Smiled With,’ and according to promise, write - to assure you that it has afforded me unusual pleasure. I - feel the better at having smiled with you, with enjoying many - a happy laugh, and moved by its pathos; and as I infer you - will have occasion to amend and add other volumes in the same - strain, I venture to suggest, as to myself, page 211 should - read, ‘some years ago, down at the little village of Paducah, - Ky., the Seventieth Ohio reported to me. Cockerill was a - drummer boy in the regiment. His father was _the_ colonel, and - had got his education in Virginia, but was true to the nation. - That regiment was with me at Shiloh, where we stood a heavy - fire, and that is what made us staunch friends. He went ahead - right straight along, as he has been doing ever since. As the - sins of the father go down to the fourth generation, as the - Bible says, it is a comfort to realize that the virtues go down - _one_.’ - - “The stereotype plate can easily be changed to this, and it - would be more accurate and satisfactory to military readers. - - “Your anecdotes of after-dinner speakers, actors, actresses, - etc., etc., are most interesting, and soon may become historic. - I venture to add one which you can ‘stow away’ and use, or - _not_ according to your pleasure. - - “In January, 1872, I was with my two aides, Colonel Anderson - and Fred Grant, at the hotel Chauerain, Nice, when the servant - brought me a card ‘B. F. Williams, New York.’ I answered - ‘show him up.’ He soon entered my room, where I had a fire - on the hearth, and for some minutes we talked about the - weather, New York, etc.,—when he remarked: ‘General Sherman, - I don’t believe you recognize me. Possibly if I say I am - _Barney_ Williams, you will know me better.’ Of course I did, - and my greeting then was as hearty as he could have wished. - He had called to invite me to a dinner party at his villa, - which compliment I accepted for the next Sunday, and agreed - upon the guests, including our minister, Mr. Washburn, then - at Nice, James Watson Webb, Luther M. Kennet of St. Louis, - and others, and a more distinguished or congenial company - never assembled than did at that dinner. I must not, and - will not attempt descriptions, even as to our witty genial - host Barney Williams; all told stories of their personal - experiences, and the veteran, James Watson Webb, in his - grand and inimitable way, recounted his adventures when, in - 1824, he was a lieutenant at Fort Dearborn (now Chicago). He - traveled by night with a Sergeant of his Company, concealing - himself by day, to Rock Island, to notify the Garrison that - the Sioux and Foxes contemplated a surprise on their stockade - on an occasion of a ball play, in which the Indians intended - to massacre the whole garrison, which was prevented by this - notice. But I now come to the real anecdote of Barney Williams. - He narrated in his best style, his own early life as an - actor: that in Dublin he was very poor, and took his meals - at a cheap restaurant along with some fellows. Habitually - they were waited on by a servant, most prompt and obliging, - but who would periodically get on a bad spree. This occurred - about the time when the Catholic priest, Father Matthews, was - preaching the crusade against intemperance. These young actors - conspired to cure this servant, and laid their plot. Paddy - was absent several days, and their meals were served badly. - At last he made his appearance, eyes bunged, face flushed, - and the well-known symptoms of a big drunk. Whilst arranging - the table for breakfast, Barney Williams read from the - morning paper—‘Horrible! Most Horrible! Last night as Terence - O’Flanagan was lying on his bed, near which he had brought his - candle, which he tried to blow out, the flames followed the - fumes of the alcohol to his throat, and he died in terrible - agony, etc., etc.’ - - “‘What is that, sor? Please read it again,’ said Paddy. It - was read again with increased accent and additions. ‘Please - send for the Bible, mark on it the cross, and I will take the - pledge.’ The Bible was sent for and on it was marked the cross, - when Paddy placed his hand on the book, and pronounced the - pledge. - - “Never as long as he lived, when on a drunk, would he attempt - to blow out a candle. How far short of the reality seems the - effect of words spoken or written. Therein comes the part of - the drama, not the thing itself, but the nearest possible. - - “I have seen Dioramas, Cycloramas, Dramas, Plays, etc., of war - and its thousands of incidents. All fall short of the real - thing; but I wish to be understood as not discouraging any - honest effort to record the past, draw from it the lessons - which make us wise and better, and still more, to give such as - you, who make men, women and children happy and cheerful, when - otherwise they might be moping and unhappy. God bless you! - - “Sincerely your friend, - - “W. T. SHERMAN.” - -A battle story seems natural to follow any mention of General Sherman, -so here is one, given me one day, by General Russell A. Alger, Secretary -of War in President McKinley’s cabinet and also one of the best -story-tellers in the Union. I have always been as curious as any other -civilian regarding the feelings of a soldier going into battle and while -he is fighting. General Alger told me one day that he could not describe -it better than by repeating a little story. He said: - -During a religious conference at Detroit four ministers were my guests. -They, too, had wondered much about the sensations of the soldier in -battle, and one of them asked me if I did not think the glory in taking -part in great deeds, was a powerful stimulus causing soldiers to emulate -the great heroes of history. I replied: - -“Not at all.” - -Then they wanted to know what was the sentiment that took possession of -the soldier when he was actually fighting. I replied that three words, -only three, were frequently uttered by all classes of soldiers in the -thick of a fight, and these words fully indicate the soldier’s dominant -sentiment. - -In my division was a captain who was noted for religious life and extreme -orthodoxy in belief and conduct. He was a strong Sabbatarian and had -never been known to utter an oath, or even a mild word of the “cuss” -variety. I regarded him as a Miss Nancy sort of man and feared he would -be of no use in a battle, unless a quick and successful retreat might be -necessary. But one day, while a big battle was going on, I saw right in -the thickest of the fight, my mild mannered Captain waving his sword and -urging his men on in such splendid style that I could not help admiring -him! I rode up to compliment him, but when I got near him his language -made me smile. - -“Give ’em hell! Give ’em hell, boys!” he would yell after each volley—and -he did not vary his remarks. I couldn’t resist saying, - -“Captain, I’m really surprised at such language from you,—you, our most -religious soldier.” - -“Well, General,” he replied, “I’m saying just what I feel, and just what -I mean. Excuse me, but—business is business.” Then he waved his sword -again and repeated, “Give ’em hell, boys, give ’em hell—— Give ’em hell—— -Give ’em hell,” and gentlemen, those three words express the entire -sentiment of a soldier while he is in battle! And, religious though they -were, those three ministers looked as if they felt compelled to believe -me. - -One evening I stood at the landing of the grand staircase of General -Alger’s handsome residence at Detroit, looking down on a great social -gathering on the floor below. Great men and charming women, elegant -attires and animated faces combined to make a picture that I would not -have missed for anything, but somehow my thoughts persisted in running -in a contemplative groove, so I was not astonished when the general -tapped me on the shoulder and rallied me on standing apart and being very -quiet and serious. I replied, there were times when a professional funny -man found it hard to live up to his reputation when he chanced to find -himself alone and in a reflective mood. He not only understood me, but -spoke most sympathetically of the necessary fluctuations of a mercurial -temperament, and of the tendency of quicksilver to fall as quickly as it -mounts. - -Most truthfully did John G. Saxe, the humorous poet, write, “It’s a very -serious thing to be a funny man.” Real fun must be spontaneous. The -hostess who pounces upon me suddenly when the guests begin to yawn and -exclaims imploringly, “Oh, Mr. Wilder! _Do_ say something funny!” does -not realize that she sends the mercury down with a rush. - -Several times I have had the pleasure of meeting General Lew Wallace, -the distinguished soldier, author and diplomat. He served his country -gallantly in the Mexican War, when he was but twenty-one years of age, -and afterward did inestimable service in the Civil War; he has been -Governor of New Mexico, and American minister to Turkey, yet it is as the -author of “Ben Hur” that he is most widely known and loved by his own -country, as well as by Christian people of all nations, for his book has -been translated into almost every European tongue. - -When I was in New Mexico I visited the Spanish Palace at Santa Fé, which -was General Wallace’s residence during his governorship. The building was -erected in 1598, long before the Pilgrim Fathers and Captain John Smith -ever set foot on the Western Hemisphere, so it is one of the show places -of the American Continent, yet the greatest interest of every visitor is -the room in which “Ben Hur” was written. - -Like every other real man of affairs, General Wallace has a large sunny -side to his nature, and a gift for story-telling. I have listened to him -with huge delight. To repeat all his stories good enough to print would -crowd everything else out of my book, but here is one that I have often -recalled, and with a hearty laugh each time: - -In Stamboul, Turkey, lived a well-to-do native, named Ismail Hassan. He -did not have the imagination of Rider Haggard or the eloquence of some -Americans I could name, but he had a ready oriental wit that could always -be trusted to get him out of a tight place. A neighbor called on him one -day and wanted to borrow his donkey. Ismail made a low salaam and replied: - -“Neighbor, I am very sorry, but my boy started on the donkey an hour ago -for Scutari. By this time he is gaily trotting over the hills, far from -the sacred precincts of Stamboul.” - -Just as Ismail finished speaking a loud bray was heard from the stable, -which was under the same roof as the house. The neighbor exclaimed: - -“How now, friend Ismail? I heard your donkey bray.” - -Ismail protested that the neighbor’s ear had been deceived, and that the -noise was not a donkey’s bray. But the donkey, who was supposed to be -trotting toward Scutari, brayed again, brayed twice, and loudly, so the -neighbor cried, - -“Surely that is your donkey, Ismail. Allah be praised, I can now borrow -him.” But Ismail replied angrily, - -“Which do you believe is lying, the donkey or I?” - -The neighbor could not set up the word of a donkey against that of Ismail -Hassan, so he had to depart on foot. - -[Illustration: “Who Is Lying, the Donkey or I?”] - -Although it has been my rare luck to meet many great and prominent men, -I am frequently surprised anew that my first impression is of their -simplicity of manner and their lack of affectation. - -General Nelson A. Miles, until recently General-in-Chief of our Army, -was always of distinguished appearance. In his earlier days he was known -among the ladies in army circles as “Beauty Miles,” and his photograph -was in wild demand by young women at every military post in the west; -yet he was always as modest and approachable as any ordinary mortal, and -I am sure no American ever was more grateful for it than I, for I never -outgrew my boyhood’s adoration for soldiers. - -I gratefully remember Miles calling on me once when I was in Washington. -I ought to have been overcome by the honor, which certainly it was, but -he disarmed embarrassment by “droppin’ in” informally, head of the army -though he was, in ordinary civilian costume and with an old soft hat -on his head. On another occasion, when he chanced to be in New York, -he saw me standing in front of “The Alpine,” where I lived many years, -stopped and chatted with me for a full half hour. As we were on Broadway, -scores of men passed us every minute, and it was plain to see that many -of them knew who he was and gazed at him respectfully and admiringly, -yet no crowd collected and no one “rung in”; he was as little disturbed -as if we had been in the middle of a ten acre lot. I was so delighted -with the incident, with his manner and that of the people, that I asked -him in what other country of the world the head of the army could be so -unconventional and democratic. - -“Well, Marsh,” he replied, with a big smile of content, “that’s the -beauty of this country of ours—a man doesn’t have to be anything but -himself, or more than he wishes to be.” - -General Miles is loaded to the muzzle with good stories; he has so many -that he tells them in as few words as possible, so as to have time to -tell a lot of them. Here are some that he gave me one day in quick -succession. - -One Irishman bet another that he could drink a bottle of whiskey and not -stagger. The other Irishman covered the bet, and the first one won, by -going to bed and drinking the whiskey there. - -A darky approached a fish stand kept by another darky and asked: - -“Got any fresh fish?” - -“’Cose I has. What you tink I’ze sellin’? Shoes?” - -“Oh, I knows you’s sellin’ fish, but is dey fresh?” - -“’Cose dey’s fresh. Hyah!—quit smellin’ o’ dem fish!” - -“I ain’t smellin’ ’em.” - -“What you doin’, den?” - -“I’ze jus’ whisperin’ to ’em: dat’s all.” - -“An’ what you whisperin’ to dem fish?” - -“Oh, I’ze jus’ askin’ ’em how’s all dey’re relations dat dey lef’ in de -ocean.” - -“An’ what dey say?” - -“Dey say it’s so long since day seen ’em dat dey forgits.” - -An Irishman said: “Last night at two o’clock in the marnin’ whin I was -walkin’ up and down the flure wid me bare feet on the oil-cloth wid a -cryin’ child on aich arm, I cuddent help rememberin’ that me father -wanted me to be a priest. But I thought I knew better than he did!” - - - - -XXVII - -SOME FIRST EXPERIENCES - - When I was a Boy.—One Christmas Frolic.—How I Got on One - Theatre’s Free List.—My First Experience as a Manager.—Strange - Sequel of a Modest Business Effort.—My First Cigar and How - It Undid Me.—The Only “Drink” I Ever Took.—My First Horse in - Central Park.—I Volunteer as a Fifer in School Band, with Sad - Results to All Concerned. - - -Senator Jones of Nevada, whose stories have greater influence than some -other Senator’s speeches, tells of a professional “repeater” who on -election day voted early and late and often for the candidate of the -party which had employed him, but who, just before the polls closed, -begged permission to vote once the other ticket, which was that of his -own party. With similar spirit I, who have been filling a book with -mention of other people, want to record a few of my occasional doings. If -some of these seem insignificant, I can only explain, in Shakespeare’s -words, “A poor thing, but mine own.” - -My memory goes back to the day I was baptized, but the first Christmas I -can recall—and Christmas is the small boy’s largest day, dawned when I -was seven years old. My father and I had lived together as bachelors, -so two aunts were the only mothers I ever knew. They lived at Wolcott, -New York; together they owned a full dozen of children, and every boy and -girl was healthy and full of fun. I always spent Christmas with them, -and the first of these holidays I recall is still vivid in my mind, -for I upset the whole town. My cousins and I exhausted our collective -repertoires of mischief on the day before Christmas; children are usually -“too serious.” Suddenly I conceived the idea of disguising myself and -discovering how it would feel to be somebody else. - -So I blacked my face and in other ways hid my identity until even the -family dog failed to recognize me. Then I practiced on several neighbors, -not one of whom succeeded in seeing more than skin-deep. Thus encouraged, -I called on a young lady of whom I was very fond—and let me remind my -readers that a seven-year old boy’s adoration is more whole-hearted, -unselfish and intense than that of chaps who are from ten to twenty years -older. - -Well, I knocked at her door, after dark, intending to ask for something -to eat. She herself opened the door, holding a lamp aloft, to see who the -caller might be. Forgetting my disguise, I sprang toward her, after the -manner of seven-year old lovers. She shrieked, dropped the lamp—which -fortunately went out, and fled down several steps to the kitchen. Her -cry of alarm startled a large bulldog, whose existence I had forgotten, -but whose voice I recognized as he said distinctly, in dog lingo, “I’m -after you.” I took to my heels and ran homeward; he was handicapped by a -door that had to be opened for him but I had barely got within my room -door when he struck it with the impact of a cart-load of rocks and a roar -which I can recall whenever I least want to. - -[Illustration: “Struck it with the impact of a cart-load of rocks.”] - -In my fright I confessed all and was sent to bed in disgrace. But I -remained awake, for it was Christmas eve, and I had resolved to learn -whether Santa Claus was the real thing. I got up at four o’clock, -went down-stairs, but not a thing did I find. So I went back to bed, -overslept, missed the prologue, and the others had the laugh on me. But -I was round in time for the distribution of gifts, and as it was a case -of twelve to one, all the cousins giving me presents, I felt that but for -the dog incident I had got even with this first Christmas I can recall. - -While I was a schoolboy at Rochester I was very fond of the theatre and -used to “take in” every show that came to town. Generally this cost me -nothing, although I was not on the manager’s complimentary list. I would -assist Janitor William Halloway light up old Corinthian Hall, where -almost all attractions appeared; then after making a pretense of going -home, I would conceal myself in the darkest part of the house I could -find. This was easy to do, for I was very short; when the performance was -about to begin I would bob up serenely, and no one would question me. - -My first public appearance on any stage was back of our old house on -North Fitzhugh Street, in a barn which my father never used. So some of -my schoolmates and I turned the loft into a theatre. We rigged a stage -with scenery and arranged for the lighting by making an opening in the -roof. Pins were the only kind of currency accepted at the box-office, and -I “in my time played many parts”; I would sell tickets at the lower door, -keep children waiting to make them believe a great crowd was up-stairs, -then I would hurry to the upper door, take the tickets and seat the -holders wherever they would see best, if girls, where they would look -best. My duties did not end here, for I was stage manager and appeared -at every performance in various characters, so I honestly believe the -audience got its money’s worth. - -My first business venture was in the peddling line; most boys have -longings in that direction, but I was one of the few that persisted -in spite of all opposition at home and elsewhere. I went from house -to house with a basket of things which I was sure would be desired by -housekeepers. The results were not as satisfactory as I had expected, -housekeepers didn’t really know how much they needed the articles I -displayed and explained, yet I got some lessons that have made me a -lifelong sympathizer with venders, book agents, canvassers, etc., for I -recall distinctly the sensation of having doors closed in my face with -some such remark as “Oh, get out of here; we don’t want any.” - -On one occasion I rang the bell of a house on Thirty-fourth Street, -near Park Avenue, New York. When the maid opened the door two lovely -little girls peeped from the fold of her dress and exchanged wondering -remarks about “the funny little man.” I offered my wares; the maid said -she would see the mistress. The little girls remained, we began to “make -friends” and had reached the degree of confidence at which names and ages -are compared. The maid returned to say that the mistress did not care to -buy, but was sorry for me and had sent me a nickel. Being proud as well -as poor, my impulse was to refuse the coin, but I put it in my pocket, -saying I would keep it for luck (which it seemed to bring me). Years -afterward at a Lambs’ Club dinner a prominent judge said to me, “Mr. -Wilder, I want you to meet my wife and daughters. Will you dine with us -next Wednesday evening?” - -I accepted, but when I climbed the steps of the house something compelled -my memory to run backward and when I entered the drawing-room and was -presented to the wife and charming daughters of my host it became clear -to me that these were the kind-hearted people of long ago—the two little -girls who had made friends with “the funny little man,” and the good lady -who was sorry for me and sent me a nickel. - -I am not a smoker, but I did try a cigar once, and this first cigar -is one of my lifelong memories. I encountered this cigar at a dinner -given at the Hotel Astoria by the Aborigines Club. The decorations were -appropriate in the extreme, the walls being hung with Indian blankets, -war bonnets, bows and arrows and many other reminders of the noble red -man. The central ornament of the large round table was a small Indian -tepee, or tent, in which I, in the full regalia of an Indian brave, -was stored before the guests arrived. At a signal given by Col. Tom -Ochiltree, after the club and its guests were seated, I lighted a cigar; -it was necessary for artistic verisimilitude that smoke could issue from -the top of the tepee, and it would not be proper at the beginning of a -dinner, for the smoke to be from anything not fragrant. Well, I never -hesitated to try anything new, so the smoke went up, but soon afterward -I went down—and out. The tepee began to dance; I felt smothered, and -without waiting for the signal for my formal and stately appearance I -threw open the flap, staggered about the table and saw the forty diners -multiply into a hundred and fifty, all of whom engaged in erratic and -fantastic gyrations. General Miles who was one of the guests, caught me -as I was about to fall from the table. I was carried to another room -and put to bed in a dejected state of mind and with a wet towel about -my head. It was literally a case of “Lo, the poor Indian.” Such is the -history of my first, and—heaven help me—my last cigar. - -[Illustration: “I threw open the flap and staggered about the table.”] - -Although a total abstainer from spirituous liquors—for I can get as -lively on cold water as any other man can on whiskey, I have to my credit -or discredit, one single “drink.” It was on a railway train, going from -Liverpool to London, that I was tempted; unlike Adam and many drunkards, -I cannot say “the woman tempted me,” for it was a party of good fellows -with whom I was traveling. As is generally known, European sleeping cars -are divided into compartments—one for men and the other for women. Toward -bedtime a flask of something stronger than water was passed—they called -it “a nightcap”; all but I drank from it; I declined when invited, but -when some one “dared” me to take a drink it was too much for my pride, -so I yielded. There is a story of an Irishman who said to another, - -“Have a drink, Moike?” - -“No, Oi’ve just had wan.” - -“Well, have another. Ye can’t fly wid wan wing.” - -I believed this assertion, for I was so exhausted by what I had swallowed -that I soon made flying leaps from one berth to another and in other -ways so conducted myself as to elicit shouts of laughter from the other -men; our party became so noisy that the ladies in the next compartment -got into a state of extreme indignation, rapped angrily on the wall, and -sent the guard to us with frenzied appeals for silence. The effect of my -physical condition was not so disastrous as that of my first cigar, but -I caused as much disturbance as a man with a “load” which he should have -made two trips for, and I was so grateful that matters were no worse that -I resolved that my first drink should also be my last. - -My first horse was another man’s. On the site of Hammerstein’s Theatre -of Varieties used to be a stable, whose proprietor was so kind to me, -when I was a New York schoolboy, that I used to spend much of my spare -time there. He owned a little black mare which he allowed me to ride in -Central Park. Her age and pedigree were unknown; some men said she had -been in the Civil War; others dated her back to the Mexican War; she -ought to have been in both for she was full of fighting blood, indicated -by defiant waves of a little flag-like tail. I could not possibly fall -off, for her back sloped into a natural cradle; her hips and shoulders -would have made fine vantage points for wireless telegraphy. Her manner -was distinguished by severe dignity, and her walk was slow and stately; -nothing could urge her out of it, but occasionally of her own free will -she would break into a decorous trot for two or three minutes. She was a -capital illustration of Milton’s idea of the female will:— - - “When she will, she will, you may depend on’t: - And when she won’t she won’t, and there’s the end on’t.” - -When she thought she had gone far enough she would calmly disregard any -opinion I might have on the subject and return to the stable. I was much -like the Irishman who drove a mule up and down a street, backward and -forward, until a friend asked: - -“I say, Moike, where are ye goin’?” - -“How should I know? Ask the mule.” - -I must have been the cause of much amusement to beholders as I nestled in -the depression of that animal’s back. A facetious Park policeman once -hailed me with, - -“Say, young fellow? Why don’t you get off and get inside?” - -My first appearance as a musician was while I was in a primary school -“annex” in the basement of a church which stood where the New Amsterdam -Theatre now is. The teachers were so indulgent to me that I gave loose -rein to my inclination toward practical joking, and I became an element -of mischief which kept that school in a wild but constant ferment. One -of the teachers planned a juvenile fife-and-drum corps and requested all -boys who could perform on either instrument to step forward. I improved -the opportunity to join the fifers, although I could not play a note. In -time we made a creditable band; I stood next a boy who played well, and -followed his motions industrially, though “faking” all the while. This -went on a long time, to the huge delight of the boys who were in the -secret; the teacher did not suspect me. - -But the end came one day, in the presence of distinguished visitors. -The fifers were few; the one I had imitated had remained at home, so I -shook in my shoes when the corps was called on for music. The teacher, -who was at the piano, missed the customary volume of sound, and looked -searchingly at me. When she told me to stand beside her I knew my doom -was sealed; I had never professed to be a soloist anyhow. But before I -became officially dead I would have some more fun, and play the joke to -the end. My short stature brought my instrument about to the level of -the teacher’s ear, from which position I let off at intervals a piercing -blast which made that poor woman jump as if a wasp had stung her. I -knew what was coming, after the visitors went, so beside having fun I -was getting my revenge in advance. It is said that when Nemesis catches -up with a man he feels her hand on his shoulder, but it was not on my -shoulder that the hand of fate, represented by that teacher, was felt, -for those were the good old days of corporal punishment in the public -schools—the days when an offended teacher could flog a pupil as long as -her strength lasted. - -If these recollections do not please, at least I am at a safe distance, -like the man who sent a poem in to Eugene Field, entitled, “Why Do I -Live?” Field replied, “Because you sent your poem by mail.” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Wilder</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Sunny Side of the Street</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Marshall P. Wilder</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Bart Haley and Charles Graham</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 5, 2021 [eBook #65520]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET ***</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h1>The Sunny Side of the Street</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;"> -<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="375" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">PHOTOGRAPH BY MARCEAU, NEW YORK</p> -<p class="caption"><i>Merrily Yours</i></p> -<p class="caption"><i>Marshall P. Wilder</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">THE SUNNY SIDE<br /> -OF THE STREET</p> - -<p class="titlepage">BY<br /> -MARSHALL P. WILDER<br /> -<span class="smaller"><i>Author of “People I’ve Smiled With”</i></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">WITH TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS BY BART HALEY<br /> -AND COVER DECORATION BY<br /> -CHARLES GRAHAM</p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 250px;"> -<img src="images/funk-wagnalls.jpg" width="250" height="175" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY<br /> -NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> -1905</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright, 1905, by<br /> -FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY</p> - -<p class="center smaller">[<i>Printed in the United States of America</i>]</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Published, June, 1905</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Affectionately Dedicated<br /> -To<br /> -My Father</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE</h2> - -</div> - -<p>In this little volume are offered recollections -of the sunny side of many people. I have -plucked blossoms from the gardens of humor and -pathos, which lie side by side, and in weaving -them into a garland, claim only as my own the -string that binds them together.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sunshine and Fun</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#I">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">The Sunny Side of the Street.—Jests and Jesters.—The - Force of a Joke.—Lincoln’s Way.—Kings - and Their Joke-makers.—As They do - It in Persia and Ireland.—“Chestnuts.”—Few - Modern Jesters but no End of Jokers.—Entertainers - and Their Ways.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sunny Men of Serious Presence</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#II">31</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Richard Croker.—A Good Fellow and Not - Hard to Approach, if One is not in Politics.—Croker - as a Haymaker.—Does not Keep - Opinions on Tap.—He and Chauncey Depew - on New York City Politics.—Croker Bewilders - a London Salesman.—His Greatest Pride.—Recorder - Goff.—Not as Severe as His Acts.—Justice - Tempered With Mercy.—Two Puzzling - Cases.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">At the White House and Near It</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#III">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">My Prophecy to “Major” McKinley.—President - McKinley Becomes “One of the Boys” of My - Audience; His Attention to His Wife.—How - He Won a Vermont City.—A Story of the - Spanish War.—My First Meeting with President - Harrison.—A Second and More Pleasing - One.—A Chance Which I Gladly Lost.—Some - of President Harrison’s Stories.—I Led a Parade - Given in His Honor.—Vice-Presidents - Morton and Hobart.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Story-Telling as an Art</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IV">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Different Ways of Story-Telling.—The Slow - Story-Teller.—Lincoln’s Stories.—Bad Telling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> - of Good Stories.—The Right Way to Tell a - Story.—The Humorous, the Comic and the - Witty Story.—Artemus Ward, Robert J. Burdette - and Mark Twain as Story-Tellers.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Actors’ Jokes</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#V">68</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">All of Them Full of Humor at All Times.—“Joe” - Jefferson.—J. K. Emmett.—Fay Templeton.—Willie - Collier.—An Actor’s Portrait - on a Church Wall.—“Gus” Thomas, the Playwright.—Stuart - Robson.—Henry Dixey.—Evans - and Hoey.—Charles Hoyt.—Wilson - Barrett.—W. S. Gilbert.—Henry Irving.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Sunny Old City</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VI">81</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Some Aspects of Philadelphia.—Fun in a Hospital.—“The - Cripple’s Palace.”—An Invalid’s - Success in Making Other Invalids Laugh.—Fights - for the Fun of Fighting.—My Rival - Friends.—Boys Will Be Boys.—Cast Out of - Church.—A Startling Recognition.—Some - Pleasures of Attending Funerals.—How I - Claimed the Protection of the American Flag.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">My First Trip to London</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VII">93</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Large Hopes <i>vs.</i> Small Means.—At the Savage - Club.—My First Engagement.—Within an - Ace of Losing It.—Alone in a Crowd.—A - Friendly Face to the Rescue.—The New York - Welcome to a Fine Fellow.—One English Way - With Jokes.—People Who are Slow to Laugh.—Disturbing - Elements.—Cold Audiences.—Following - a Suicide.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Experiences in London</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VIII">108</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Customs and Climate Very Unlike Our Own.—No - Laughter in Restaurants.—Clever Cabbies.—Oddities - in Fire-Fighting.—The “Rogue’s - Gallery.”—In Scotland Yard.—“Petticoat - Lane.”—A Cemetery for Pet Dogs.—“Dogs - Who Are Characters.”—The Professional Toast-Master.—Solemn - After-dinner Speakers.—An - Autograph Table-cloth.—American Brides of - English Husbands.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“Luck” in Story-Telling</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IX">121</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">The Real Difference Between Good Luck and - Bad.—Good Luck with Stories Presupposes a - Well-stored Memory.—Men Who Always Have - the Right Story Ready.—Mr. Depew.—Bandmaster - Sousa’s Darky Stories.—John Wanamaker’s - Sunday-School Stories.—General - Horace Porter’s Tales That go to the Spot.—The - Difference Between Parliament and Congress.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Journalists and Authors</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#X">133</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Not all Journalists are Critics, Nor are all - Critics Fault-finders.—The Most Savage - Newspapers not the Most Influential.—The Critic’s - Duty.—Horace Greeley.—Mark Twain’s - First Earnings.—A Great Publisher Approached - by Green Goods Men.—Henry Watterson.—Opie - Reid.—Quimby of the “Free Press.”—Laurence - Hutton, Edwin Booth and I in - Danger Together.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Unexpected</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XI">146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Robert Hilliard and I and a Dog.—Hartford’s - Actors and Playwrights.—A Fit that Caused a - Misfit.—A Large Price to Hear a Small Man.—Jim - Corbett and I.—A Startled Audience.—Captain - Williams and “Red” Leary.—“Joe” - Choate to the Rescue.—Bait for a Dude.—Deadheads.—Within - an Inch of Davy Jones.—Perugini - and Four Fair Adorers.—Scanlon and - Kernell.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sunshine in Shady Places</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XII">164</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">On Blackwell’s Island.—Snakes and Snake - Charmers.—Insane People as Audiences.—A - Poorhouse That was a Large House.—I am - Well Known by Another Profession.—Criminals - are Not Fools.—Some Pathetic Experiences.—The - Largest Fee I Ever Received.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“Buffalo Bill”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIII">177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">He Works Hard But Jokes Harder.—He and - I Stir Up a Section of Paris.—In Peril of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> - Mob.—My Indian Friends in the Wild West - Company.—Bartholdi and Cody.—English Bewilderment - Over the “Wild West” People.—Major - “Jack” Burke.—Cody as a Stage - Driver.—Some of His Western Stories.—When - He Had the Laugh on Me.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Art of Entertaining</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIV">190</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Not as Easy as It Would Seem.—Scarcity of - Good Stories for the Purpose.—Drawing-room - Audiences are Fastidious.—Noted London - Entertainers.—They are Guests of the People - Who Engage Them.—London Methods and - Fees.—Blunders of a Newly-wed Hostess from - America.—Humor Displaces Sentiment in the - Drawing-room.—My Own Material and Its - Sources.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">In the Sunshine with Great Preachers</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XV">199</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">I am Nicknamed “The Theological Comedian.”—My - Friend, Henry Ward Beecher.—Our - Trip Through Scotland and Ireland.—His - Quickness of Repartee.—He and Ingersoll Exchange - Words.—Ingersoll’s Own Sunshine.—DeWitt - Talmage on the Point of View.—He - Could Even Laugh at Caricatures of His Own - Face.—Dr. Parkhurst on Strict Denominationalism.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Prince of Wales, Now King Edward VII</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVI">211</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">The Most Popular Sovereign in Europe.—How - He Saved Me From a Master of Ceremonies.—Promotion - by Name.—He and His Friends - Delight Two American Girls.—His Sons and - Daughters.—An Attentive and Loving Father.—Untiring - at His Many Duties.—Before He - Ascended the Throne.—Unobtrusive Politically, - Yet Influential.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sir Henry Irving</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVII">222</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">A Model of Courtesy and Kindness.—An Early - Friend Surprised by the Nature of His<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> - Recognition.—His Tender Regard for Members of - His Company.—Hamlet’s Ghost Forgets His - Cue.—Quick to Aid the Needy.—Two Luck - Boys.—Irving as a Joker.—The Story He - Never Told Me.—Generous Offer to a Brother - Actor-manager.—Why He is Not Rich.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">London Theatres and Theatre-Goers</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVIII">236</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Why English and American Plays Do Best at - Home.—The Intelligent Londoner Takes the - Theatre Seriously.—Play-going as a Duty.—The - High-class English Theatre a Costly Luxury.—American - Comedies too Rapid of Action - to Please the English.—Bronson Howard’s - “Henrietta,” not Understood in London.—The - Late Clement Scott’s Influence and Personality.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Tact</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIX">247</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">An Important Factor of Success.—Better Than - Diplomacy.—Some Noted Possessors of Tact.—James - G. Blaine.—King Edward VII.—Queen - Alexandra.—Henry Ward Beecher.—Mme. - Patti.—Mrs. Ronalds.—Mrs. Cleveland.—Mrs. - Langtry.—Colonel Ingersoll.—Mrs. Kendall.—General - Sherman.—Chauncey M. Depew.—Mrs. - James Brown Potter.—Mme. Nordica.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Adelina Patti</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XX">263</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Her Home in Wales.—Some of Her Pets.—An - Ocean Voyage With Her.—The Local Reception - at Her Home-coming.—Mistress of an - Enormous Castle and a Great Retinue of - Servants.—Her Winter Garden and Private - Theatre.—A Most Hospitable and Charming - Hostess.—Her Local Charities are Continuous - and Many.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Some Notable People</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXI">278</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Cornelius Vanderbilt.—Mrs. Mackey.—The - Rockefellers.—Jay Gould.—George Gould and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> - Mary Anderson.—Mrs. Minnie Maddern - Fiske.—Augustin Daly.—Nicola Tesla.—Cheiro.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Human Nature</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXII">292</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Magnetism and Its Elements.—Every One - Carries the Marks of His Trade.—How Men - Are “Sized Up” at Hotels.—Facial Resemblance - of Some People to Animals.—What the - Eye First Catches.—When Faces Are Masked.—Bathing - in Japan.—The Conventions of - Every Day Life That Hide Us From Our - Fellows.—Genuineness is the One Thing - Needful.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sunny Stage People</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIII">302</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">“Joe” Jefferson.—I Take His Life.—His - Absent-Mindedness.—Jefferson and General - Grant.—Nat Goodwin, and How He Helped - Me Make Trouble.—Our Bicycling Mishap.—Goodwin - Pours Oil on Troubled Dramatic - Waters Abroad.—George Leslie.—Wilton - Lackaye.—Burr McIntosh.—Miss Ada Rehan.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Sunshine is in Demand</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIV">313</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">Laughter Wanted Everywhere.—Dismal Efforts - at Fun.—English Humor.—The Difference - Between Humor and Wit.—Composite - Merriment.—Carefully Studied “Impromptus.”—National - Types of Humor.—Some Queer - Substitutes for the Real Article.—Humor is - Sometimes “Knocked Out,” Yet Mirth is Medicine - and Laughter Lengthens Life.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“Bill” Nye</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXV">321</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">A Humorist of the Best Sort.—Not True to His - Own Description of Himself.—Everybody’s - Friend.—His Dog “Entomologist” and the - Dog’s Companions.—A Man With the Right - Word for Every Occasion.—His Pen-name was - His Own.—Often Mistaken for a Distinguished - Clergyman.—Killed by a Published Falsehood.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Some Sunny Soldiers</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXVI">330</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">General Sherman.—His Dramatic Story of a - Trysting-place.—The Battle of Shiloh Fought - Anew.—Sherman and Barney Williams.—General - Russell A. Alger on War.—General - Lew Wallace.—The Room in Which He - Wrote “Ben Hur.”—His Donkey Story.—General - Nelson A. Miles and Some of His - Funny Stories.—A Father Who Wished He - Had Been a Priest.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Some First Experiences</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXVII">348</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td class="sub">When I was a Boy.—One Christmas Frolic.—How - I Got on One Theatre’s Free List.—My - First Experience as a Manager.—Strange - Sequel of a Modest Business Effort.—My First - Cigar and How It Undid Me.—The Only - “Drink” I Ever Took.—My First Horse in - Central Park.—I Volunteer as a Fifer in - School Band, with Sad Results to All Concerned.</td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">The People, Stories About Whom Appear -in “The Sunny Side of the Street”</h2> - -</div> - -<ul> - -<li class="ifrst">Abbey, Henry E., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Abbot Sisters (Bessie and Jessie), <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Albert Victor, Prince, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Alexandra, Queen, <a href="#Page_221">221-249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Alger, Gen. Russell A., <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Allen, Heron-, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Allen, Viola, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Anderson, Col., <a href="#Page_336">336</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Anderson, Mary, Miss, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Arkell, W. J., <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Bancroft, Sir Squire, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bangs, Frank, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barrett, Lawrence, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barrett, Millie, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barrett, Wilson, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barrymore, Maurice, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bartholdi, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Battenberg, Prince Henry of, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Baumeister, Caroline, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Beecher, Henry Ward, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bell, Digby, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bellew, Kyrle, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bingham (Ventriloquist), <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Blaine, James G., <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bliss, Cornelius N., <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Booth, Edwin, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bowers, Arthur, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Brockway, Supt. (Elmira), <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Bronco Bill,” <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Brough, Lionel, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buntline, Ned, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burdette, Robert J., <a href="#Page_62">62</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burgess, Neil, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burke, Major John, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burnand, F. C., <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Busbey, Georgia, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Byron, Oliver Dowd, Mr. and Mrs., <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Cameron, Gov., <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Carlyle, Francis, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Carr, Comyns, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Carte, D’Oyley, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chanfrau, Mr. and Mrs. Frank, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Cheiro” (Louis Warner), <a href="#Page_288">288-291</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Childs, Geo. W., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Choate, Joseph H., <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>Clarke, J. I. C., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cleveland, Mr. and Mrs. Grover, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Coates, Foster, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cockerill, John A., <a href="#Page_331">331</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cody, Kit Carson, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cody, Col. Wm. J. (“Buffalo Bill”), <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Collier, Wm. (“Willie”), <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Corbett, James J., <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Croker, Mr. and Mrs. Richard, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Croly, Mrs., <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Dailey, Pete, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dale, Musical, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Daly, Augustin, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Davis, Richard Harding, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Depew, Chauncey M., <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Devonshire, Duke of, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dewey, Gott, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dillingham, C. B., <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dix, Rev. Morgan, <a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dixey, Henry E., <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dockstader, Lew, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dodson, J. E., <a href="#Page_225">225</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Doubleday, Frank N., <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dougherty, Daniel, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Drew, John, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dunham, Geo., <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Du Val, Harry, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Eames, Emma, Mme., <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Edward the Seventh (King), <a href="#Page_211">211-221</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Emmett, J. K., <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Evans, Charles, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Evarts, Wm. M., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Fawcett, George, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fiske, Harrison Grey, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Flat Iron,” <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Florence, W. J., <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Frohman, Charles, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Frohman, Daniel, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fuller, Loie, <a href="#Page_288">288</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Geary (P. M. Gen.), Mr. and Mrs., <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> - -<li class="indx">George, Prince, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gilbert, W. S., <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gildersleeve, Judge, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gillette, Wm., <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Glenny, Charles, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Goff, Recorder, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Goodwin, Nat, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gould, Edith Kingdon, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gould, George, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gould, Jay, <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grain, Corney, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grant, Gen. Fred., <a href="#Page_336">336</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grant, Mayor Hugh, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grant, Gen. U. S., <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Greeley, Horace, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Griffen, Mrs., <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grossmith, Geo., <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gunn, Michael, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Halford, Leige, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Handy, Moses P., <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harris, Sir August, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harrison, Benj. F., <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harrison, Russell, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hatton, Joseph, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hilliard, Robert, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hobart, Garrett A., <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hoey, Bill (“Old Hoss”), <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Howard, Bronson, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>Howard, Jos., Jr., <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Howe, “Daddy,” <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hoyt, Charles, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hutton, Laurence, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Ingersoll, Col. Robt. G., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Irving, Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222-235</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Jefferson, Charles, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jefferson, Jos., <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jefferson, Jos., Jr., <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jefferson, Thomas, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jefferson, Willie, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jones, Henry Arthur, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jones, Senator of Nevada, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Keith, B. F., <a href="#Page_212">212</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kendal, Mrs., <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kendall, Ezra, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kennet, Luther M., <a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kent, Chas., <a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kernell, Harry, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Lackaye, Wilton, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Langtry, Mrs., <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lawton, Frank, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leary, “Red,” <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lee, Gen. Fitzhugh, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lee, Gen. Robt. E., <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leslie, Mrs. Frank (Baroness de Bazus), <a href="#Page_252">252</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leslie, George, <a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Levy, Jefferson, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lewis, Marshall, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lincoln, Abraham, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lombard, Elsie C. (Mrs. John T. Brush), <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lord, Chester A., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Loring, D. A., <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Louise, Princess of Teck, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lucy, Henry W., <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Mackaye, Steele, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mackey, Mrs., <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maddern, Minnie (Mrs. Fiske), <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mannering, Billy, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mansfield, Richard, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Mark Twain,” <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Matthews, Father, <a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maude, Princess, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McAllister, Ward, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McIntosh, Burr, <a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McIntyre, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McKelway, St. Clair, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McKinley, Abner, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McKinley, Mr. and Mrs. Wm., <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Meade, “Tom,” <a href="#Page_226">226</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Merrill, Bradford, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Miles, Gen. Nelson A., <a href="#Page_344">344</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mitchell, Maggie, Miss, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Morton, Levi P., <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Nicolini, Signor, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Nordica, Madame, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Nye, Wm. Edgar (Bill), <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Ochiltree, Col. Thos. P., <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Paget, Lady, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span>Palmer, A. M., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Parkhurst, Rev. Charles H., <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Parry, John, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Patti, Adelina, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Paulding, Fred’k, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Perugini (John Chatterton), <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pettit, Harry, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Philip, Captain, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Philip, Mr., <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pitou, Augustus, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ponisi, Madame, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Porter, Gen. Horace, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Potter, Mrs. Brown, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pryor, Roger A., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Quimby, W. E., <a href="#Page_142">142</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">“Red Shirt,” <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rehan, Ada, <a href="#Page_312">312</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Reid, Opie, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Reid, Whitelaw, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Riley, Jas. Whitcomb, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Robertson, Forbes, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Robson, Stuart, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rockefeller, John D., <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rogers, Claude, Miss, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rogers, Cynthia, Miss, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ronalds, Mrs., <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rosser, Gen., <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rothschild, Baron de, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Russell, Lillian, <a href="#Page_292">292</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Sage, Russell, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Salsbury, Nate, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sanger, Frank, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Saunders, Lucille Marie, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Scanlon, W. J., <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Scott, Clement, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Scott, Margaret Clement, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shah of Persia, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sherman, Gen. W. T., <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shine, J. L., <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sims, George R., <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Skinner, Otis, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Smith, Ex-Gov., <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Smyth, Recorder, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Snyder, Mr. and Mrs. Mat., <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sothern, Sam, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sousa, John Philip, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stevens, Mrs. Paran, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stoddart, J. M., <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sutherland, Duke of, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Talmage, Rev. T. De Witt, <a href="#Page_207">207</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Teck, Duke and Duchess of, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Teck, Princess Mary of, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Templeton, Fay, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tesla, Dr. Nicola, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Thomas, Augustus, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Thomas, Brandon, <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Toole, J. L., <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tree, Beerbohm, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Vanderbilt, Cornelius Harry, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Vassar, Queenie (Mrs. Kernell), <a href="#Page_162">162</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Vaughn, Theresa, Miss, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Victoria, Princess, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Wallace, Lew, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wanamaker, John, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ward, Artemus, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Washburn, U. S. Minister, <a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Watterson, Henry, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Webb, Jas. Watson, <a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span>Wilcox, Ella Wheeler, <a href="#Page_315">315</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Willard, E. S., <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Williams, Capt. Alexander, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Williams, “Barney,” <a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wintersmith, Col. Dick, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Woodruff, Harry, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wyndham, Charles, <a href="#Page_307">307</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Young, James, Jr., <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Young, John Russell, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -</ul> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> -<img src="images/header-ch1.jpg" width="700" height="300" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUNSHINE AND FUN</span></h2> - -<p>The Sunny Side of the Street.—Jests and Jesters.—The Force -of a Joke.—Lincoln’s Way.—Kings and Their Joke-Makers.—As -they do it in Persia and Ireland.—“Chestnuts.”—Few -Modern Jesters but no End of Jokers.—Entertainers -and Their Ways.</p> - -</div> - -<p>I live on the sunny side of the street; shady -folks live on the other. I always preferred -the sunshine, and have tried to put other -people there, if only for an hour or two at a time, -even if I had to do it after sunset from a platform -under the gaslight, with my name billed at -the door as entertainer.</p> - -<p>As birds of a feather flock together, it has -been my good fortune to meet thousands of other -people on the sunny side of the street. In this -volume I shall endeavor to distribute some of the -sunshine which these fine fellows unloaded on -me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> - -<p>Nature has put up many effective brands of -concentrated sunshine in small packages; but the -best of these, according to all men of all countries, -is the merry jest. As far back as history goes -you will find the jest, also the jester. The latter -was so important that kings could not get along -without him. Some kings more powerful than -any European sovereign is to-day are remembered -now only by what their jesters said.</p> - -<p>All these jesters are said to have been little -people. I am doubly qualified to claim relationship -with them, for I am only three and a half -feet high, and I have been jester to millions of -sovereigns—that is, to millions of the sovereign -American people, as well as to some foreign -royalties.</p> - -<p>The reason for little people taking naturally to -sunshine and good-natured joking is not hard to -find, for it is a simple case of Hobson’s choice. -It is easier to knock a man out with a joke than -with a fist-blow, especially if you haven’t much -height and weight behind your fist. It is the -better way, too, for the joke doesn’t hurt. Instead -of the other man’s going in search of an -arnica bottle or a pistol or a policeman, he generally -hangs about with the hope of getting another -blow of the same sort. One needn’t be -little to try it. Abraham Lincoln had a fist almost -as big as the hand of Providence, and as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -long a reach as John L. Sullivan, but he always -used a joke instead, so men who came to growl -remained to laugh. I’m not concerned about the -size of my own hand, for it has been big enough -to get and keep everything that belonged to me. -As to reach, as long as my jests reach their mark -I shan’t take the trouble to measure arms with -any one.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">It is a Simple Case of Hobson’s Choice.</p> -</div> - -<p>There’s always something in a jest—for the -man who hears it. How about the jester? Well, -he is easily satisfied. Most men want the earth, -so they get the bad as well as the good, but the -best that the world affords is good enough for the -jester, so I shan’t try to break the record. It is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -often said that the jester swims near the top. -Why shouldn’t he? Isn’t that where the cream -is? And isn’t he generous enough to leave the -skimmed milk for the chaps dismal enough to -prefer to swim at the bottom?</p> - -<p>I am often moved to pride when I realize how -ancient is my craft. Adam did not have a jester; -but he did not need one, for he was the only man—except -you and I—who married the only -woman in the world. Neither did old Noah have -or need one, for he had the laugh on everybody -else when the floods fell and he found himself in -out of the rain. But as soon as the world dried -out and got full enough of people to set up kings -in business, the jester appears in history, and the -nations without jesters to keep kings’ minds in -good-working order dropped out of the procession. -The only one of them that survives is Persia, -where John the Jester is, as he always was, in -high favor at court. When trouble is in the air -he merely winks at the Shah and gets off: “Oh, -Pshaw!” or some other <i lang="fr">bon mot</i> old enough to -be sweet; then the monarch doubles up and -laughs the frown from his face, and the headsman -sheathes his sword and takes a day off.</p> - -<p>Speaking of old saws that are always welcome -reminds me to protest against the unthinking -persons who cry “Chestnut!” against every joke -that is not newly coined. In one way it is a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -compliment, for the chestnut is the sweetest nut -that grows; but it does not reach perfection until -it has had many soakings and frosts, and has -been kicked about under the dead leaves so many -times that if it was anything except a chestnut it -would have been lost. Good stories are like good -principles: the older they are, the stronger their -pull.</p> - -<p>There is not a more popular tale in the world -than that of Cinderella. It is so good that -nations have almost fought for the honor of -originating it. Yet a few years ago some antiquarians -dug some inscribed clay tablets from the -ruins of an Asiatic city that was centuries old -when Noah was a boy. Some sharps at that -sort of thing began to decipher them, and suddenly -they came upon the story of Cinderella—her -golden slipper, fairy godmother, princely -lover and all. But do children say “Chestnut!” -if you give them this, and then tell them the -story of Cinderella? Not they!—unless you -don’t know how to tell it. A story is like food: -it doesn’t matter how familiar it is, if you know -how to serve it well.</p> - -<p>Why, the story-teller, of the same old stories, -too, is as busy in Persia to-day as he was thousands -of years ago, and one of the most important -of his duties is the passing of the hat. You -will find him on the street corners of the towns<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -with a crowd about him. When he reaches the -most interesting part of the story he will stop, -like the newspaper serial with “To be continued -in our next.” Then he passes his fez. The -listeners know well what the remainder of the -story will be; but instead of “Chestnut!” he -hears the melodious clink of coppers.</p> - -<p>Not only the Shah, but many a wealthy Persian -keeps a jester for the sole purpose of being -made to laugh when he feels dull. Some of the -antics of these chaps would not seem funny to an -American—such, for instance, as going about on -all fours, knocking people down and dressing in -fantastic attire—but there is no accounting for -tastes, as the old woman said when she kissed the -cow. The Shah’s jester has a great swing—he has -twelve houses, and not a mortgage on one of -them. He also has all the wives he wants. Who -says that talent is not properly appreciated in -Persia?</p> - -<p>If you will run over to Europe you will find -the Irish prototype of the Persian story-teller on -the streets of Dublin and Limerick. Many a -time I have seen him on the street corner telling -the thrilling story of how O’Shamus was shot, or -some similarly cheering tale—for fighting seems -the funniest of fun to an Irishman. And just -before first blood is drawn, the story-teller pauses -to pass the hat, into which drop hard-earned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -pennies that had been saved for something else. -It is the old Persian act. The manner is the -same, though the coat and hat are different, so I -should not be surprised to learn that the Irish -are direct descendants of the ancient Persians.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">The Irish Prototype of the Persian Story-Teller.</p> -</div> - -<p>It would be easy to follow the parallel and to -show how from the ancient jester was evolved -the modern comedian; but of the “true-blue” -jesters of to-day—the men who evolve fun from -their own inner consciousness—I am compelled -to quote: “There are only a few of us left.” -Of these “entertainers,” as they are called in -modern parlance, I shall let out a few of the -secrets which admit them to the drawing-room<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -of England and America to put a frosting, as it -were, on proceedings that otherwise might be too -sweet, perhaps too heavy. The modern jester -comes to the aid of the queen of the drawing-room -just as the ancient one did to the monarch -of old, so he is still an honored guest at the table -of royalty.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUNNY MEN OF SERIOUS PRESENCE</span></h2> - -<p>Richard Croker.—A Good Fellow and Not Hard to Approach.—If -One is Not in Politics.—Croker as a Haymaker.—Does -Not Keep Opinions on Tap.—He and Chauncey Depew on -New York City Politics.—Croker Bewilders a London -Salesman.—His Greatest Pride.—Recorder Goff.—Not as -Severe as His Acts.—Justice Tempered With Mercy.—Two -Puzzling Cases.</p> - -</div> - -<p>One of the privileges of a cheerful chap -without any axes to grind is that of -seeing behind the mask that some men -of affairs are compelled to wear. Often men -whom half of the world hates and the other half -fears are as companionable as a hearty boy, if -they are approached by a man who doesn’t want -anything he shouldn’t have—wants nothing but -a slice of honest human nature.</p> - -<p>Such a man is Richard Croker, for years the -autocrat of Tammany Hall and still believed, by -many, to have the deciding word on any question -of Tammany’s policy. With most men it is -a serious matter, requiring much negotiation, to -get a word with Mr. Croker, and they dare not -expect more than a word in return.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> - -<p>While at Richfield Springs, a few years ago, I -drove out to call on Mr. Croker at his farm. I -met Mrs. Croker on the piazza and was told I -would probably find her husband in the hay-field; -so I went around behind the stables and found -the leader of Tammany Hall in his shirt-sleeves -pitching hay upon a wagon. At that time an -exciting political contest was “on,” and New -York politicians were continually telegraphing -and telephoning their supreme manager,—the -only man who could untangle all the hard knots,—yet -from his fields Richard Croker conducted -the campaign, and with so little trouble to him -that it did not keep him from making sure of his -hay-crop, by putting it in himself.</p> - -<p>In later years I saw much more of Mr. Croker, -for I was often his guest at Wantage, his country -home in England, and I could not help studying -him closely, for he was a most interesting man. -In appearance he suggested General Grant; he -was of Grant’s stature and build, his close-cropped -beard and quiet but observant eyes recalled -Grant, and his face, like the great general’s, -suggested bulldog courage and tenacity, as well -as the high sense of self-reliance that makes a -man the leader of his fellow men. Few of his -closest associates know more of him than his face -expresses, for he is possessed of and by the rarest -of all human qualities—that of keeping his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -opinions to himself. Most political leaders say -things which bob up later to torment them, but -Croker’s political enemies never have the luck of -giving him his own words to eat. He can and -does talk freely with men whom he likes and -who are not tale-bearers, but he never talks from -the judgment seat. Even about ordinary affairs -he is too modest and sensible to play Sir Oracle. -One day he chanced to be off his guard and gave -me a positive opinion on a certain subject; when -afterward I recalled it to him he exclaimed: -“Marshall, did I tell you that?” It amazed -him that he had expressed an opinion.</p> - -<p>During one of my visits to Wantage Mr. -Croker and I were together almost continually -for a week; he not only survived it, but was a -most attentive and companionable host. His son -Bert was fond of getting up early in the morning -to hunt mushrooms, and in order to be awakened -he would set an alarm clock. “Early morning” -in England and at that season of the year was -from three to four o’clock, for dawn comes much -earlier than with us. His father did not wish -him to arise so early, so he would go softly into -Bert’s room and turn off the alarm, to assure a -full night sleep for the boy. The fact that he -could not hear the alarm worried Bert so greatly -that he placed the clock directly over his head, -hanging it to a string from the ceiling. But even<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -in this position Mr. Croker succeeded in manipulating -it, and he gleefully told me of it at the -time.</p> - -<p>One day, in London, Mr. Croker called for me -and took me to see Mr. Depew, who had recently -arrived. We drove to the Savoy and found Mr. -Depew on the steps, just starting for Paris. He -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Hello? What are you two fellows doing together?—fixing -up the election?”</p> - -<p>This was just before Van Wyck was elected -mayor; Mr. Strong’s enforcement of the liquor -law had been so vigorous as to enrage many -bibulous voters. As he bade us good-bye Mr. -Depew found time to say to Mr. Croker,</p> - -<p>“All your party will have to do will be to hold -their hats and catch the votes.”</p> - -<p>At the time of the Queen’s Jubilee we were invited -to view the procession from Mr. Jefferson -Levy’s apartment in Piccadilly, but Mr. Croker -declined; he told me afterward that he would -have offended many Irish voters in America had -he appeared in any way to honor the Queen.</p> - -<p>Before starting from London for Wantage one -day, Mr. Croker asked me to go to a furniture -dealer’s with him; he had some purchases to -make. As we entered the place he said to me, -“We’ve only half an hour in which to catch the -train”—but the way he bought furniture did<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -not make him lose the train. He would say, -pointing to a dresser,</p> - -<p>“How much is that?”</p> - -<p>“Six guineas, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Give me six of them.”</p> - -<p>Pointing to another,</p> - -<p>“How much is that one?”</p> - -<p>“Five guineas, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Well, seven of those”—and so on.</p> - -<p>With such rapid fire, even though he expended -more than a thousand dollars, and not at haphazard -either, there was ample time to catch the -train. The incident, though slight in itself, is -indicative of his quickness of decision; but it so -utterly upset the dealers, accustomed to English -deliberation, that he begged permission to wait -until next day to prepare an itemized bill.</p> - -<p>Mr. Croker’s quiet unobtrusive manner, which -has so often deceived his political enemies into -believing that he was doing nothing, dates back -a great many years—as far back as his courtship. -The future Mrs. Croker and her sister were -charming girls and their home was the social -rendezvous of all young people of the vicinity. -Their father was a jolly good fellow and as popular -as his daughters; when the latter went to a -dance he was always their chaperon, and a most -discreet one he was for he always went up-stairs -and slept until the time to go home. Mr. Croker<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -was at the house a great deal but was so quiet -and devoted so much time to chat with the father -that no one suspected that one of the daughters -was the real attraction, but with the quiet persistence -that had always characterized him he -“won out.”</p> - -<p>Great soldiers delight in fighting their battles -o’er and no one begrudges them the pleasure. -Mr. Croker has been in some desperate fights and -won some great victories. Hoping for a story or -more about them I one day asked him of what in -his life he was most proud. His reply indicated -the key-note of his nature, for it was:</p> - -<p>“That I have never gone back on my word.”</p> - -<p>Another man who has kept many thousands -of smart fellows uncomfortably awake and in -fear is Recorder Goff. When he conducted the -inquiries of the Lexow Committee he extracted -so much startling testimony from men whom no -one believed could be made to confess anything, -that a lot of fairly discreet citizens were almost -afraid to look him in the eye, for fear he would -ferret out all their private affairs. I had never -seen him, but I had mentally made a distinct -picture of him as a tall, thin, dark-browed, -austere, cold character, rather on the order of a -Grand Inquisitor, as generally accepted. When -we met it was at a dinner, where I sat beside -him and had to retouch almost every detail of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -my picture, for, although tall and thin, he was -blonde and rosy, of sanguine temperament, with -merry eyes, a genial smile and as talkative as -every good fellow ought to be.</p> - -<p>The acquaintance begun at that dinner-table -was continued most pleasantly by many meetings -in Central Park, which both of us frequented on -our bicycles. One day, while we were resting in -the shadow of Daniel Webster’s statue, I made -bold to ask him how he came by his marvelous -power of extracting the truth from unwilling -occupants of the witness-box. He murmured -something self-deprecatory, but told me the following -story in illustration of one of his indirect -methods and also of how truth will persist in -muddling the wits of a liar.</p> - -<p>“A man was brought before me accused of killing -another man with a bottle. He had a friend -whose mother was on the witness stand and she -tried to save her son’s friend, though she perjured -herself to do so. She swore she had seen the -murderer and could describe him. I was convinced -of the accused’s guilt and the woman’s -perjury, and I determined to surprise her into -confession.</p> - -<p>“I got seven men of varying appearance who -were in the court-room to stand up, which they -did, though greatly mystified, for they were -present only as spectators. I asked the woman<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -if the first man was the murderer. She promptly -answered ‘No,’ to his great relief.</p> - -<p>“‘But,’ I said, ‘he resembles the murderer, -doesn’t he? He is the same height?’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, no,’ she answered, ‘he is much taller.’ -Motioning the first man to sit down, I pointed to -No. 2, and asked:</p> - -<p>“‘This man is the same height as the murderer, -is he not?’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, exactly.’ I asked the man his height, -and he said ‘five feet seven.’ He was told to sit -down, and No. 3, who had a head of most uncompromising -red hair, was brought forward.</p> - -<p>“‘You said the murderer had red hair like this -man, didn’t you?’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, no—brown, curly hair.’</p> - -<p>“‘Were his eyes like this man’s?’</p> - -<p>“‘No, they were brown.’</p> - -<p>“Number four, who had fine teeth, was asked -to open his mouth, greatly to his embarrassment.</p> - -<p>“‘Were the murderer’s teeth like this man’s?’</p> - -<p>“‘No, he had two gold teeth, one on each -side.’</p> - -<p>“Number five was rather stout and the woman -thought the murderer about his size; he weighed -one hundred and sixty. Six and seven were -looked at and sent back to their seats, nervous -and perspiring. Then I said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> - -<p>“‘We find from this woman’s testimony that -the murderer was about five feet seven in height, -weighed one hundred and sixty, had dark curly -hair, brown eyes, two gold teeth and a habit of -keeping his hands in his pockets.’</p> - -<p>“By this time the prisoner was white and -shaking, for bit by bit the witness had described -him exactly. When the woman realized what -she had done she broke down and confessed that -the prisoner was the real criminal.”</p> - -<p>It was charged that a man brought before -Recorder Goff for theft was an old offender and -had served a term in states prison, but the -accused denied it and no amount of cross-questioning -by the prosecution could shake his -denial. Mr. Goff noticed that he had lost a -thumb; as prisoners are generally given a name -by their comrades, signifying some physical -peculiarity, the Recorder said:</p> - -<p>“While in prison you were known as One-Thumbed -Jack.” Taken off his guard, the man -asked:</p> - -<p>“How did you know that?”</p> - -<p>“Then you are an ex-convict?”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, sir, but I had honest reasons for -not wanting it known and I’d like to speak to -you alone, sir.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goff granted the request and they retired -to a small room where the prisoner after telling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -his real name, related a touching story of devotion -to a young sister whom he brought up and educated -with the proceeds of his earlier crimes. -While serving his prison term he had written -her letters which his pals posted for him in different -parts of the world to make her believe he -was traveling so constantly that any letters from -her could not reach him. This sister was now -married and had two children and it would break -her heart to find out that her brother was a convict -or had ever been one. So he wished to be -sentenced under another name. Mr. Goff said:</p> - -<p>“I will suspend sentence.”</p> - -<p>Later the man’s statements were investigated -and found to be true. So his request to be sentenced -under an assumed name was granted. -Farther, he got but two years, although he would -have been “sent up” for ten years had it not -been for his story—a fact which shows how in -Recorder Goff, the city’s greatest terror to evil-doers, -justice is tempered with mercy.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> -<img src="images/footer-ch2.jpg" width="700" height="225" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br /> -<span class="smaller">AT THE WHITE HOUSE AND NEAR IT</span></h2> - -<p>My Prophecy to “Major” McKinley.—President McKinley -Becomes “One of the Boys” of My Audience; His Attention -to His Wife.—How He Won a Vermont City.—A -Story of the Spanish War.—My First Meeting With President -Harrison.—A Second and More Pleasing One.—A -Chance Which I Gladly Lost.—Some of President Harrison’s -Stories.—I Led a Parade Given in His Honor.—Vice-Presidents -Morton and Hobart.</p> - -</div> - -<p>It had been my good fortune to meet several -presidents of the United States, as well as -some gentlemen who would have occupied -the White House had the president died, and I -learned that, in spite of their many torments and -tormentors, they all liked to get into the sunshine -and that they had done it so much that the -sunshine had returned the compliment right -heartily, as is its way “in such case made and -provided.”</p> - -<p>Some years ago while entering a New York hotel -to call on Madame Patti I chanced to meet in the -corridor William McKinley, who was then governor -of Ohio, though his New York acquaintances -still called him “Major.” His was one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -of the big, broad natures that put all of a -man’s character in full view, and there was a -great lot in McKinley’s face that day,—thoughtfulness, -self-reliance, strength, honesty, as well -as some qualities that seldom combine in one -man—simplicity and shrewdness, modesty and -boldness, serious purpose and cheerfulness, that I -became quite happy in contemplation of him as a -trusty all-around American. He greeted me very -cordially and as I was smiling broadly, he -asked:</p> - -<p>“What pleases you, Marshall?”</p> - -<p>“The fact that I am shaking hands with the -future president of the United States,” I replied.</p> - -<p>Some years afterward, when Mr. McKinley -had fulfilled my prophecy, I was the guest of -D. A. Loring, at Lake Champlain, and the president -and most of his cabinet were at the same -hotel. Besides Mr. and Mrs. McKinley there -were Vice-President and Mrs. Hobart, Secretary -of War Alger and Mrs. Alger, Postmaster General -Geary and Mrs. Geary, Cornelius N. Bliss, -Secretary of the Interior, and others. Every one -at the hotel treated the distinguished guest with -the greatest consideration, by letting him entirely -alone, so that he got the rest he sorely -needed. He walked much about the grounds, -enjoying the bracing atmosphere and peaceful, -beautiful surroundings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> - -<p>One day I went into the bowling alley to -spend half an hour or more with the boys who -set up the pins; boys are always my friends, and -I was going to do some card and sleight-of-hand -tricks for these little fellows. Just as I had -gathered them about me and started to amuse -them, Mr. McKinley came to the door and looked -in, smiled, came over to us and asked what was -going on. I replied:</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. President, I was just doing some -tricks to amuse the boys.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m one of the boys,” said the president -of the United States. He sat down in the circle -and was one of my most attentive auditors. -When I had finished he walked apart with me -and said:</p> - -<p>“Marshall, do you remember meeting me in -the Windsor Hotel, New York, and saying you -were shaking hands with the future president of -the United States?”</p> - -<p>“I recall it very distinctly,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“I have just been thinking,” he said, “of that—to -me, strange prophecy. You must be -possessed of some clairvoyant power.” There are -some things you can’t tell a man to his face, so I -didn’t explain to him that a man with a character -like his couldn’t help becoming president, -when the whole country had come to know -him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> - -<p>I shall never forget what I saw of his lover-like -devotion to his invalid wife, nor her evident -gratitude for his every service, nor the sweet -solicitude and pride with which she regarded -him. One day his brother Abner arrived, went -to the portion of the hotel reserved for the president, -met Mrs. McKinley and asked:</p> - -<p>“Is William in?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” was the reply, “but I shall not let -you see him for an hour. He is resting.”</p> - -<p>A little incident that was described to me by -an eye-witness brought out one of the qualities -which endeared President McKinley to his fellow -countrymen. While on a brief visit across the -lake, in Vermont, he was driving through a small -city, followed by a great procession of people -who had turned out in his honor. While passing -through the main street he noticed an old man -seated on the piazza of a modest dwelling, and -asked the mayor, who was beside him in the carriage,</p> - -<p>“Who is that old gentleman?”</p> - -<p>“That is Mr. Philip, father of Captain Philip, -of the battleship <i>Texas</i>,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“I thought that must be he,” said the president. -“Will you kindly stop the carriage?”</p> - -<p>The carriage stopped and so did the mile or -more of procession, while the president jumped -out, unassisted, ran up the steps, grasped the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -hand of the astonished and delighted old man, -and said:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Philip, I want to congratulate you on -having such a son as Captain Philip, and I feel -that the thanks of the nation are due you for -having given the world such a brave, patriotic -man.”</p> - -<p>The old man, tremulous with gratification, -could scarcely find words with which to thank -the head of the nation for his appreciative attention, -but the president’s simple, friendly manner -quickly put him at his ease and the two men -chatted freely for several minutes, the president -evidently enjoying it keenly. Then after a -hearty invitation to visit him at the White -House, Mr. McKinley got into his carriage and -the procession again started.</p> - -<p>Mention of the <i>Texas</i> recalls a visit I made to -her when she was at the New York Navy Yard -for repairs, after the fight with Cervera’s fleet, in -which the <i>Texas</i> was the principal American -sufferer. A young officer took me about the -ship, showed me her honorable wounds, repeated -Captain Philip’s historic remark, made after the -battle,—“Don’t cheer, boys; the poor fellows -are dying,” and told me the following story:</p> - -<p>One of our Irish sailors was very active in saving -the Spaniards in the water, throwing them -ropes, boxes and everything floatable he could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -find. But there was one Spaniard who missed -everything that was thrown him. Just before -the battle we had had religious service and the -altar was still on deck, so our Irishman grabbed -it, heaved it overboard and yelled:</p> - -<p>“There, ye haythen! If <em>that</em> won’t save ye, -nothin’ ever will.”</p> - -<p>While Mr. Harrison was president I became -pleasantly acquainted with his son Russell, who, -having read of President Cleveland’s very kind -treatment of me when I went to him with a letter -of introduction from Henry Ward Beecher, -wanted me to meet his father and gave me a letter -to that effect. My visit to the White House -was quite impressive—to me. Soon after I -reached Chamberlain’s, at Washington, a messenger -arrived and informed me that the President -had received my letter of introduction and -desired me to call the next morning at ten -o’clock, which I did.</p> - -<p>After passing the sentinels at the door I was -taken into the room of Mr. Private Secretary -“Lije” Halford, who greeted me cordially and -said: “Mr. Wilder, the president will see you.” -I was ushered into Mr. Harrison’s presence, and -the following conversation ensued:</p> - -<p>“Mr. President, this is Mr. Wilder.”</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Mr. Wilder?”</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Mr. President?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> - -<p>A profound silence followed; it seemed to me -to be several minutes long; then I said:</p> - -<p>“Good-day, Mr. President.”</p> - -<p>“Good-day, Mr. Wilder.”</p> - -<p>After leaving the room I turned to Mr. Halford, -raised my coat-tails and asked:</p> - -<p>“Won’t you please kick me?”</p> - -<p>Of course I had to refer to the incident in my -monologue that season, for it isn’t every day that -a professional entertainer is invited to call at the -White House. But I did not care to tell exactly -what occurred, so I adopted an old minstrel joke -and said:</p> - -<p>“I called on the president the other day. I -walked in, in a familiar way, and said, ‘How do -you do, Mr. President?’ He said, ‘Sir, I cannot -place you.’ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘that’s what I’m -here for.’”</p> - -<p>I afterward heard that President Harrison was -very cold and lacked cordiality; still later I discovered, -with my own eyes and ears, that he had -a kind heart and genial nature. One summer -while I was at Saratoga I was asked by -Mr. W. J. Arkell to Mount McGregor, to meet -President Harrison at dinner and to become a -member of a fishing party. The occasion was -the president’s birthday, and the invitation was -the more welcome when I learned that a list of -the people at the Saratoga hotels had been shown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -the president, who had himself selected the guests -for his birthday celebration. At Mount McGregor -I found, as one always finds, wherever the President -of the United States is staying a few days, -thirty or forty newspaper correspondents, all of -whom I knew and most of whom professed to -doubt my ability to make the president laugh. -This did not worry me, for I don’t love trouble -enough to look ahead for it, and dinner time, -when the laughing was to begin, was a few hours -distant.</p> - -<p>We all went by carriage to a stream about five -miles away and all helped fill the president’s -basket with fish,—for which he got full credit, in -the next day’s newspapers. My own contributions -were few and small, for I never was a -good fisherman. So I was grateful when Russell -Harrison took me to a little pool where he was -sure we would have great luck. But not a bite -did either of us get. Then I recalled something -that a veteran fisherman played on me when I -was too young to be suspicious; it was to beat -the water to attract the attention of the fish. -Russell kindly assisted me at beating the water, -but the fish beat us both by keeping away.</p> - -<p>When we got back to the hotel and to the banquet -it was announced that there were to be no -speeches, but the president would make a few -remarks and I would be called on for a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -stories. Consequently I had no mind or appetite -for dinner, for most of the guests were newspaper -men who had been surfeited with stories ever -since they entered the business, and the most important -listener would be the president, who the -boys had said I couldn’t make laugh.</p> - -<p>I was still mentally searching my repertoire, -although I had already selected a lot of richness, -when the president arose and made some general -remarks. But it was impossible for him to forget -that at this same place—Mount McGregor, Ex-President -Grant breathed his last, so Mr. Harrison’s -concluding remarks were on the line that -any other whole-hearted American would have -struck in similar circumstances. As I am a -whole-hearted American myself, they struck me -just where I live, and I am not ashamed to confess -that they knocked me out.</p> - -<p>So, when I was called upon, I declined to respond. -Several friends came to my chair and -whispered: “Go ahead, Marsh.” “Don’t lose the -chance of your life; don’t you know whatever is -said at this dinner will be telegraphed all over -the United States?” But I held my tongue—or -it held itself. There is a place for every -thing; a table at which the President of the -United States had just been talking most feelingly -of the pathetic passing of another president -was no place for a joke—much less for a budget<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -of jokes, so instead of making the president laugh -I allowed the newspaper men to have the laugh -on me. In the circumstances they were welcome -to it.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="500" height="250" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I allowed the newspaper men to have a laugh on me.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Nevertheless I succeeded, for the president -succeeded in breaking the strain upon him, and -later in the day at his own cottage he transfixed -me with a merry twinkle of his eye and said:</p> - -<p>“Marshall, what’s this story you’ve been telling -about your visit to the White House?”</p> - -<p>I saw I was in for it, so I repeated the minstrel -joke, already recorded. He laughed so heartily -that there wasn’t enough unbroken ice between -us to hold up a dancing mosquito, so I made bold -to tell him that some men insisted that he did -not appreciate humor. Then he laughed again; -I wish I could have photographed that laugh, for -there was enough worldly wisdom in it to lessen<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -the number of cranks and office seekers at the -White House for years to come. But I hadn’t -much time to think about it, for we began swapping -yarns and kept at it so long that I suddenly -reminded myself, with a sense of guilt, that I -was robbing the ruler of the greatest nation on -earth of some of his invaluable time. Never -mind about my own stories that evening, but -here is one that President Harrison told me, to -illustrate the skill of some men in talking their -way out of a tight place.</p> - -<p>There was a man in Indiana who had a way of -taking his own advice, though he generally had -to do things afterward to get even with himself. -He was a hog dealer, and one season he drove a -lot of hogs to Indianapolis, about a hundred -miles distant, though he could get nearly as good -a price at a town much nearer home. Arrived -at Indianapolis, he learned that prices had gone -down, so he held on for a rise, but when offered -a good price he stood out for more, and insisted -that if he did not get it he would drive the hogs -back home, which he finally did, and sold them -for less than was offered him in the city. When -one of his friends asked him why he had acted -so unwisely he replied:</p> - -<p>“I wanted to get even with them city hog-buyers.”</p> - -<p>“But did you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, they didn’t get my hogs.”</p> - -<p>“But what did you get out of the transaction?”</p> - -<p>“Get? Why, bless your thick skull, I got the -society of the hogs all the way back home.”</p> - -<p>I had long been puzzled as to the origin of the -word “jay,” as applied to “easy marks” among -countrymen, and I told the president so. He -modestly admitted that I had come to the right -shop for information; then he told me this story:</p> - -<p>“Winter was coming on and a blue jay made -up his mind that he would prepare for it. He -found a vacant hut with a knot-hole in the roof, -and he said to himself, ‘Here’s a good place to -store my winter supplies,’ so he began to collect -provender. His acquaintances who passed by saw -what he was doing; then they laughed and took -a rest, for they knew how to get in by the side -door. Whenever he dropped a nut or a bit of -meat through the knot-hole they would hop in -below and gobble it. So, Marshall, next time -you hear any one called a ‘jay’ I’m sure you’ll -know what it means.”</p> - -<p>The next morning, when we all met on the -president’s special train en route to Saratoga, my -newspaper friends twitted me anew on not having -made the president laugh, but I said: “Now, -boys, you wait.” Then I was so impudent as -to approach the president and say:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> - -<p>“Mr. President, I am very glad to have had -you with me on this fishing trip, and I hope -whenever you want to go off on a similar affair -you will let me know it. At the foot of the -mountain a band of music and escort of troops -are waiting for me, and in the hurry I may not be -able to say good-bye to you, so I say it now.” -But not one eyelash of the president quivered as -he shook hands with me and replied: “Glad to -have met you, Mr. Wilder,” so the newspaper -boys certainly did have the laugh on me.</p> - -<p>But the day was still young. Arrived at the -Saratoga depot, all hurried into carriages. -Waiting until all were seated and started in -procession, I found an open landau and gave -the driver the name of my hotel. “All right, -Mr. Wilder,” was the reply, which did not -startle me, for I am pretty well known in -Saratoga by the cabbies—and the police. I -said:</p> - -<p>“Make a short cut, get out of the crowd and -get me to the hotel as soon as possible, so I may -avoid the parade.” He endeavored to get out, -but he got in; and in trying to extricate himself -he succeeded in driving through the band and -past the troops and finally beside the carriages -of the president and his guests. I took advantage -of the occasion; as I passed the president I -stood up (though it made little difference whether<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -I sat or stood, for not much of me was visible -over the top of the carriage door) and I bowed -my prettiest. The president raised his hat, as -did the other guests, and I led that procession -down Saratoga’s Broadway, the sidewalks of -which were crowded with New York and -Brooklyn people who knew me and to whom -I bowed, right and left, to the end of the route, -where one of the newspaper men said:</p> - -<p>“Marsh usually gets there.”</p> - -<p>In Mr. McKinley’s first term I fell in conversation -at a hotel with a gentleman of manner so -genial that I never forgot him. We exchanged -a lot of stories, at which I got more than I gave, -but suddenly the gentleman said:</p> - -<p>“I can see, Mr. Wilder, that you don’t recognize -me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, really, I don’t,” I replied, with an -apologetic laugh. “You must pardon me; I -meet so many. May I ask your name?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly. It is Garret A. Hobart.”</p> - -<p>“The Vice-president of the United States! -Well, that isn’t anything against you”—for I -had to say something, to keep from collapsing. -He seemed greatly amused, and I could not help -wondering if in any other country of the world -a high official of the government could be picked -up in a hotel corridor, be chatted with, then be -compelled to introduce himself, and throughout<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -all conduct himself as if he were no one in particular.</p> - -<p>Levi P. Morton, ex-vice-president, has been out -of politics for some years, yet he is remembered -as a man who could tell good stories to illustrate -his points. Here is one of them:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="500" height="475" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The General doubled on his tracks.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Not far from my country place is a farmer -noted for his fine, large cattle. People come -from everywhere to look at his Durhams and -Alderneys, but they have to be careful how they -venture into the pastures, for some of the bulls -are ferocious. A certain major-general, who -was very proud of his title, was visiting near by, -and one day while walking he cut across the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -fields to shorten distance. Before he knew of -his danger a big bull, bellowing and with tossing -head, began to chase him. The general was a -swift runner, and made good time, but the animal -too was lively, so when the general reached -a fence he dared not stop to climb for the bull -was near enough to—well, help him. The general -doubled on his tracks several times, but the -bull kept dangerously near. Suddenly a gate -offered a chance to shut off pursuit. Near the -gate stood the farmer, who had been viewing the -chase; the panting general turned on him fiercely -and asked, between gasps:</p> - -<p>“‘Sir—sir—did you—see your bull chasing—me?’</p> - -<p>“‘Ya-as,’ drawled the farmer.</p> - -<p>“‘Is that all you have to say, sir? Do you -know whom that bull was chasing?’</p> - -<p>“‘You, I guess.’</p> - -<p>“‘But do you know who I am, sir? I am -General Blank.’”</p> - -<p>“‘Wa-all, why didn’t you tell that to the -bull?’”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">STORY-TELLING AS AN ART</span></h2> - -<p>Different Ways of Story-telling.—The Slow Story-teller.—Lincoln’s -Stories.—Bad Telling of Good Stories.—The -Right Way to Tell a Story.—The Humorous, the Comic -and the Witty Story.—Artemus Ward, Robert J. Burdette -and Mark Twain as Story-tellers.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The ways of story-tellers differ almost as -widely and strangely as the ways of -politicians—or women—yet every man’s -way is the best and only one to him. I know -men who consume so much time in unloading a -story that they remind me of a ship-captain who -had just taken a pilot and was anxious to get -into port. The pilot knew all the channels and -shoals of the vicinity, and being a cautious old -chap he wasn’t going to take any risks, so he -backed and filled and crisscrossed so many times -that the captain growled: “Hang him! He -needs the Whole Atlantic Ocean to turn around -in.”</p> - -<p>Yet a lot of these long-winded story-tellers -“get there”—and they deserve to, not only because -a hearty laugh follows, but because hard -work deserves its reward. As to that, Abraham<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -Lincoln, long before he became president, and -when time was of no consequence, had some -stories almost as long as old-fashioned sermons; -but nobody left his seat by the stove at the -country store, or his leaning place at the post-office, -or his chair on the hotel piazza until “Abe” -had reached the point. But there never was -more than one Abraham Lincoln. To-day a long-winded -story-teller can disperse a crowd about -as quickly as a man with a bad case of smallpox.</p> - -<p>But it isn’t always length that troubles the -listener—the way in which a tale is told is the -thing, whether the tale itself be good or bad. It -is never safe for some people to repeat a good -story they have heard, for they may tell it in a -fashion that is like being bitten to death by a -duck.</p> - -<p>I do not claim originality for my own method -and material. I simply tell a story, using whatever -material comes my way. Often a friend -will tell me of something he has seen or heard; -I will reconstruct his narrative, without tampering -with the facts, yet so that the people of whom -he told it will not recognize it.</p> - -<p>There is nothing, except advice, of which the -world is more generous than stories. Everybody -tells them. They mean well; they want to make -you laugh, and they deserve credit for their intention. -Yet when neighbor Smith or Brown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -calls you aside, looks as if he was almost bursting -with something good, and then gets off a yarn -that was funny when he heard it, but in which -you can’t discern the ghost of a laugh—why, -you can’t help wondering whether Smith’s or -Brown’s funny-bone hasn’t dropped off somewhere, -without its owner’s knowledge; you also -can’t help wishing that he may find it before he -buttonholes you again.</p> - -<p>It seems to me that the supreme art of telling -a story is to tell it quickly and hide the nub so -that the hearer’s wits must find it. But it is possible -for some people to tell it quickly at the expense -of the essential parts, either through forgetfulness -or by not knowing them at sight. -For example, here is a tale I heard not long ago:</p> - -<p>“The other night Ezra Kendall told about an -Irishman who had a habit of walking in a graveyard -about twelve o’clock at night. Some boys -of the neighborhood planned to so dig and conceal -a grave that the Irishman would fall into it; -another man was to drape himself in a sheet, -to scare Mike. The night arrived, the Irishman -took his customary walk and fell into the hole -prepared for him. A boy in a white sheet arose, -and said in a sepulchral voice:</p> - -<p>“‘What are you doing in my grave?’</p> - -<p>“‘What are you doin’ out of it?’ Mike replied.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p> - -<p>Soon afterward an amateur gave me the story -as follows:</p> - -<p>“I heard a story the other day by a man -named Kendall about a man who went out in a -graveyard at night to walk, about twelve o’clock. -He fell into a ditch, and another fellow happened -along and said, ‘What are you doing out of -it?’—or something like that. I know I laughed -like the deuce when I heard it.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“What are you doing in my grave?”</p> -</div> - -<p>But even when a story has been committed to -memory or written in shorthand on a shirt-cuff, -to be read off without a word lost or misplaced, -much depends upon the teller. Some people’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -voices are so effective that they can tell a story -in the dark and “make good”; others can’t get -through without calling all their features to help, -with some assistance from their arms and legs. -One man will lead you with his eye alone to the -point of a story; another will drawl and stammer -as if he had nothing to say, yet startle you -into a laugh a minute.</p> - -<p>Of course a great deal depends on the story -itself. People are too grateful for a laugh to -look backward and analyze the story that compelled -it; they generally believe that fun is fun, -and that is about as much as any one knows of -it. The truth is that while there are all kinds -of stories there is only one kind of humor.</p> - -<p>As a rule, humorous stories are of American -origin, comic stories are English, and witty -stories are French. The humorous story depends -upon the incidents and the manner of -telling; comic and witty stories depend upon the -matter. The humorous story may be spun out -to any length; it may wander about as it pleases, -and arrive at nowhere in particular; but the -comic or witty story must be brief, and end in a -sharp point. The humorous story bubbles along -continually; the other kinds burst. The humorous -tale is entirely a work of art, and only an -artist can tell it; while the witty or comic story—oh, -any one who knows it can tell it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p> - -<p>The act of telling a humorous story—by word -of mouth, understand, not in print—was created -in America, and has remained at home, in spite -of many earnest endeavors to domesticate it -abroad, and even to counterfeit it. It is generally -told gravely, the teller doing his best to -disguise his attempt to inflict anything funny -on his listeners; but the man with a comic story -generally tells you beforehand that it is one of -the funniest things he ever heard, and he is -the first one to laugh—when he reaches the -end.</p> - -<p>One of the dreadfulest inflictions that suffering -humanity ever endures is the result of amateur -efforts to transform the humorous into the comic, -or <i lang="la">vice versa</i>. It reminds one of Frank Stockton’s -tearful tale of what came of one of the best -things in Pickwick by being translated into classical -Greek and then brought back into English.</p> - -<p>The Rev. Robert J. Burdette, who used to write -columns of capital humor for <cite>The Burlington -Hawkeye</cite> and told scores of stories superbly, made -his first visit to New York about twenty years -ago, and was at once spirited to a notable club -where he told stories leisurely until half the -hearers ached with laughter and the other half -were threatened with apoplexy. Every one present -declared it the red letter night of the club, -and members who had missed it came around and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -demanded the stories at second-hand. Some efforts -were made to oblige them, but without avail, -for the tellers had twisted their recollections of -the stories into comic jokes; so they hunted the -town for Burdette to help them out of their -muddle.</p> - -<p>The late Artemus Ward, who a generation ago -carried a tidal wave of humor from Maine to California, -with some generous overflows each side -of its course, had a long serious face and a drawling -voice; so when he lectured in churches, as he -frequently did, a late-comer might have mistaken -him for a minister, though not for very long. He -would drawl along without giving the slightest -indication of what was coming. When the joke -was unloaded and the audience got hold of it he -would look up with seemingly innocent wonder -as to what people were laughing at. This expression -of his countenance always brought another -laugh. He could get laughs out of nothing, -by mixing the absurd and the unexpected, and -then backing the combination with a solemn face -and earnest manner. For instance, it was worth -a ten-mile walk after dark on a corduroy road to -hear him say: “I once knew a man in New -Zealand who hadn’t a tooth in his head”—here -he would pause for some time, look reminiscent, -and continue, “And yet he could beat a base-drum -better than any other man I ever knew.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p> - -<p>Mark Twain is another famous humorist who -can use a serious countenance and hesitating -voice with wonderful effect in a story. His tale -of “The Golden Arm” was the best thing of its -kind I ever heard—when told as he himself told -it—but everything depended on suddenness and -unexpectedness of climax. Here it is, as he gave -it:—</p> - -<p>“Once ’pon a time dey wuz a mons’us mean -man, en’ he live ’way out in de prairie all ’lone -by himself, ’cep’n he had a wife. En’ bimeby she -died, en’ he took en’ toted her ’way out da’ in de -prairie en’ buried her. Well, she had a golden -arm all solid gold, f’om de shoulder down. He -wuz pow’ful mean—pow’ful; en’ dat night he -couldn’t sleep, ’coze he wanted dat golden arm so -bad.</p> - -<p>“When it come midnight he couldn’t stan’ it -no mo’, so he got up, he did, en’ tuk his lantern -en’ shoved out troo de storm en’ dug her up en’ -got de golden arm; en’ he bent his head down -’gin de wind, en’ plowed en’ plowed en’ plowed -troo de snow. Den all on a sudden he stop” -(make a considerable pause here, and look startled, -and take a listening attitude) “en’ say:</p> - -<p>“My lan’, what’s dat? En’ he listen, en’ listen, -en’ de wind say” (set your teeth together, and -imitate the wailing and wheezing sing-song of -the wind): “‘Buzz-z-zzz!’ en’ den, way back<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -yonder whah de grave is, he hear a voice—he -hear a voice all mix up in de win’—can’t hardly -tell ’em ’part: ‘Bzzz-zzz—w-h-o—g-o-t—m-y -g-o-l-d-e-n arm?”’ (You must begin to shiver -violently now.)</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus6.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“She’ll fetch a dear little yelp—”</p> -</div> - -<p>“En’ he begin to shiver en’ shake, en’ say: -‘Oh, my! Oh, my lan’!’ En’ de win’ blow de -lantern out, en’ de snow en’ de sleet blow in his -face en’ ’most choke him, en’ he start a-plowin’ -knee-deep toward home, mos’ dead, he so sk’yeerd, -en’ pooty soon he hear de voice again, en”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -(pause) “it ’us comin’ after him: ‘Buzzz-zzz—w-h-o—g-o-t -m-y g-o-l-d-e-n—arm?’</p> - -<p>“When he git to de pasture he hear it agin—closter, -now, en’ a comin’ back dab in de dark en’ -de storm” (repeat the wind and the voice). -“When he git to de house he rush up-stairs, en’ -jump in de bed, en’ kiver up head en’ years, en’ -lay dah a-shiverin’ en’ a-shakin’, en’ den ’way out -dah he hear it agin, en’ a-comin’! En’ bimeby -he hear” (pause—awed; listening attitude) “—at—pat—pat—pat—hit’s -a-comin’ up-stairs! Den -he hear de latch, en’ he knows it’s in de -room.</p> - -<p>“Den pooty soon he knows it’s—standin’ by -de bed!” (Pause.) “Den he knows it’s -a-bendin’ down over him,—en’ he cain’t sca’cely -git his breaf! Den—den he seem to feel somethin’ -c-o-l-d, right down neah agin’ his head!” -(Pause.)</p> - -<p>“Den de voice say, right at his year: ‘W-h-o -g-o-t m-y g-o-l-d-e-n arm?’” You must wail it -out plaintively and accusingly; then you stare -steadily and impressively into the face of the -farthest-gone auditor—a girl, preferably—and let -that awe-inspiring pause begin to build itself in -the deep hush. When it has reached exactly the -right length, jump suddenly toward that girl and -yell: “‘<em>You’ve</em> got it!’”</p> - -<p>If you have got the pause right, she’ll fetch a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -dear little yelp and spring right out of her shoes; -but you must get the pause right, and you will -find it the most troublesome and aggravating -and uncertain thing you ever undertook.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> -<img src="images/header-ch5.jpg" width="700" height="425" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br /> -<span class="smaller">ACTORS’ JOKES</span></h2> - -<p>All of Them Full of Humor at All Times.—“Joe” Jefferson.—J. -K. Emmett.—Fay Templeton.—Willie Collier.—An -Actor’s Portrait on a Church Wall.—“Gus” Thomas, the -Playwright.—Stuart Robson.—Henry Dixey.—Evans and -Hoey.—Charles Hoyt.—Wilson Barrett.—W. S. Gilbert.—Henry -Irving.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Actors are the most incessant jokers -alive. Whether rich or poor, obscure -or prominent, drunk or sober, prosperous -or not knowing where the next meal -is to come from, or whether there will be any -next meal, they have always something funny at -the tips of their tongues, and managers and dramatic -authors as a rule are full of humorous explosives -that clear the dull air and let in the sunshine.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -They are masters at repartee, yet as willing -to turn a joke on themselves as on one another, -and they can work a pun most brilliantly.</p> - -<p>Joseph Jefferson one day called on President -Cleveland with General Sherman, and carried a -small package with him. All his friends know -that dear old “Joe” is forgetful, so when the -visitors were going the general called attention -to the package and asked: “Jefferson, isn’t this -yours?”</p> - -<p>“Great Cæsar, Sherman,” Jefferson replied, -“you have saved my life!” The “life” referred -to was the manuscript of his then uncompleted -biography. Jefferson delights in telling -of a new playmate of one of his sons, who asked -another boy who young Jefferson was, and was -told:</p> - -<p>“Oh, his father works in a theatre somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Pete” Dailey, while enjoying a short vacation, -visited a New York theatre when business -was dull. Being asked afterward how large the -audience was, he replied: “I could lick all three -of them.”</p> - -<p>On meeting a friend who was “fleshing up,” -he exclaimed: “You are getting so stout that I -thought some one was with you.”</p> - -<p>J. K. Emmett tells of a heathenish old farmer -and his wife who strayed into a church and heard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -the minister say: “Jesus died for sinners.” The -old man nudged his wife, and whispered:</p> - -<p>“Serves us right for not knowin’ it, Marthey. -We hain’t took a newspaper in thirty year.”</p> - -<p>Fay Templeton tells of a colored girl, whose -mother shouted: “Mandy, your heel’s on fire!” -and the girl replied: “Which one, mother?” -The girl was so untruthful that her discouraged -mother said: “When you die, dey’s going to -say: ‘Here lies Mandy Hopkins, and de trufe -never came out of her when she was alive.’”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus7.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Actors are the Most Incessant Jokers Alive.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I have been the subject of some actors’ jokes, -and enjoyed the fun as much as any one. May -Irwin had two sons, who early in life were susceptible -to the seductive cigarette, against which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -she cautioned them earnestly. I entered a restaurant -one day where she and her sons were -dining, and she called me over and gave me an -opportunity to become acquainted with the little -fellows. After I left them, one turned to his -mother and asked:</p> - -<p>“What makes that little man so short?”</p> - -<p>“Smoking cigarettes,” she replied. And they -never smoked again.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus8.jpg" width="500" height="250" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">He Smokes Cigarettes.</p> -</div> - -<p>Willie Collier invited me one summer to his -beautiful home at St. James, Long Island. He -was out when I arrived, and when he returned, -Mrs. Collier said to him:</p> - -<p>“You’re going to have Marshall P. Wilder for -dinner,” and Willie replied:</p> - -<p>“I’d rather have lamb.”</p> - -<p>There is a colony of theatrical people near -Collier, and they have a small theatre in which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -a dazzling array of talent sometimes appears, although -the performances are impromptu affairs. -On Sundays this theatre serves as a church for -the Catholics of the vicinity. At one side hangs -a large lithograph of Willie Collier, concerning -which the following conversation between the -two Irishmen was overheard:</p> - -<p>“I wint into the church this mornin’ airly, -while it was pretty dark, an’ I see a picture -hanging there, an’ thinkin’ it must be one av -the saints I wint down on me knees an’ said -me prayers before it. When I opened me eyes -they’d got used to the dark, an’ if I didn’t see -it was a picture av that actor-man beyant that -they call Willie Collier!”</p> - -<p>“An’ what did’ you do?” asked the other -Irishman.</p> - -<p>“Sure, I tuk’ back as much av me prayers as -I cud.”</p> - -<p>Augustus Thomas, the playwright, who is -always “Gus” except on the back of an envelop -or the bottom of his own check, was -chairman of a Lambs’ Club dinner at which -I was to speak. When I began, he joked me -on my shortness by saying:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wilder will please rise when making a -speech.”</p> - -<p>I was able to retort by saying: “I will; but -you won’t believe it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> - -<p>When an acquaintance said to him after being -wearied by a play: “That was the slowest performance -I ever saw. Strange, too, for it had a -run of a hundred nights in London!” Thomas -replied:</p> - -<p>“That’s the trouble. It’s exhausted its speed.”</p> - -<p>He was standing behind the scenes one night -with Miss Georgia Busbey, who while waiting -for her cue, said: “Tell me a story, Mr. Thomas, -before I go on.”</p> - -<p>“It must be a quick witty one then, Miss -Busbey.”</p> - -<p>“I know it, but I’ve come to the right place -for it.”</p> - -<p>Stuart Robson was present at a Lambs’ Club -dinner of which Mr. Thomas was chairman; but -he endeavored to hide when called on for a -speech. Thousands of successful appearances on -the stage never cured him of his constitutional -bashfulness.</p> - -<p>Thomas said: “Is Mr. Robson here? If he -has not gone, we should like to hear from him.”</p> - -<p>Robson said: “Mr. Thomas, will you kindly -consider that I have gone?”</p> - -<p>Thomas replied: “While the drama lasts, Mr. -Robson can never go.”</p> - -<p>Robson had been a close neighbor and friend -for many years to Lawrence Barrett. His bosom -friend Marshall Lewis fell in love with Barrett’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -charming daughter Millie, and Robson pretended -to think it was the greatest joke in the -world.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you go in, and win and marry -her, Marshall?” he used to say in the squeaky -voice which was not for the stage alone. “I’ll -tell you what I’ll do—the day you marry Millie -Barrett I’ll give you five thousand dollars.”</p> - -<p>This went on for some time, until to Robson’s -astonishment and chagrin Miss Barrett accepted -Lewis.</p> - -<p>By the way, when Barrett learned of it he exclaimed: -“My dear boy, you don’t know what -you’re doing. You are robbing me out of my -only remaining daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” Lewis replied, with a slap on the -back of his father-in-law elect. “I’m merely -giving you another son.”</p> - -<p>When the marriage day came Robson did not -attend the ceremony; but he sent his daughter -Alicia in his place, and gave her a check for -five thousand dollars, drawn to Lewis’ order, but -with emphatic orders not to part from it until -Lewis and Miss Barrett were pronounced man -and wife. When Alicia returned her father -asked her if she had given Lewis the check.</p> - -<p>The girl replied: “Yes, father.”</p> - -<p>“What did he do and say?” Robson inquired -impatiently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, father, he was so overcome that he -cried for a minute after I gave it to him.”</p> - -<p>“Egad!” squeaked Robson, “was that all? -Why, I cried for an hour when I wrote it.”</p> - -<p>Henry Dixey is an adept at the leisurely tale, -which is a word picture from start to finish. -Here is a sample:</p> - -<p>In one of the country stores, where they sell -everything from a silk dress and a tub of butter -to a hot drink and a cold meal, a lot of farmers -were sitting around the stove one cold winter -day, when in came Farmer Evans, who was -greeted with:</p> - -<p>“How d’do, Ezry?”</p> - -<p>“How d’do boys?” After awhile he continued: -“Wa-all, I’ve killed my hog.”</p> - -<p>“That so? How much did he weigh?”</p> - -<p>Farmer Evans stroked his chin whiskers -meditatively and replied: “Wa-all, guess.”</p> - -<p>“’Bout three hundred,” said one farmer.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Two seventy-five?” ventured another.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“I guess about three twenty-five,” said a third.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Then all together demanded: “Well, how -much did he weigh?”</p> - -<p>“Dunno. Hain’t weighed him yet.”</p> - -<p>Other men kept dropping in and hugging the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -stove, for the day was cold and snowy outside. -In came Cy Hopkins, wrapped in a big overcoat, -yet almost frozen to death; but there wasn’t -room enough around that stove to warm his -little finger.</p> - -<p>But he didn’t get mad about it; he just said to -Bill Stebbins who kept the store: “Bill, got any -raw oysters?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Cy.”</p> - -<p>“Well, just open a dozen and feed ’em to my -hoss.”</p> - -<p>Well, Stebbins never was scared by an order -from a man whose credit was good, as Cy’s was, -so he opened the oysters an’ took them out, an’ -the whole crowd followed to see a horse eat -oysters. Then Cy picked out the best seat near -the stove and dropped into it as if he had come -to stay, as he had.</p> - -<p>Pretty soon the crowd came back, and the -storekeeper said: “Why, Cy, your hoss won’t -eat them oysters.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t he? Well, then, bring ’em here an’ -I’ll eat ’em myself.”</p> - -<p>When Charley Evans and Bill Hoey traveled -together, they had no end of good-natured banter -between them.</p> - -<p>Once when Hoey saw Evans mixing lemon -juice and water for a gargle, he asked: “What -are you doing that for, Charley?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, for my singing.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose you put some in your ear; then -maybe you’ll be able to find the key.”</p> - -<p>While they were crossing the ocean, Evans -came on deck one day dressed in the latest -summer fashion—duck trousers, straw hat, etc.—and -asked Hoey: “How do you like me, Bill?”</p> - -<p>“Well, all you need to do now is to have your -ears pierced,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>At the ship’s table the waiter asked Hoey what -he would have.</p> - -<p>“Roast beef.”</p> - -<p>“How shall I cut it, sir?”</p> - -<p>“By the ship’s chart.”</p> - -<p>Evans always carried the money for both, and -the two men had a fancy for wearing trousers of -the same material, though of different sizes, for -Evans was slighter than his partner. One day -Hoey fell on hard luck. He had been to the -Derby races, where a pickpocket relieved him of -his watch and his money too. They were to -start for America next morning, and Evans had -plenty of money and return tickets also, yet Hoey -was so cut up by his losses that he went to bed -early and tried to drop asleep. This did not -work, so after tossing for several hours, by which -time Evans had retired, he got up and began to -dress himself. But to his horror his figure -seemed to have swelled in the night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> - -<p>This was the last straw; he woke his partner -and with tears in his eyes and his voice too, he -said: “Charley, beside all my hard luck to-day -I’m getting the dropsy.”</p> - -<p>“Bill,” said Evans after a glance, “go into the -other room and take off my pants!”</p> - -<p>A certain diamond broker called on the late -Charles Hoyt with a large bill.</p> - -<p>While Hoyt was drawing a check the broker -said: “Charley, a dear friend of mine was -robbed yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so? Why, what did you sell him?”</p> - -<p>The English stage is as full of jokers as ours. -Wilson Barrett tells that at a “First night” his -play did not seem to suit the pit, so he came -before the curtain at the end of one act and -asked what was the matter. The “Gods” have -great freedom in English theatres, so there was -much talk across the footlights between the stage -and the audience; but it was stopped abruptly by -a voice that said:</p> - -<p>“Oh, go on, Wilson! This ain’t no bloomin’ -debatin’ society.”</p> - -<p>W. S. Gilbert, although not an actor, is a playwright -and extremely critical. A London favorite -had the best part in one of Gilbert’s pieces, -but the author thought him slow. Going behind -the scenes after the performance, Gilbert noted -that the actor’s brow was perspiring, so he said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, at all events, your skin has been -acting.”</p> - -<p>Gilbert can give evasive answers that cut like -a knife. A player of the title part of Hamlet -asked Gilbert’s opinion of the performance.</p> - -<p>“You are funny, without being vulgar,” was -the reply.</p> - -<p>Forbes Robertson, who essayed the same -part, asked Gilbert: “What do you think of -Hamlet?”</p> - -<p>Gilbert answered: “Wonderful play, old man; -most wonderful play ever written.”</p> - -<p>E. S. Willard tells the following story of -Charles Glenny, of Irving’s Lyceum Company. -“The Merchant of Venice” was in rehearsal, and -Glenny did not repeat the lines: “Take me to -the gallows, not to the font” to the liking of -Irving, so the latter said in the kindly manner he -always maintained at rehearsals:</p> - -<p>“No, no, Mr. Glenny; not that way. Walk -over and touch me, and say: ‘Take me to the -gallows, not to the font.’” The line was rehearsed -several times, but unsuccessfully.</p> - -<p>Finally Irving became discouraged and said: -“Ah, well; touch me.”</p> - -<p>Irving witnessed Richard Mansfield’s performance -of “Richard III,” in London, and by -invitation went back to see the actor in his -dressing-room. Mansfield had been almost exhausted,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -and was fanning himself, but Irving’s -approach revived him, and natural anticipation -of a compliment from so exalted a source was -absolutely stimulating.</p> - -<p>But for the time being all Irving did was to -slap Mansfield playfully on the back and exclaim -in the inimitable Irving tone: “Aha? You -sweat!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus9.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Aha! You Sweat!”</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">A SUNNY OLD CITY</span></h2> - -<p>Some Aspects of Philadelphia.—Fun in a Hospital.—“The -Cripple’s Palace.”—An Invalid’s Success in Making Other -Invalids Laugh.—Fights for the Fun of Fighting.—My -Rival Friends.—Boys Will Be Boys.—Cast Out of Church.—A -Startling Recognition.—Some Pleasures of Attending -Funerals.—How I Claimed the Protection of the American -Flag.</p> - -</div> - -<p>A hospital is not a place that any one -would visit if he were in search of jollity, -yet some of the merriest hours of -my life were spent, some years ago, in the National -Surgical Institute of Philadelphia. I was -one of about three hundred people, of all ages, -sizes and dispositions, who were under treatment -for physical defects. Most of us were practically -crippled, a condition which is not generally regarded -to be conductive of hilarity, yet many of -us had lots of fun, and all of it was made by -ourselves. I was one of the luckiest of the lot, -for Mother Nature had endowed me with a -faculty for finding sunshine everywhere.</p> - -<p>Yet part of my treatment was to lie in bed, -locked in braces, for hours every day, and each -of these hours seemed to be several thousand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -minutes long. So many other boys were under -similar treatment that an attendant, named Joe, -was kept busy in merely taking off our appliances. -These were locked, for between pain and the restiveness -peculiar to boys, we would have removed -them for ourselves or for one another. Joe was -not a beauty, yet I distinctly remember recalling -his appearance was that of an angel of light, for -I best remember him in the act of loosening my -braces. Whenever the surgeon in charge was -absent, we would beg Joe to unlock us for “Just -five minutes—just a minute”—and sometimes he -would yield, after making us promise solemnly -not to tell the doctor. The result recalls the -story of the old darky who was seen to hammer -his thumb at intervals. When asked why he did -it, he replied,</p> - -<p>“Kase it feels so good when I stop!”</p> - -<p>To keep from thinking of my pain and helplessness, -I kept looking about me for something -to laugh at, and it was a rare day on which I -failed to find it. When there came such a day, I -had only to close my eyes and look backward a -few months or years; I was sure to recall something -funny. Then I would laugh. Some other -sufferer would ask what was amusing me, and -when I told him he would also laugh, some one -would hear him and the story would have to be -repeated. Soon the word got about the building<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -that there was a little fellow in one of the rooms -who was always laughing to himself, or making -others laugh, so all the boys insisted on being -“let in on the ground floor”—which in my case -was the fourth floor. I made no objection; was -there ever a man so modest that he didn’t like -listeners when he had anything to say? So it -soon became the custom of all the boys who were -not absolutely bound to their beds to congregate -in my room, which would have comfortably held, -not more than a dozen. Yet daily I had fifty or -more around me; the earlier comers filled the -chairs, later arrivals sprawled or curled on my -bed, still later ones sat on the headboard and -footboard, the floor accommodated others until it -was packed, and the belated ones stowed themselves -in the hall, within hearing distance.</p> - -<p>’Twas a hard trip for some of them, poor fellows -for there were not enough attendants to -carry them all, and three flights of stairs are a -hard climb for cripples. So, to prevent unnecessary -pain while I was outdoors taking the air, I -hung a small American flag over the stair rail -opposite my door, whenever I was in; this could -be seen from any of the lower halls. I learned -afterward that it was the custom of royalty and -other exalted personages to display a flag when -they were “at home,” but this did not frighten -me; in memory of those hospital days, I always<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -display a flag at my window when I am able to -see my friends.</p> - -<p>Boys are as fond as Irishmen of fighting for -the mere fun of it, so we got a lot of laughing -out of fist fights between some of the patients. -The most popular contestants were Gott Dewey -from Elmira, N. Y., and a son of Sheriff Wright -of Philadelphia. Both were seriously afflicted, -though they seemed not to know it. Wright was -a cross-eyed paralytic, while Dewey had St. -Vitus’s dance and was so badly paralyzed that he -had no control over his natural means of locomotion. -He could not even talk intelligibly, yet he -had an intellect that impressed me deeply, even -at that early day. He could cope with the hardest -mathematical problem that any could offer; -he read much and his taste in literature and -everything else was distinct and refined.</p> - -<p>Yet, being still a boy, he enjoyed a fight, and -as he and Wright were naturally antipathetic by -temperament, they were always ready for a set-to. -These affairs were entirely harmless, for neither -could hit straighter than a girl can throw a stone. -The result of their efforts was “the humor of the -unexpected,” and it amused us so greatly that we -never noticed the pathetic side of it.</p> - -<p>These two boys did me the honor to become -very fond of me; why they did it, I don’t know, -unless because I never did anything in particular<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -for Wright, yet he was always teasing Dewey, -who was quite proud and self-reliant, and insisted -upon doing everything for himself. That he -might serve himself at table, a little elevator was -made for his convenience, and I was mischievous -enough to disarrange the machinery so that food -intended for his mouth should reach his ear. Yet -he loved me dearly and dashed at me affectionately -though erratically whenever we met. I -was unable to get about without crutches, so I -frequently fell; if Dewey were in sight, he would -hurry to my assistance, with disastrous results to -both of us; often Wright would offer assistance -at the same time and the two would fall over -each other and me and attempt to “fight it out,” -while I would become helpless with laughter and -the three of us would lie in a heap, until some attendant -would separate the warriors and set me -on my feet and crutches.</p> - -<p>One rule of the Institute was that no patients -were to leave the building on Sunday—the day -on which the physicians and attendants got most -liberty. To enforce this rule there was a doorkeeper -named Smith. He was a dwarf, hardly -four feet high, who, on Sunday would curl up in -a box under his desk and wish he could have a -mouthful or more of whiskey, although a little -of it would put him sound asleep and leave the -door unguarded against any one who cared to go<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -out. How whiskey got into the Institute to be -used upon Smith, I don’t know.</p> - -<p>I recall a Sunday when we three, Dewey, -Wright and I, conceived the idea of going to -church. There was a church directly across the -street, so we started for it a few moments after -throwing a sop of whiskey to our Cerberus. We -had several mishaps on the way, due to my -friend’s well-meant but misdirected efforts to assist -me, but passers-by kindly put us on our feet -again. We got into church quite early, and -passed up the aisle and entered the front pew, -under the very droppings of the sanctuary. -Soon after the service began a young lady at our -left compelled our attention by eyeing us intently; -apparently she thought us the newest -thing in “The Three Graces” line. Something -moved me to nudge Dewey and tell him to stop -flirting with that girl. Apparently he thought I -was trying to be funny, for he began laughing in -his peculiar laugh, which was a sputter, with -which no one familiar with it could help being -amused, so Wright laughed too, after which it -was impossible for me to keep quiet. We really -were reverent little chaps, so we tried hard to -suppress ourselves, but—boys will be boys. Suddenly -we three exploded as one; we could hear -tittering around us, the minister stopped in the -middle of an eloquent period, raised his glasses,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -and I shall never forget his pained expression of -astonishment as he caught sight of us for the -first time. Suddenly there appeared a platoon -of deacons, two of whom attached themselves to -each of us, and we were conducted down the -aisle, facing an array of hymn-books, behind -which the congregation were trying to hide their -own laughter. The next day the church sent the -Institute a polite but earnest request that no -more cripples be allowed to attend service in that -church.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus10.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“There appeared a Platoon of Deacons.”</p> -</div> - -<p>After leaving the Institute I lost sight of -Dewey, though I never forgot his hearty way of -greeting me whenever he met me, a heartiness -which caused him to tumble all over me and -compel me to put out my arm to save him from -falling. Five years ago on reaching a Philadelphia<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -church whose members I had been engaged -to “entertain,” the committee of arrangements -met me and said they wished to prepare me for -the unusual appearance of their chairman. He -had endowed the church, they told me, and was -almost idolized by the people for his many noble -qualities of head and heart, yet he was a paralytic -and his visage was shocking at first sight. -Suddenly the chairman himself entered the room -and I saw my old friend Gott Dewey. At the -same instant he recognized me; he dashed at me -in his old way; my arm instinctively caught him -as it had done hundreds of times before; the -committee supposing I was frightened, endeavored -to separate us, but we weren’t easy to -handle, so there was a close mix up, while, in -which, the dear old boy with tears streaming -down his cheeks, endeavored to explain that we -were fast friends. Then he told me he had read -my book “People I’ve Smiled With,” and been -so greatly amused by it that he had suggested -my engagement to entertain his church people, -yet he had never imagined I was the Wilder boy -of “The Cripple’s Palace.”</p> - -<p>It took him fifteen minutes to say all this and -conquer his emotion; then he wanted to go on -the platform and tell his people about me and -what old friends we were. I realized that if he -were to do it, I would never reach the platform<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -myself, so I persuaded him to let me tell them -the story. He consented, but insisted on accompanying -me, and tearfully confirming every -thing I said, so with him beside me, for “local -color,” I got along so well that there was not a -dry eye in the house. It was an inexpressible -relief to me to set everybody laughing afterward, -for I never needed a “bracing up” more than on -that night.</p> - -<p>Dewey had always longed to be a lawyer and -I learned that he had succeeded in gratifying -this ambition, in spite of his heavy physical -handicap: he became so able as a counselor that -he gained a large practice and was specially -skilful at preparing briefs for his partner to take -into court. He was held in high honor for his -charitable work and for many years led a successful, -useful and happy life; but not long after -our unexpected meeting he was complained of as -a public nuisance and was actually arrested on -this charge. His appearance and manner were -really terrifying to people that did not know -him, for in trying to avoid collision with -passers-by his lack of control often caused him to -act as if about to strike. The magistrate, before -whom he was arraigned expressed extreme sympathy, -but insisted that he keep out of the streets -except when in a carriage or when properly attended, -and poor Dewey took the affair so deeply<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -to heart, that afterward he kept himself almost -secluded from the world.</p> - -<p>Mention of Philadelphia almost always suggests -graveyards to me, not that the city prides -itself on being “well laid-out,” but because I -have visited all its cemeteries many times. -When I left the Surgical Institute I boarded -with a woman whose husband kept a large -livery stable. I made friends of the drivers, and, -as I was still under treatment and could not get -about much, they would kindly give me an airing, -whenever they were engaged for funerals, -which was almost daily. This often meant an all -day trip; my motherly landlady would put up a -substantial lunch for me and the drivers granted -me special privileges; that is, I was generally -taken on the seat of the driver of the carriage -which followed the hearse. The one that “carried -the criers,” to use the stable parlance. It -would not seem a cheerful way of spending a -day, but I was always very much alive, and the -drivers were as cheerful as if going to a wedding, -and, while the ceremony at the grave was in -progress, I ate my lunch with the hunger sauce -that a long drive always supplies, and in summer -I could generally find some flowers in the path -to take home to my landlady. Besides, some of -the cemeteries were so well kept that they were -as sightly as gardens, which reminds me of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -story that I once inflicted on the Clover Club of -Philadelphia, as follows:</p> - -<p>“While dining at my hotel yesterday, I noticed -that the water looked muddy, so I complained to -the waiter. He admitted that it looked bad, -but said it was really very good water.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus11.jpg" width="500" height="475" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“He Said it was Very Good Water.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“‘But,’ I continued, ‘they tell me that the -water here passes through a graveyard (Laurel -Hill Cemetery) before reaching the people.’</p> - -<p>“‘That’s right, sir,’ the waiter replied. ‘But -it’s a first-class graveyard; only the best people -are buried there.’”</p> - -<p>I have traveled much in foreign countries, -but Philadelphia is the only place in which I -was compelled to beg the protection of the -American flag. I had been engaged by Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -John Wanamaker to “say something” to his -great Sunday-school on two consecutive evenings. -Being a New Yorker, I did not care to -spend the intervening hours in Philadelphia, so -after leaving the platform the first evening, I -took the ten o’clock train for home. As haste -was necessary, I merely changed my evening -coat and vest for street clothes. In New York -next day, I changed my black trousers for gray, -attended to so much business that I had to take -a late afternoon train, and did not realize until -it was almost time to go on the platform, in a -“swallow-tail” coat that I had no black trousers. -Worse still my figure was such that I could not -be fitted from any clothing store in the city. -For a moment my invention was at a standstill, -but the people were not, and the hall was filling -rapidly. I consulted the committee hastily, and -though they were greatly amused by my suggestion, -they acted upon it promptly: they -moved a table to the centre of the platform, -draped it with the stars and stripes, and all the -people on the platform arranged themselves, so -that I could be unseen as I passed behind them -to the table, where only my coat and vest could -be seen, the objectionable trousers being hidden -by my country’s flag.</p> - -<p>Small wonder that I have a merry remembrance -of Philadelphia.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">MY FIRST TRIP TO LONDON</span></h2> - -<p>Large Hopes vs. Small Means.—At the Savage Club.—My First -Engagement.—Within an Ace of Losing It.—Alone in a -Crowd.—A Friendly Face to the Rescue.—The New York -Welcome to a Fine Fellow.—One English Way With -Jokes.—People Who are Slow to Laugh.—Disturbing Elements.—Cold -Audiences.—Following a Suicide.</p> - -</div> - -<p>When first I visited London I carried -large hopes and a small purse and the -latter became so much smaller in the -course of time, that I had to live on next to nothing; -to be exact, I restricted myself to fifty cents -a day. For seventy-five cents a week I had a -little room in Tottenham Court Road—a very -narrow-minded room indeed, with furnishings to -match. Cold, damp weather was the only guest -or companion I had, and the room’s carpet -served two purposes; it covered the floor by day -and the bed at night. From the tiny window -there was a long vista of chimney-pots, which, -next to an array of ready-made coffins, offer as -disquieting a spectacle as a homesick boy can -gaze upon. The boy Chatterton came to my -mind many times in those days, and although I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -hoped his fate would not be mine, I nevertheless -learned at times how annoying hunger may be -when it passes the point of anticipation of “a -square meal.”</p> - -<p>One treasure did much to sustain me; it was a -card, given me by an American friend before I -left home, introducing me to the Savage Club, -which is similar to the Lotos Club of New York. -I had the freedom of the Savage at all times, and -was allowed to have my letters addressed there—a -privilege which literally “saved my face,” -for I would never have dared to pose as an entertainer -if my address had been Tottenham Court -Road. I had good clothes and I kept a stiff -upper lip, so no member of the club knew of my -financial straits. I was careful to refrain from -forcing myself upon any of the club members -who had been so kind as to notice me, yet dinner -invitations from some of these good fellows were -all that saved my slender bank balance from -extinction.</p> - -<p>Despite my own economy and the hospitality -of others there came a day when Melancholy—with -a large M,—threatened to mark me for her -own, for my sole assets, excepting my clothing, -were six dollars and my return ticket; the latter -I could not convert into cash without burning my -bridge behind me—and the Atlantic is too wide -for a return trip by raft. Just as this crisis had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -made me as miserable as any man could be, I -received the following dispatch from a club member -who probably had been present at some of -the volunteer entertainments I had given at the -Savage.</p> - -<p>“What are your terms? Come to-night; No. 5 -Princess Gate.”</p> - -<p>I quickly wired back: “Will come. Terms -ten guineas.”</p> - -<p>For the remainder of the day I stayed away -from the club, and tormented myself with fears -that I had named too high a price, though I had -always believed there was wisdom in Emerson’s -advice—“Hitch your wagon to a star.” I resolved -to go that night to 5 Princess Gate; then, -if they had canceled the engagement, I could -honestly say I had not received notice.</p> - -<p>In the evening I made a careful toilet, using -my last bit of clean linen, and took a twopenny -’bus to my destination. The powdered footman -who opened the door said he would bring his -Lordship’s secretary to see me. The secretary -came in, much embarrassed, and said he had -wired me that other arrangements had been -made.</p> - -<p>“I have been so busy all day,” I replied, “that -I’ve not called at the club; consequently I did -not get your message. What was the trouble?—my -terms?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p> - -<p>“We have engaged a different entertainer,” he -replied evasively.</p> - -<p>“But, you see,” I said, with my heart in my -mouth, which had need of something more edible, -“your telegram this morning told me to -come, so my evening is lost. As I am here, suppose -I go up and do what I can. As to my fee—oh, -I’m quite willing to leave that to his lordship.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus12.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I told him many stories hoping he would not notice -my appetite.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Just then I heard his lordship’s voice saying, -“Come in, Mr. Wilder.” He seemed to have -grasped the situation, and with the tact and -courtesy which is never lacking in English gentlemen, -he quickly made me feel entirely at ease. -He also offered me refreshments, and as I had -not dined, I gladly accepted. That I might not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -be alone at table, he kindly waited with me. I -told him many stories, hoping he would not -notice my appetite, but I noticed it myself so -persistently that I felt that his every glance said -distinctly:</p> - -<p>“You poor little devil, how hungry you are!”</p> - -<p>But I persisted; I was conscious of a need to -be well fortified, for I had heard all sorts of -stories about entertaining at social functions in -England—stories of arrays of old ladies in low-necked -gowns displaying more bones than beauty,—of -a subdued patter of gloved hands in place of -real applause—of “the stony British stare,” -which, really, is never encountered in society, so -I felt like a soldier about to face fearful odds. I -was so wrought upon by my fears that when I -did appear it seemed to me that there was not in -that great drawing-room a single sympathetic -face at which I might play; all appeared to wear -an expression which said:</p> - -<p>“Now, then;—make us laugh if you can.”</p> - -<p>I began to feel as if I was looking into the rear -end of an ice wagon, but suddenly my eye found -a man’s face which filled me with courage—a face -full of kindness, humor and sympathy. It seemed -to say:</p> - -<p>“My poor boy, you’re in hard luck, and I’m -going to give you all the help I can. If there’s -an excuse for a laugh, you’re going to get it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> - -<p>My heart swelled and went out to him; -although I had much to think of at the moment, -business being business and I about to put my -wedge into it for the first time in an English -drawing-room, I mentally vowed that if ever I -met that man again he should know what a -tower of strength he had been to me. I “spread -myself,” I “laid myself out,” and was told afterward -that I had succeeded. My own view-point -of success was reached next morning, when I received -his lordship’s check.</p> - -<p>Several weeks afterward, at a dinner given to -Henry Irving, I saw again the kind face that had -been a world of encouragement to me. At the -earliest possible opportunity I went over to him -and said:</p> - -<p>“I want to thank you for helping me at a very -trying moment.”</p> - -<p>Through forgetfulness or modesty he appeared -not to remember the affair, so I detailed the circumstance -to him. He expressed delight at -having been of any service to me, and confessed -that he was a fellow professional, and could therefore -imagine my feelings when first face to face -with an English audience. I asked him what he -was doing; he replied that he was at the Princess -Theatre with Mr. Wilson Barrett. I begged -him to let me knew his whereabouts whenever -he came to the United States, so that I might renew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -my expressions of gratitude and be of any -possible service to him. He promised, but just -as I was taking leave of him it occurred to me -that I did not even know his name, so I asked -for it. He replied:</p> - -<p>“My name is Willard—Edward S. Willard.”</p> - -<p>We became quite close friends in the course of -years, although Mr. Willard did not come to -America until 1891. Soon after his arrival I -gave a breakfast at Delmonico’s in his honor and -ransacked the city and vicinity for fine fellows -to meet him. Among the guests were Gen. -W. T. Sherman, Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, -George W. Childs, editor of the Philadelphia -<cite>Ledger</cite>; Whitelaw Reid, editor-in-chief of the -New York <cite>Tribune</cite>; Hugh J. Grant, Mayor of -New York; Chauncey M. Depew, president of the -New York Central Railway Company and his -secretary Captain Henry Du Val; Hon. Daniel -Dougherty, the most brilliant member of the -Philadelphia bar; theatre managers Augustin -Daly, A. M. Palmer, Frank Sanger, Henry E. -Abbey, and Daniel Frohman; Joseph I. C. -Clarke, editor of the <cite>Morning Journal</cite>; Foster -Coates, editor of the <cite>Mail and Express</cite>; St. Clair -McKelway, editor of the Brooklyn <cite>Union</cite>; J. M. -Stoddart, manager of <cite>Lippincott’s Magazine</cite>; -Chester A. Lord, managing editor of the New -York <cite>Sun</cite>; Bradford Merrill, managing editor of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -the New York <cite>World</cite>; Arthur Bowers managing -editor of New York <cite>Tribune</cite>; Joseph Howard, -Jr., America’s most noted newspaper correspondent; -Col. T. P. Ochiltree, the world’s most -effective impromptu story teller; John Russell -Young, editor, librarian of the congressional -library and ex-minister to China; Major Moses -P. Handy, journalist, club president and United -States Commissioner to the Paris exposition; William -Edgar Nye (Bill Nye, the humorist); Sam -Sothern, brother of E. H. Sothern the actor; -W. J. Arkell, manager of <cite>Puck</cite> and <cite>Leslie’s -Weekly</cite>; Harrison Gray Fiske, editor <cite>Dramatic -Mirror</cite>; Col. W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”); -W. J. Florence, the comedian, Henry Watterson, -editor of the Louisville <cite>Courier-Journal</cite> and also -the most quoted editor in America, and Joseph -Hatton the noted English author.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of the breakfast I said:</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen, I should like to tell you the story -of a poor boy and an actor and the kindness the -actor showed the poor boy.” I then related, in -the third person, the story of my first evening -as an entertainer in London, and concluded with:</p> - -<p>“Gentleman, I am that poor boy, and the -actor, whose kindness I can never forget, is our -guest, Mr. Edward S. Willard.” And straightway -the entire company rose and let Willard -know what they thought of that sort of chap.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p> - -<p>After I had broken the ice in London by Mr. -Willard’s aid, as already described, I got along -quite swimmingly, and felt so at ease that I -imagined I never could find myself unable to -capture whatever audience I might face. But -there is no accounting for audiences; occasionally -they take an entertainer right to their -hearts, read his stories in his face and have -their applause ready for us the instant the point -appears. A day or two later the entertainer -may appear before a lot of men and women of -intelligent appearance without eliciting a smile. -These unaccountable differences are not peculiar -to either England or America. Every summer -when I revisit England, some old acquaintance -is sure to say, “Mr. Wilder, those stories you -told last year are awfully funny.” It has really -taken him about a year to get at the points of -the various tales; he doesn’t lack appreciation -of humor, but he is so accustomed to having it -served in only one way that he is puzzled when -it appears in a new form. One day I told an -English audience about New York’s fire department -and its methods; great interest was manifested, -so I ventured to tell the old story of a -fire in an India rubber factory. This factory -was a large, tall building, and when the alarm -of fire was given one of the employees found himself -on the top floor, with burning stairs under<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -him. His only chance was to jump, but the -pavement was so far below his windows that -death seemed inevitable. Suddenly -he bethought himself of -the elastic properties of rubber, -of which the room was full; -could he envelop himself with -it he might jump and strike -the sidewalk softly! So he -donned rubber coats, belts, diving -suits and everything -else he could find, until he -made the serious mistake -of putting on -too much, for -when he -jumped he rebounded -from -the pavement -again and -again and continued -to do so, for five -days, when a merciful -police officer -came along and shot -the poor fellow to -save him from starving -to death.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus13.jpg" width="500" height="950" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“A merciful police officer came -along and shot the poor fellow.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> - -<p>About half an hour after I told this veracious -story one of my audience came to me and asked:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wilder, do you think that police officer -was justified?”</p> - -<p>He was no worse than the person, to be found -in both England and America, who sees a joke -so slowly that his laugh comes in when there is -nothing to laugh at. I recall a woman of this -kind whose belated laugh was so immense when -it did arrive that I stopped and said:</p> - -<p>“Madam, if you will kindly keep that laugh -till a little later, it will do me lots of good.”</p> - -<p>Some people who have been of my audience -meet me afterward and proceed to “take the -gilt off of the gingerbread” in an amusing -fashion—if I am sensible enough to take it -that way. Once I encountered one of the -blundering old chaps who mean well, yet invariably -make a break and he said:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wilder, there was one very good thing -among those stories you told.”</p> - -<p>I was disconcerted for a moment, but recovering -myself I said:</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s better than missing the point of -all of them.”</p> - -<p>At one of my private entertainments I was -“making good” and was keeping my audience in -continuous merriment, but my hostess begged me -to cease making them laugh and say something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -sad and pathetic, so that they might catch their -breath and rest their aching sides.</p> - -<p>“My dear madam,” I replied, “I am never sad -or pathetic—I mean, not intentionally.”</p> - -<p>With a properly developed sense of humor one -can sometimes bring a laugh out of disconcerting -surroundings. While I was talking to an audience -at Flint, Mich., one night, the lights suddenly -went out but I succeeded in saying:</p> - -<p>“That’s too bad. Now I’m afraid you won’t -be able to see through my jokes.”</p> - -<p>One evening in the course of an engagement I -was playing at the Orpheum in Brooklyn; one of -the boxes was occupied by a quartette who had -evidently been drinking “not wisely, but too -well.” They were giving the audience the -benefit of their conversation and even sharing -the honors of the entertainment with the -ladies and gentlemen on the bill, much to the -annoyance of these, for the disturbance was -interfering seriously with good work. I had -been watching from the wings and determined -I would not submit to such distraction, so when -I went on I said:</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen, it is an oft-repeated -remark that it takes all kinds of people to make -a world. Some people in an audience are so sensitive -that they are affected by any unusual conditions -or surroundings. For instance, if they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -find themselves among ladies and gentlemen -they are so elated by the fact that their conduct -has every appearance of intoxication—but -it really is not intoxication, though it may look -that way.” My performance, which followed -immediately, was not disturbed, nor was that of -any one who followed me.</p> - -<p>Every entertainer knows what terrible up-hill -work it is to stand before a cold audience. Cold -that affects the body is bliss in comparison with -the awful atmosphere that creeps chillingly into -one’s soul and the very marrow of his bones. -How an audience can get into such a condition -and become so appalling an influence passes comprehension, -for not all the men and women present -can have become dyspeptic on the same day, -or had their consciences awakened at the same -hour, or simultaneously “gone broke” or seen -themselves as others saw them. Sometimes I’ve -thought it came of the actual atmosphere of the -house, for there are theatres, halls, churches and -parlors that are never properly aired unless hailstorms -or hoodlums chance to break the windows.</p> - -<p>But all such speculation is getting away from -the audience, whereas that is the one thing the -entertainer daren’t do, much though he may wish -to. He is “stuck” for a given period, and he is -reminded of trying to climb slippery mountains -of ice in the fairy tales of childhood’s sunny<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -hour, and the parallel continues, for the chill—the -reserve, is more often melted by some happy -impromptu than by conscientious work.</p> - -<p>I recall a time in Pittsburg when I struck the -afore-mentioned Polar current through no fault -of my own or of the audience. It was the custom -of the house to begin the evening with a -play and follow with a vaudeville performance. -The play on the occasion referred to was “Captain -Swift,” in which the hero was a charming -rascal who always took an audience by the heart, -even when he ended the play by killing himself. -It was my misfortune to follow the play and -find the audience in a very low state of mind -which, in turn, threw a wet blanket upon me and -my work. After laboring a few minutes I said:</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve often followed a -prayer, and sometimes followed a hearse, but this -is the first time I ever followed a suicide.” This -touch just tipped the balance—lifted the cloud, -squeezed the water out of the blanket, made the -audience mine and kept it so while I held the -stage.</p> - -<p>At the Orpheum in San Francisco I was received -so kindly that my stay was extended to -three weeks. San Francisco audiences are very -responsive, except on Sunday evenings; then, for -some Frisco reason undiscoverable by the eastern -man, they are usually cold and the entertainer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -has to cut ice. On my last Sunday evening there -a section of Greenland’s Icy Mountains seemed -to have come in collision with a cold-storage -warehouse just before I appeared, for the audience -was as unresponsive as a cart load of frozen -clams. I worked over them a few moments as -earnestly as a life-saver over a person rescued -from drowning, but to no avail, so I stopped and -said:</p> - -<p>“Now I’ve got you nice and quiet, just have a -good long sleep while I go out and leave a call -for you.” Then I tiptoed off of the stage so as not -to rouse the sleepers. This started a current of -warm good nature; they called me back and for -the rest of the performance there was perfect -understanding and sympathy between them and -me.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> -<img src="images/header-ch8.jpg" width="700" height="450" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">EXPERIENCES IN LONDON</span></h2> - -<p>Customs and Climate Very Unlike Our Own.—No Laughter in -Restaurants.—Clever Cabbies.—Oddities in Fire-fighting.—The -“Rogues’ Gallery” in Scotland Yard.—“Petticoat -Lane.”—A Cemetery for Pet Dogs.—Dogs Who are Characters.—The -Professional Toast-master.—Solemn After-dinner -Speakers.—An Autograph Table-cloth.—American -Brides of English Husbands.</p> - -</div> - -<p>So many London customs seem strange to -an American that I venture to mention a -few experiences of my own by way of -preparation, for no American knows when he -may be nominated for the presidency or get a -chance to go to Europe.</p> - -<p>The first thing to impress a person from this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -side of the Atlantic is the climate, which is generally -depressing to any one accustomed to the -dazzling sunshine, brilliant skies and champagne -quality of our atmosphere. Everything seems -heavy and solemn by comparison, and life appears -to be a serious matter to all whom one -meets, although the truth is that the English -enjoy life heartily and give ten times as much -attention to sports and amusements as we do.</p> - -<p>I went one day into a restaurant where a great -many people were dining, yet absolute silence -prevailed, instead of the buzz of chatter and -laughter of a French or American restaurant. I -asked a waiter,</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t any one ever laugh here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Sometimes we ’ave -complaints, sir.”</p> - -<p>But there is so much of interest in even the -ordinary street sights that a visitor soon forgets -smoke, dampness and gloom. The first natives -to accost an American are the “cabbies,” and -they are a never-failing source of amusement to -me. They abound in natural wit, and are past-masters -of sarcasm. One of the sharpest bits I -ever heard was told about an old cabby and one -of his younger fellows. The former was a master -of whip and rein; he boasted that he knew every -foot of London and declared that although he had -been in many tight places he had never failed to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -drive out smoothly. One day, however, he lost -control of his horse and ran into a young cabby’s -outfit. The younger man looked him over condescendingly, -contemptuously, and then asked,</p> - -<p>“Well? An’ ’ow do <em>you</em> like London?”</p> - -<p>A friend of mine once took a cab drawn by an -animal which was bony in the extreme. The -driver was hailed by the Jehu of a passing cab with,</p> - -<p>“Oi saiy, Bill, I see yer goin’ to ’ave a new -’orse.”</p> - -<p>“’Oo told yer so?”</p> - -<p>“W’y, I see y’ve got the framework there.”</p> - -<p>Not all the quick-tongued cabbies are professionals. -At one time it was a fad of young -“bloods” in London to drive cabs, apparently -for the purpose of enriching their slang vocabulary -by exchanging remarks with “regulars” -whom they could provoke into freedom of speech. -Sometimes decently born and fairly educated -young men from the rural districts, who have -handled horses at home and know no one in -London whom they would be ashamed to face -from a driver’s seat, try cab-driving as a business. -They can hire a horse and cab for five shillings a -day; London fares are small and some days they -are few, but many men “tip” the drivers, especially -those who say smart things that appear to -be impromptu, so amateur cabbies sometimes -make much more than a living.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p> - -<p>London’s fire-fighting service interests an -American by its differences from our own. The -fire-plugs do not resemble old-fashioned cannon, -turned upside down, as ours do; they are so -unnoticeable that their whereabouts must be -indicated by lamp-post signs like this:—“Fire-plug -four feet to the right and three feet to the -rear.” Instead of using whistles, the London -engines have a string of sleigh-bells on one of -the horses, and by way of further warning the -men on the engine keep up a constant shout of -“Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” The engines do not -respond as quickly to an alarm as ours; it -generally takes them two minutes to get under -way, though the firemen are a “fit” looking lot. -I was told they were selected entirely from ex-sailors -of the naval service. To assist the -engines’ crews there are many auxiliaries, who -sleep and almost live in small red houses on -wheels; these portable houses are numerous in -the more thickly populated portions of the city, -where fires are most likely to occur and extra -firemen be needed.</p> - -<p>At convenient corners are kept, also on wheels, -the portable fire-escapes:—mere shafts or chutes -of canvas on wooden framework. In case of fire -in the upper part of an inhabited building, the -top of the escape is pushed to a window, and the -inmates are expected to save themselves by going<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -head first down the inclined chute, clinging to the -framework of the sides to keep from descending -too rapidly. Of course in a city of lofty apartment -houses and “sky-scraper” office buildings -such a contrivance would be almost useless, but -in London a house of more than three stories is -a rarity. “Running to fires” is as popular with -some Londoners as it was in New York before -fire alarms reached the dozen-a-day mark. The -Duke of Sutherland enjoyed attending fires; he -would have his private carriage follow the -engines, and frequently he was accompanied by -the Prince of Wales.</p> - -<p>Scotland Yard, mentioned in every English -detective story, is an interesting place to visit; -it is the London equivalent of our Police Department’s -“Central Office.” I was shown a -“Rogues’ Gallery” there which was quite as -large and appalling as our own. In photographing -a criminal the London police make assurance -doubly sure by placing a mirror to catch his -profile, which is taken, with his front face, by a -single snap. To be still more thorough they -have the sitters spread his hands on his chest, -for hands, being hard to disguise, are useful tell-tales. -Thumb impressions complete a record -which the criminal regards with far more discomfort -than his evil deeds ever give him.</p> - -<p>Petticoat Lane is not a section of the police<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -department, though the officials wish it might -be, for as it is a recognized “stand” of hucksters, -the thieves flock there to sell their ill-gotten -wares, so one may see “Fagins” and “Artful -Dodgers” in plenty. Their best customers are -men of their own kind—thieves with enough business -sense to know where certain kinds of stolen -property can be resold to advantage. Jewelry -is the principal stock-in-trade, and it is carried in -small boxes, resembling cigar-boxes, hung from -the neck. When the coast is clear of policemen, -the thieves lift the lid long enough for a peep at -the contents. I was piloted through “the lane” -by a special officer from Scotland Yard and in -an underground passage we came upon a score -or more of the light-fingered gentry. Unfortunately -the officer was recognized, word was -passed down the line, everything that might -have aroused suspicion was secreted and the -entire crowd gazed at us with an affected innocence -which was transparent enough to be -laughable.</p> - -<p>The legitimate trades in Petticoat Lane are -more interesting to an American, for they have -some business ways which are amusing—even -startling. An orange-dealer will drop his fruit -in hot water once in a while; this makes it swell -to almost twice its natural size and look smooth -and glossy. The next wagon to the orange man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -may be full of second-hand clothing; the dealer -will not allow a would-be purchaser to “try on” -a coat or vest, for fear he may run away with -it, but he will put the garment on his own wife -for inspection; the result is often a picture funny -enough to print. Theatrical people often go -there for costumes for “character” parts; apparently -some kinds of English clothing last -forever, for in Petticoat Lane may be seen -fabrics and fashions and trimmings that look -antiquated enough to have come over with -William the Conqueror. Some of the hucksters’ -carts are decorated with suggestive signs, such -as, “Oh, mother, how cheap these eggs are!”</p> - -<p>In a corner of Hyde Park I chanced to see a -little graveyard; everything about it was little. -The mounds were small, the headstones tiny, and -little children were decorating the graves with -flowers. On inquiry I learned that it was a -dogs’ cemetery, but instead of laughing I was -touched by the mental picture of heavy-hearted -boys and girls going there with floral tributes to -departed playfellows. A little girl who was -passing noted that one grave was bare, and I -heard her say to her nurse:</p> - -<p>“That must have been a bad doggie buried -there.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” the nurse inquired.</p> - -<p>“Because he has no flowers on his grave.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<p>Almost every part of London has its homely -“character.” Near St. Martin’s Lane, off Charing -Cross, can be seen every day a blind sailor -who sits knitting small fishing-nets. In front of -him sits his Irish terrier with a cup in his mouth, -and passers-by amuse themselves by throwing -pennies for the dog to catch in his cup, as he -always does. When he has caught several he -empties the cup into his owner’s hand and returns -to business at the old stand. This goes on -till evening, when the dog guides his owner -home through the crowded streets.</p> - -<p>One interesting London dog is called Nelson, because -he accidentally lost a leg at the base of the -Nelson column in Trafalgar Square. He makes his -home in Seven Dials, where he begs for a living, -and gets many pennies from his admirers. Instead -of giving the money to any one he hides it; -whenever he is hungry he goes to his treasury, -gets a coin and takes it to a butcher or baker; he -knows, too, how much he should get in return -and he will not leave the shop till he has received -full value for his money.</p> - -<p>The professional toast-master is a London institution -that America has not adopted. His -services are required at the cost of a sovereign, at -every public dinner, and his qualifications are -pomposity and a loud, deep, resonant voice. -Around his neck he wears a big silver chain from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -which hangs a silver plate inscribed T. M., and -when he exclaims, “We will drink a bumper to -’Is Gracious Majesty the King,” it is with a voice -that suggests an earthquake announcing its exit -from the bowels of the earth. After the presiding -officer has indulged in the usually introductory -and airy persiflage, it is the duty of the -T. M. to introduce the speaker, which he does with -a sweep of his arm that is expected to subdue any -noisy applause by the guests.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus14.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“’Is Gracious Majesty the King!”</p> -</div> - -<p>English after-dinner speakers have little or no -humor, but they are extremely earnest in their -remarks. They incline more to argument than -amusement. Occasionally one will indulge in a -pun which has the sanctity of long usage—a pun<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -that an American could not get off without a -blush, and a turn of his face to the wall, but the -hearers like it, so no one else should complain. -The English recognize and admit the American’s -superiority as an after-dinner speaker. I heard -Mr. Beerbohm Tree say, in the course of a speech -at the Clover Club (Philadelphia),</p> - -<p>“Englishmen can handle horses and Americans -their tongues.”</p> - -<p>But there are exceptions to every rule, even regarding -dinners and after-dinner speaking. London -contains some men as clever and witty as any -in the world, and when these fine fellows dine -together there is no formality about the board -nor any heavy talk.</p> - -<p>Mr. Henry Lucy, who has been called the -“Mark Twain of England,” recently visited this -country with Mrs. Lucy, renewing old friendships -and forming new ones. The Lucys give delightful -dinners at their home in Ashley Gardens, -Victoria Street, as I have often had occasion to -know, and the guests they gather about them -would be welcomed by the cleverest men and -women anywhere. For special occasions the -Lucys use a table-cloth profusely ornamented -with the autographs of many brilliant men who -have dined with them, for it is only as a guest -that one may write his name on this sacred bit -of linen. Many of the names are household<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -words in America, one of which held my eye for -an entire evening; it was that of Charles Dickens. -It was over the Lucy table that Burnand, -editor of <cite>Punch</cite>, and W. S. Gilbert had their -oft-quoted encounter:</p> - -<p>“I suppose you often have good things sent in -by outsiders?” said Gilbert.</p> - -<p>“Frequently,” Burnand replied.</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you print them?”</p> - -<p>A question frequently asked of late is whether -the marriages of American girls to English husbands -result happily. My own observation has -satisfied me that they generally do. English -girls are educated to be good housewives and -mothers, but their childhood and early girlhood -is usually spent in the nursery, without much association -with adults, so when they are thrust -into society they are likely to be shy, if not awkward, -and have little or nothing to say. But the -American girl is “one of the family” from her -infancy; she is as much a companion of her father -as her brother is, and she knows her brother’s -friends as well as those of her elder sister. She -acquires quickness of thought and speech, vivacity -and cleverness, and can be companionable without -overstepping the bounds of strict propriety.</p> - -<p>If an English gentleman longs for a wife who -will also be his “chum,” who will enjoy his sports -with him and be a jolly good fellow, which is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -only another name for companion—who is competent -to amuse and entertain, he cannot easily -find her in England except in a class which would -preclude his offering her his name, but if he is so -lucky as to marry an American girl he has not -only a model wife and housekeeper but a companion -as well.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus15.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Mill put the garment on his wife.</p> -</div> - -<p>Just one more mention of London, for the sake -of that touch of nature that makes the whole -world kin. Down by the East India dock is a -hospital on the wall of which appears the following -request, “Will drivers please walk their -horses?” Although heavy traffic passes the -building, much noise is avoided if horses are not -urged beyond a walk. The drivers are a rather -rough lot, like drivers anywhere, but they carefully<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -comply with the request; their knowledge -of what it means is more effective than a platoon -of police could be. The gratitude of the hospital -authorities and patients is expressed by an inscription -at the other end of the building—“Thank -you, drivers.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“We cannot chain the eagle;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And we dare not chain the dove;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But every gate that’s barred by hate</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Is opened wide by love.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">“LUCK” IN STORY-TELLING</span></h2> - -<p>The Real Difference Between Good Luck and Bad.—Good -Luck with Stories Presupposes a Well-stored Memory.—Men -Who Always Have the Right Story Ready.—Mr. -Depew.—Bandmaster Sousa’s Darky Stories.—John Wanamaker’s -Sunday-school Stories.—Gen. Horace Porter’s Tales -That go to the Spot.—The Difference Between Parliament -and Congress.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The difference between good luck and -bad luck amounts generally to the -difference between the men who are -said to have the one or the other. Some men -are always waiting for something to turn up: -others make sure of it by taking something—anything—from -a spade to their wits, and digging -it up. Anywhere in the country one may -see holding down chairs in the store, or in the -city lounging at tables in bar-rooms, a knot of -men who were born with average brains, yet -they will drone dismally of successful men whom -they know or have heard of:</p> - -<p>“Smith became a preacher at twelve thousand -a year.”</p> - -<p>“Jones dropped into a Supreme Court Judgeship.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span></p> - -<p>“Brown stumbled on a business chance that -made him a millionaire.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s nothing like luck”—and they -go on sitting still waiting for it, and can’t -imagine why it never comes their way. I once -chanced to mention Chauncey Depew’s name in -the hearing of a crowd of this kind, and a voice -replied:</p> - -<p>“There’s a lucky man for you! Why, whenever -he hears of anything, it is just his luck to -have a story that goes to the spot as quick as a -bullet from a gun.”</p> - -<p>This sort of “luck,” like the other instances -referred to, is the inevitable outcome of the man -and his ways. There are jokes for every situation, -as there are keys for every lock; but the -man who lets a good joke go in one ear and out -of the other is like him who puts his keys into a -pocket with a hole in it, and then grumbles that -he can’t unlock his doors. Jokes are like -dollars: when you have some that are not -needed at the time, it is better to stow them -away for future use than to drop them where -they can’t be found in case of need.</p> - -<p>I can recall from my own experience but one -case of sheer luck in story-telling. While dining -at an Englishman’s magnificent place one summer, -some peaches were served. As the English -climate is too cool to ripen peaches, these had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -been grown on the side of a wall and under -glass. They were superb in size and color yet -they had small stones and little flavor. When -my host told me of the care that had been -lavished on them—they must have cost him a -dollar each—my mind went back to the peach -season at home, so I said to him:</p> - -<p>“Peaches that would make your mouth water -and send tears of joy chasing one another down -your cheeks are to-day piled high on barges beside -the wharves of New York and selling at a -dollar a basket, with from one to two hundred -peaches in each basket.”</p> - -<p>I made this truthful statement in a matter-of-fact -way, which was all it called for; but my -host looked at me in amazement, then laughed -heartily and said:</p> - -<p>“Well, you Americans have always been remarkable -for the stories you tell.”</p> - -<p>To revert to Mr. Depew, he can tell a new -story every day of the year, and add two or -three by way of good measure; but their newness -is generally in the patness of their application. -He is so able at this sort of thing that he -can turn a story against the man who tells it. -But he confesses gleefully to having been caught -once in the same manner. He was billed to -make a speech somewhere up the state, and -when he arrived the editor of the local paper<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -called at his hotel to argue politics with him. -The editor quoted newspaper statements frequently -to support his arguments, but Depew -replied:</p> - -<p>“Oh, you can’t believe everything the newspapers -say.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus16.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The editor of the local paper called at his hotel.”</p> -</div> - -<p>After the speech-making ended, the editor and -Mr. Depew met again, in the centre of a crowd -of listeners.</p> - -<p>“Well, my friend,” the genial Chauncey asked, -“what did you think of my speech?”</p> - -<p>The editor hesitated a moment before he inquired<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -solemnly: “Are you the genuine Chauncey -M. Depew?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly! Do you doubt it?”</p> - -<p>Again the editor hesitated. He regarded -the speaker as if he was sizing him up, and -asked: “Are you the man all the newspapers -have been saying is the finest speaker, the -greatest talker, the sharpest stumper and the -brightest wit before the public?”</p> - -<p>Depew modestly blushed at this array of compliments; -but replied: “I guess I am he. But -why do you ask?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, because one can’t believe everything the -newspapers say.”</p> - -<p>And Depew made haste to shake hands with -the editor and call it square.</p> - -<p>Mr. Depew’s humorous speeches read so well -that nobody misses one of them if he can help it; -but it is impossible for cold type to suggest the -inimitable manner with which they are given. -A mature maiden woman once called upon him -at an hour when his time was worth about a -dollar a second and asked his advice about buying -a certain bit of real estate. He evasively -answered that there were two things of which -he knew absolutely nothing: they were women -and real estate.</p> - -<p>This amused her so greatly that she lingered -instead of going away, and to prolong her stay<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -she asked about a mutual acquaintance: “Where -is Mr. Blank, Mr. Depew?”</p> - -<p>“He is still in the city.”</p> - -<p>“Does he stammer as much as he did?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; worse, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“Strange he never married.”</p> - -<p>“No, it was not strange, my dear madam. -Blank courted a lovely girl—he told me of it -years afterward—and this is the way he proposed.” -Then Mr. Depew looked soulfully at his -visitor and stammered: “‘D-d-d-dear a-a-angel, -I l-l-l-love y-y-you!’ And the woman replied: -‘You need not proceed further, Mr. Blank. I -do not care to be wooed on the instalment plan.’” -But the visitor had fled too rapidly to get the -benefit of the joke.</p> - -<p>Bandmaster Sousa is one of the “lucky” story-tellers, -for he can always cap an improbable -story with a bigger one. After listening to an -extraordinary yarn about some man’s appetite, -and another about unquestioning confidence in -another man’s directions, he “covered” both -with the following, which he attributed to a -Southern negro:</p> - -<p>“Down on our fahm we’ze got a man by de -name o’ Jim. Now, Jim’s de champion ham-eater -of all de country roun. Unc’ Henry hed -cha’ge o’ de fahm, an’ ev’ybody ’spected Unc’ -Henry, an’ when Unc’ Henry tol’ any of us to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -do anythin’ we jus’ done it, ’ithout stoppin’ to -ask any questions, ’cause we had conf’dence in -him. We knowed he wouldn’t ever tell us to do -anythin’ dat we hadn’t orter.</p> - -<p>“But dat Jim—w’y, folks come f’om all de -country roun’, jes’ to see Jim eat ham, fo’ de way -he could tuck ham away was amazin’; it suttinly -was. How you would laugh to see Jim a-settin’ -by de fence one day, a-eatin’ one ham after -another, like ez ef dey was cakes or biscuits! -’Twas ’ez easy to him as pickin’ teeth, an’ he’d -got down eight hams, an’ de ninth was a follerin’, -but I reckon it wuz f’om a middlin’ old hawg, for -some gris’le got in his throat, an’ choked him an’ -stopped his breath, so we wuz a-feared dat we -wuz a-goin’ to lose Jim.</p> - -<p>“But up got Unc’ Henry sort o’ easy-like, an’ -he went over to de fence—dey was a lot o’ slabs -on top o’ de fence—and he tuk a slab, an’ he walk -t’ward Jim, an’ he sez: ‘Jim, git down on all -fours!’ Dat slab looked mighty big, it did, an’ -right in front o’ Jim was a big pile o’ stones; but -Jim had conf’dence in Unc’ Henry, like ev’ybody -did, so he got down on all fours an’ waited, an’ -de gris’le in his throat, why, dat waited too. An’ -Unc’ Henry pahted Jim’s coat-tails, an’ histed de -slab, an’ fetched it down wid a mighty swish, an’ -give Jim a hit, an’ Jim went head first onto dat -pile o’ stones; but he had conf’dence in Unc’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -Henry so he knowed he wouldn’t be knocked -through de stones, but would stop ez soon ez he -hit ’em—his conf’dence in Unc’ Henry was dat -great. An’ when he struck dem stones dat piece -o’ gris’le ’lowed it had bizness somewhar else. -An’ Jim riz up an’ hollered ‘Gimme anudder -ham!’”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus17.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Depew—Porter—Wilder—Sousa—Wanamaker</p> -</div> - -<p>It will amaze millions of John Wanamaker’s -customers to know that the man who is so busy -that they can never get a glimpse of him unless -they attend his church is an industrious teller of -stories and always has the “luck”—though that -is not his name for it—to have the right story for -any situation. That most of his yarns are spun<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -in Sunday-school does not make them any the less -good. I wish Sunday-school teachers had told -stories when I was a boy, and I will bet Bibles to -buttons that if teachers were practically instructed -in story-telling, all the Sunday-school rooms would -have to be enlarged to hold the increase of attendants.</p> - -<p>But I was speaking of John Wanamaker. -While reproving some of his Sunday-school -pupils for laughing at a deaf boy’s wrong -answers to misunderstood questions, he said:</p> - -<p>“Boys, it isn’t right to laugh at any one’s affliction. -Besides, you never know when your -own words may be turned against you. I once -knew a deaf man—let us call him Brown—who -was disposed to stinginess and to getting every -dollar he could out of everybody and everything. -He never married; but he was very fond of society, -so one day he felt compelled to give a -banquet to the many ladies and gentlemen whose -guest he had been.</p> - -<p>“They were amazed that his purse-strings had -been unloosed so far, and they thought he deserved -encouragement, so it was arranged that -he should be toasted. One of the most daring -young men of the company was selected, for it -took a lot of nerve to frame and propose a toast -to so unpopular a man as Miser Brown. But the -young man rose, and Brown, who had been notified<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -of what was to occur, fixed his face in the -customary manner of a man about to be toasted. -And this was what was heard by every one except -Brown, who never heard anything that was -not roared into his ear:</p> - -<p>“‘Here’s to you, Miser Brown. You are no -better than a tramp, and it is suspected that you -got most of your money dishonestly. We trust -that you may get your just deserts yet, and land -in the penitentiary.’</p> - -<p>“Visible evidences of applause made Brown -smile with gratification. He got upon his feet, -raised his glass to his lips, and said: ‘The same -to you, sir.’”</p> - -<p>General Horace Porter is another of the men -whose stories always fit. It is said that he accepted -the post of American Ambassador to -France for the sole purpose of taking a rest from -making after-dinner speeches. He can even use -a pun in a manner to compel admiration, in which -respect he differs from almost every one. On -one occasion he said:</p> - -<p>“New England speakers have said that the -Puritans were always missionaries among the -people with whom they came in contact. I saw -recently a newspaper paragraph that indicated -the disposition of the Puritan to busy himself -with the great hereafter, and to get as close to it -as possible. The paragraph announced that the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -<i>Puritan</i> had collided in Hell Gate. (The Puritan -last-named was a steamboat.)</p> - -<p>“But when the wooden Puritan—the New -Englander, gets a man on the perilous edge, so -that one or other must topple over into the pit, -he takes care that he shall not be the unfortunate. -He is as cautious in this respect as was the night-cab -driver in front of a house where there had -been a bibulous dinner party. A man emerged -from the house, staggered across the sidewalk, -laying out more zigzags than did our patriot sires -at the siege of Yorktown, opened the door of the -cab and threw himself on the seat.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus18.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Where will I go, Sor?”</p> -</div> - -<p>“The driver asked: ‘Where will I go, sor?’</p> - -<p>“‘To hell!’ was the unexpected reply.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> - -<p>“The cabby drove about for some moments to -take a think, for though he had heard of many -sure roads to the torrid destination mentioned he -was not ‘up’ on the conveniences at the entrance, -and he didn’t want to scorch the paint on -his cab. Soon he asked again: ‘Where am I to -take you, sor?’</p> - -<p>“‘To hell,’ was again the reply. Cabby -scratched his head, studied the situation, and -asked: ‘Beg pardon, sor, but can I back up when -I land you?’”</p> - -<p>To an interviewer who expected to get a good -article on the difference between the English Parliament -and our Congress (this was at a time -when many Congressmen were tobacco-chewers) -he said:</p> - -<p>“In Parliament the men sit with their hats on -and cough; in Congress they sit with their hats -off and spit.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X<br /> -<span class="smaller">JOURNALISTS AND AUTHORS</span></h2> - -<p>Not All Journalists are Critics, nor are All Critics Fault-finders.—The -Most Savage Newspapers not the Most Influential.—The -Critic’s Duty.—Horace Greeley.—Mark -Twain’s First Earnings.—A Great Publisher “Approached” -by Green Goods Men.—Henry Watterson.—Opie -Reid.—Quimby of the <cite>Free Press</cite>.—Laurence Hutton, -Edwin Booth and I in Danger Together.</p> - -</div> - -<p>When you say “journalist” to a man of -my profession—or of any other that -devotes its time and wits to the task -of amusing and entertaining people, it is taken -for granted that you mean “critic,” and that -“critic” in turn means faultfinder. This is extremely -unfair to journalists in general and to -critics in particular, for not all journalists are -critics, nor all critics faultfinders. Run over the -names of all the critics you’ve heard of here or in -London or Paris—critics, dramatic, musical and -literary, and you will discover, to your surprise, -that those who are best known and have most influence, -are those who are quickest to praise and -slowest to find fault.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus19.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Trying it on the dog” is the name for -this sort of thing—</p> -</div> - -<p>As a proof of it, and how it strikes the men<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -and women most concerned, both in pocket and -pride, is the following:—almost every new play, -concert and entertainment of any kind tries to -give its first real performance in New York. It -may endeavor to get some money out of the -later rehearsals by giving a few performances -out of town:—“Trying it on the dog” is the -name for this sort of thing, but New York -is trusted to set the pace, and this is what follows;—on -the day on which New York newspapers -containing a report of the performance -reaches any city or town where the same attraction -has been booked conditionally, or where -managers or entertainment committees have -heard enough in advance about it to want to hear -more, there is a run on news-stands for certain -New York papers. I won’t indicate them closer -than to say that they are not those sheets which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -support the brilliant chaps who skilfully ride -hobbies of their own, or who are most skilled at -vivisecting and eviscerating a playwright and -splitting each particular hair of an actor, singer -or entertainer. The papers for which there is -general demand are those which tell whether -the performance was good of its kind, specify the -kind and tell how the audience regarded it. At -the end of the third act of a new play in New -York a noted critic was buttonholed in the lobby -by a club-man who had a friend in the cast and -asked for his opinion.</p> - -<p>“It’s a success—a great success,” was the -reply.</p> - -<p>“Good! I’m so glad you like it.”</p> - -<p>“Like it? My dear fellow, I never was worse -bored in my life. I’d rather have heard ‘Julius -Cæsar’ done by a lot of high school boys. But -that has nothing to do with it. If pieces were -written and played for me and my kind, they’d -have to charge ten dollars a ticket to get money -enough to pay for the gas and music. Plays are -made for audiences; this audience likes this -play—likes it immensely, so other audiences will -like it too, and if I don’t say so in our newspaper -to-morrow morning I deserve to be bounced and -have this week’s salary docked.”</p> - -<p>Of course it is a critic’s business to see defects -and call attention to them. When he does so he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -confers a favor upon the performer, who generally -is so absorbed in what he is doing that he doesn’t -know what he is leaving undone or doing badly. -But the faults of stage or platform can’t be -remedied with a sledge-hammer or a double -bladed dagger—not ever if you give the dagger a -turn or two after you have jabbed it in. A prominent -critic said to me:</p> - -<p>“I don’t criticise a play according to my own -feelings and tastes. Although I’ve a very good -opinion of my own personal standard of judgment, -I don’t believe the people collectively -would give a snap of the finger for it. I simply -try to ascertain the opinion of the audience and -express it for the benefit of the people of whom -audiences are made. I greatly dislike ⸺ and -⸺ (mentioning a popular actor and actress) -but who cares? It would not be fair to try to -impress my dislikes upon others, unless I chance -upon some one who takes the stage seriously, -and there are only two classes who do this—conceited -critics, and actors who don’t get their pay. -Fortunately I know very few professional people; -if I knew more I would become insane -through trying to dissociate their personality -from their work. It is bad to know too much -about anybody or anything, if you don’t want to -throw the world out of joint. Except in matters -of morals and manners, ‘where ignorance is bliss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -’tis folly to be wise.’ Did you ever hear how -Horace Greeley once got cold feet? A friend—one -of the wise, observant, upsetting kind of -friends called on Greeley, one cold winter day, and -found the great journalist with a favorite book in -his hand, a beatific smile on his face and his feet -over the register. The visitor had previously -been through the building and learned that the -furnace had gone wrong and been removed, the -cold air flue could not be closed, and zero air was -coming through all the registers, so he said:</p> - -<p>“‘Mr. Greeley, why do you keep your feet -there? There is no heat—only cold air is coming -up!’</p> - -<p>“Greeley tumbled out of his chair and in the -childish whine that always came to him when he -was excited, replied,</p> - -<p>“‘Why didn’t you let me alone? I was entirely -comfortable; but now, I’m near you, I’m frozen.’”</p> - -<p>Mention of Greeley, who was too busy a man -to think of being a humorist, yet was one in -spite of himself, recalls one of Mr. Depew’s -stories about him. A man who was in search -of financial aid for some evangelistic work got -into Mr. Greeley’s sanctum one day, and found -the great editor writing, with his head held sideways -and close to the desk, like a schoolboy, as -was his custom. He waved his hand, to signify -that the man should go away, but Greeley had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -the reputation of being an easy-mark, financially, -and the visitor’s mind was fixed on business, so -he asked,</p> - -<p>“Mr. Greeley, how much will you give to prevent -your fellow men from going to hell?”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus20.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">The brilliant chaps who ride -hobbies of their own—</p> -</div> - -<p>“Not a damn cent!” was the reply, as the -great editor went on writing. “Not enough of -them go there now. I could name hundreds who -ought to have been there long ago——” all -this in a whining drawl that carried conviction -with it.</p> - -<p>Speaking of drawls, I wish all my readers -could have heard Mark Twain’s voice as he told -me a tale of juvenile woe. I had asked him if -he could remember the first money he had ever -earned.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “It was at school. All boys -had the habit of going to school in those days,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -and they hadn’t any more respect for the desks -than they had for the teachers. There was a -rule in our school that any boy marring his desk, -either with pencil or knife, would be chastised -publicly before the whole school or pay a fine of -five dollars. Besides the rule there was a ruler; -I knew it because I had felt it; it was a darned -hard one, too.</p> - -<p>“One day I had to tell my father that I had -broken the rule, and had to pay a fine or take a -public whipping, and he said:</p> - -<p>“‘Sam, it would be too bad to have the name -of Clemens disgraced before the whole school, so -I’ll pay the fine. But I don’t want you to lose -anything, so come up-stairs.’ I went up-stairs -with father and he was for-<em>giving</em> me. I came -down-stairs with the feeling in one hand and the -five dollars in the other, and decided that as I’d -been punished once, and got used to it, I wouldn’t -mind taking the other licking at school. So I -did, and I kept the five dollars. That was the -first money I ever earned.”</p> - -<p>This unexpected shift of the moral point of -view is peculiar to boys. James Whitcomb -Riley, author of no end of things, humorous -and pathetic, told me of a small boy who astonished -his mother one night by saying his -prayers in German. When reproved, he said:</p> - -<p>“Oh, that was a joke.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span></p> - -<p>“You must not joke with heaven,” said his -mother severely.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the joke isn’t on heaven; it’s on you,” -was the reply.</p> - -<p>Another small friend of Mr. Riley jumped -quickly into bed one cold night. His mother -said:</p> - -<p>“Johnny, haven’t you forgotten something?”</p> - -<p>“No, mamma,” was the reply. “I’ve made -up my mind not to say my prayers to-night or -to-morrow night or the night after, and then if I -have luck I won’t say them any more at all.”</p> - -<p>My friend Frank Doubleday, a member of a -publishing firm that all authors regard admiringly, -would rather get a laugh on some one -than get a record-breaking novel. He is a fine, -tall, handsome fellow and like many another -handsome man who is really manly, he is careless -of his dress, looking more like a busy farmer than -a successful publisher. Going through Greenwich -Street one day, near the ferries and steamboat -landings, his rural appearance and manner -attracted the attention of one of the “bunco” or -“green goods” gentry, who accosted him with:</p> - -<p>“Why, Mr. Brown, I’m very glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>“But my name isn’t Brown,” said Doubleday, -in his most innocent manner.</p> - -<p>“What? Aren’t you Mr. Brown, of Paterson?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span></p> - -<p>“No, my name is Marshall P. Wilder.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you go to h⸺ll!” growled the bunco-man -with a glare.</p> - -<p>To get back to journalists, with whom I began, -I believe I have said elsewhere that Henry -Watterson is the most quoted editor in the United -States. Yet a lot of his best things do not appear -over his signature; he says so many that -only a phonograph could keep tally of them. -One evening at the Riggs House in Washington -he found his friend Col. Dick Wintersmith, the -poet lobbyist, in a gastronomic quandary, for the -colonel longed for a dinner of beefsteak and onions -but dreaded to carry the perfume of onions in -his breath. Watterson said:</p> - -<p>“Colonel Dick, I’ll tell you how to avoid it.”</p> - -<p>“Do!”</p> - -<p>“Why, go to John Chamberlin’s for your -beefsteak and onions; when you get your bill it -will take your breath entirely away.”</p> - -<p>Opie Reid, editor and author, frequently appears -on the platform, to the delight of every -one who listens to him. One night he was -greatly puzzled, for although his audience laughed -heartily no one applauded. He learned afterward -that he had been engaged to entertain the -inmates of a home for disabled railway employees, -and his audience was composed of switchmen, -each of whom had lost an arm, perhaps two. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -got a laugh even on one of the dreadful eating-houses -peculiar to southern railroad stations. -Most of his fellow passengers were commercial -travelers, and knew by experience what to expect -at such places, so they got off of the train -with sullen looks, as if sorry rather than glad -that they were to dine, and their complainings -began before they reached the table. A negro -was walking to and fro on the station platform -ringing a dinner-bell, and near him was a small -dog howling so piteously that the darky stopped -and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“What’s you hollerin’ for? <em>You</em> don’t have -to eat here.”</p> - -<p>My friend Quimby of the Detroit <cite>Free Press</cite> -tells of “meeting up” with two strangers who became -so friendly that soon the three were introducing -themselves.</p> - -<p>“I’m from Detroit,” said Quimby to one. -“Where are you from?”</p> - -<p>“Boston,” was the reply. The Bostonian -turned enquiringly to the third, who said:</p> - -<p>“I’m from Pawtucket. Now, d⸺mn you, -laugh!”</p> - -<p>I am indebted to hundreds of critics and other -journalists for kind things they have printed about -me. As to authors, one of them saved my life a -few years ago, and this is how it occurred:—I -had rooms in Thirty-fourth Street, in New York,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -next door to the late Laurence Hutton, author -of many well-known books. One night, on returning -home very late, I discovered that I had -neglected to take my keys, so I was practically -locked out. I rang the bell, but no one responded. -Suddenly I noted that lights were still burning -in Mr. Hutton’s house, and I recalled that he had -given a dinner that night to Mr. Edwin Booth, -the tragedian. Hutton was the most obliging -neighbor any one could have had, so I rang him -up, told him of my trouble, and asked permission -to go into his yard and climb the division fence, -after which I would get into my own house -through a rear window.</p> - -<p>“All right, Marshall,” Hutton replied, “and -I’ll go with you, and help you over the fence.”</p> - -<p>My only fear was of a lodger in my own house—a -nervous man, apprehensive of burglars, and -who kept revolvers and a quick temper ready for -use at any moment he might be aroused. I said -as much to Mr. Hutton, and the affair immediately -changed from a neighborly courtesy to an -adventure with a spice of danger to make it more -attractive. Mr. Booth who had overheard the -conversation, announced that he wasn’t to be left -out of any fun in sight, so we three crept silently -into Hutton’s back yard like three burglars, or -more like three schoolboys out for mischief. -Finding that he could not lift me over, as he had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -intended, Hutton got a chair, stood upon it and -helped me to the top of the fence, which was -high. Even there I was no better off, for the -fence was as tall as I was not, so like Mohammed’s -coffin I was poised between heaven and -earth and unable to drop without breaking something. -But Hutton was a man of expedients: he -stood on the extreme top of the chair-back, leaned -over the fence and held my cane, by its crook, as -if it were a dangling rope, down which I slid -safely, thanks to a running fire of tragic stage-whispers, -by Mr. Booth, to the general effect, that -it is always well to keep very tight hold of a good -thing, until you strike a better one.</p> - -<p>I reached the ground safely and began the more -dangerous part of my enterprise, which was to -open a window of the main floor without rousing -the lodger who was a light sleeper and kept pistols. -A spectator, had there been any excepting -the blasé man in the moon, might have gazed at -an unusual scene—honest little me apparently -burglarizing a house, while a prominent author -and the greatest living tragedian, both honorable -and law-abiding citizens, standing shakily on the -highest back-bar of a single chair, steadying -themselves by leaning heavily on a fence-top and -giving me all the moral support that could be -signified by heart-throbs and irregular breathings. -Suddenly Hutton whispered hoarsely,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> - -<p>“Look out, Marshall!”</p> - -<p>But I looked up, and right into the business -end of a revolver, and I did not at all approve of -what I saw. Had I looked toward the fence I -would have beheld two eminent Americans in -the undignified act of “ducking.” But I was too -busily engaged in flattening myself against the -window to have eyes for anything but fragmentary -visions of the world to come: I shriveled so -utterly that it seemed a million years before I -had lungs enough to shout.</p> - -<p>“Don’t shoot! It’s Marshall!”</p> - -<p>We never settled it to our mutual satisfaction—Hutton’s, -and Booth’s and mine, by which of us -the world might have lost most had the revolver -been fired and hit one of us. Mr. Booth was the -incarnation of modesty, Hutton could eloquently -praise any one but himself, while I—— But, as -already said, we never agreed as to which would -have been the world’s greatest loss.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE UNEXPECTED</span></h2> - -<p>Robert Hilliard and I and a Dog.—Hartford’s Actors and Playwrights.—A -Fit that Caused a Misfit.—A Large Price to -Hear a Small Man.—Jim Corbett and I.—A Startled Audience.—Captain -Williams and “Red” Leary.—“Joe” -Choate to the Rescue.—Bait for a Dude.—Deadheads.—Within -an Inch of Davy Jones.—Perugini and Four Fair -Adorers.—Scanlon and Kernell.</p> - -</div> - -<p>In one respect personal experiences are like -jokes—those least expected cause the most -lasting impression. I may be excused, -therefore, for recording some of both.</p> - -<p>Some years ago a party of ladies and gentlemen, -among whom were Mr. Hilliard and myself -visited David’s Island, an important military post -on Long Island Sound. We were handsomely -entertained during the day, so at night we endeavored -to return the compliment. There was -a large gathering in the mess room, the post band -gave a few selections and Mr. Hilliard announced -that he would recite “Christmas Night in the -Workhouse.” Instantly a large Newfoundland -dog who had been quite conspicuous, looked sad, -dropped upon the floor and went to sleep. The -joke was on Bob and every one was obliged to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -laugh. But when my turn came and I announced -a few stories about camp life that dog arose, -looked straight and reproachfully into my eyes -and walked out of the door. When the laughter -subsided I felt obliged to say:</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame you, old chap.”</p> - -<p>As I was a Hartford boy, I have always had a -special liking for the men and women whom that -city has given to the stage and platform. They -make an imposing array, too—William Gillette, -Mark Twain, Otis Skinner, Harry Woodruff, Lew -Dockstader, Francis Carlyle, Musical Dale, Frank -Lawton, C. B. Dillingham and Mesdames Lucille -Saunders and Emma Eames.</p> - -<p>I greatly admire Mr. Gillette’s plays; they -contain so wonderful a variety of characters that -it seems to me he must have searched the whole -country for originals. One day he told me of a -pleasant trip he had made on the St. Lawrence -River and said:</p> - -<p>“I’m going to live up there.”</p> - -<p>“Are you? Where?” I asked, supposing he -would name a hotel where a large lot of human -nature could be studied, but he named a lonely -part of the Thousand Islands, and said he owned -an island there, so I asked:</p> - -<p>“Why do you go there? You will be all -alone.”</p> - -<p>“I want to be alone,” he replied.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> - -<p>“Will no one live there but yourself?”</p> - -<p>“No one but a hen—a little bantam hen.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that? What do you -want of a hen?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve always had great fondness and -respect for hens, but have been unable to get -acquainted with them, but this is my chance.”</p> - -<p>Mark Twain was once asked to write a testimonial -for a map of the world, and this is what -he wrote:</p> - -<p>“Before using your wonderful map, my family -were afflicted with fits, but since using it they -have nothing but freckles.”</p> - -<p>There was a time when I wished for Mark’s -wonderful map, for I was afflicted by a fit. It -was at an entertainment at Long Branch given -in aid of the Monmouth Hospital. Many actors -and actresses who were stopping at “the Branch” -gave their services, among them Neil Burgess, -Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Dowd Byron, Mr. and Mrs. -Matt Snyder, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Chanfrau, Miss -Maggie Mitchell, Miss Theresa Vaughn and others. -I was to appear, and when I arrived, I saw -Miss Vaughn and Mr. Snyder, who was stage -manager, holding an animated discussion. Snyder -came over to me and said:</p> - -<p>“Miss Vaughn has been billed to follow you, -but she doesn’t wish to. She would like to precede -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<p>“All right,” I replied, “I’m perfectly willing.”</p> - -<p>She went out and made a great hit. Then my -turn came, and I had just got a recitation under -way when a woman in the audience began to -have a fit, at the most critical part of my number. -I had to stop as it was not a duet, and go -off of the stage. Mr. Snyder asked:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Marsh?”</p> - -<p>“There’s a woman out there having a fit.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, go back and do the best you can,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“This is not where I fit,” I answered. But I -went back and told my pianist to play number -seven of my repertoire, which was called “Poor -Thing!”</p> - -<p>The audience saw the joke, and helped me out, -but I wish my readers could have been in my -position if they do not believe that fit was an -affliction—one which Miss Vaughn was fortunate -enough to escape.</p> - -<p>A great many men have told me they greatly -wanted to hear me recite, and I am convinced -that one in particular meant what he said. I -refer to Bingham the ventriloquist. He chanced -to be in a town where I was to appear before the -Young Men’s Christian Association. He went -to the hall to reserve a good seat, but was told -that no tickets would be sold; the entertainment -would be for members only.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p> - -<p>“But I want to hear Mr. Wilder,” he said, -“and this is my only chance within sight. Is -there no way of my getting in?”</p> - -<p>“None: unless you join the Association.”</p> - -<p>Incredible though it may seem, Bingham did -join the Y. M. C. A. for the sole purpose of listening -to me. He never asked me to refund his -initiation fee on the ground that he didn’t get -the worth of it, either, though I’ve scrupulously -avoided recalling the incident to his memory.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus21.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“There’s James J. Corbett!” “Which One?”</p> -</div> - -<p>Nothing is more unexpected by any one than -to be mistaken for some one else. One day while -I was walking with James J. Corbett, the handsome -actor-pugilist, who is about twice as tall as -I, two young ladies passed us and one exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Why, there’s James J. Corbett.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> - -<p>“Which one?” the other asked.</p> - -<p>Light-weight though I am, there was a time -when I got Corbett badly rattled. He was living -at Asbury Park, training for one of his -fights, and I, while in a railway car with him, -got out some friends—a pack of cards—and did -some tricks for Jim. Soon I got him so puzzled -that he exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Hold on there, Marsh! These tricks get me -nutty.”</p> - -<p>It was the unexpected that brought James -Young, the actor, a roar of laughter one evening -when he addressed as follows an audience composed -entirely of his own acquaintances:</p> - -<p>“My friends—I cannot call you ladies and -gentlemen, for I know you all.”</p> - -<p>It was the unexpected, too, that only severely -jarred Capt. Alex. Williams, a noted ex-police -official in New York. A woman fainted in the -street, the captain caught her by one arm, -and “Red” Leary, a noted criminal by the -other.</p> - -<p>“Cap’n,” said “Red” politely, “this is the first -time you and me have ‘worked’ together.”</p> - -<p>Minister Choate—“Joe” Choate, has a reserve -fund of the unexpected. Some American dishes -were served up at a breakfast party in England, -one being ham and eggs. A young lady at the -minister’s right was ignorant of the slippery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -ways of fried eggs on a dish, so she accidentally -spilled the contents of her plate.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Choate!” she exclaimed, “I don’t -know what to do, for I’ve dropped an egg on the -floor,” and Choate replied:</p> - -<p>“If I were you, I’d cackle.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus22.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Ignorant of the Slippery Ways of Fried Eggs.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Matt Snyder, the actor, found at his table one -night a young man so elaborately dressed as to -be a startling dude, so he asked his daughter:</p> - -<p>“What did you bait your hook with to catch -that?” but he was floored by the sweet reply:</p> - -<p>“Cake, papa.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes the unexpected will cause a man to -be grievously wounded in the house of his -friends. Here is an illustration, clipped from a -New York newspaper:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p> - -<p>“Marshall P. Wilder, the professional humorist, -was in the Lambs’ Club, surrounded by some -spirits, yesterday evening. He looked at his -watch and remarked wearily, ‘I’ve got to run -away, for I’ve got to go up-town to be funny. -It’s an awful bore.’</p> - -<p>“Wilton Lackaye, who has been taking up the -rôle of smart cynicism left by poor Maurice Barrymore, -drawled, in his most irritating manner: -‘I wouldn’t do it, then. Why don’t you give -your usual entertainment?’</p> - -<p>“‘Cruel boy,’ chirped Wilder, as he made for -the door.”</p> - -<p>Lackaye is also the man who gravely suggested -to a patriotic Scotchman that the reason the bagpipes -were put in the rear of a regiment in battle -was that the men would be so anxious to get -away from the music that they would run toward -the enemy.</p> - -<p>One of the greatest nuisances of the entertainment -business, the theatre and all other “shows,” -is the persistent “deadhead.” Every good fellow -in the profession likes so much to have his -friends see his performance that he provides free -tickets to the extent of his ability, often paying -cash for them. But people who are not friends—some -who are not even acquaintances, are the -most determined deadheads; to have heard about -their deceased mother-in-law is reason enough—to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -them, for a demand for a free ticket. Yet a -man on the stage or platform is sometimes -startled by seeing close personal friends in the -line, cash in hand, at the box-office, and is reminded -of the story Senator Jones of Nevada -tells about crossing a river out west. He reached -the ferry but no boat was there. He saw a man -across the stream chopping wood, so he shouted, -“Hello, there! Where’s the boat?”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus23.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">The Passengers Consisted of Three Men and a Half.</p> -</div> - -<p>“No boat, wade across,” was the man’s answer, -“and I will direct you. Walk ten feet to -the right,—five feet to the left. Look out—there’s -a d⸺ big hole there! Now three feet -to the right.” Arriving on the other side of the -stream, the senator asked, “What shall I pay -you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> - -<p>“Wa-all,” said the man, “there’s been a dozen -men across this ferry, and you are the first that -ever offered to pay anything, so I guess I’ll let -you dead-head it.”</p> - -<p>Occasionally the unexpected is delightful in -the extreme.</p> - -<p>Before Charles Frohman became the busiest -man and Napoleon of the dramatic stage, he -used to affiliate frequently with the Lambs’ -Club, of which he was a member. One day the -Lambs gave what they call their “washing,” -otherwise their summer treat or picnic, at an -island in the sound owned by Lester Wallack. -At high tide boats could land passengers on the -island, and in the morning the Lambs were safely -landed. But at night the steamer which brought -us was anchored out about a half mile from the -shore. When the entertainment was at an end, -the members had to be rowed in small boats to -the steamer. The oarsman of the boat I was in -was a large, corpulent chap. The passengers -consisted of Charles Frohman, also a heavy -weight, George Fawcett and myself, making -three men and a half. This weighed the boat -down to almost within an inch of the water, and -coupled with the fact that neither Mr. Frohman, -Mr. Fawcett nor myself could swim, I fully expected -it would be our last sail, but we reached -the steamer in safety. One little false move on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -the part of either of us would have caused the -head of the Dramatic Syndicate, an excellent -actor and “Merrily Yours” to be busy—for a -moment or two, in “Davy Jones’s Locker.”</p> - -<p>Augustus Pitou tells a suggestive story of the -unexpected. Late at night he asked for a barber -at a hotel. It was “after hours,” but after much -delay one appeared and asked as a favor of Mr. -Pitou if he would kindly lie on the lounge and -let him shave him in a horizontal position. Mr. -Pitou consented. The touch was so gentle he -fell asleep. When he awoke and felt of his chin -he said:</p> - -<p>“That’s the gentlest shave I have ever had.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, you are the first live man I have -ever shaved.”</p> - -<p>The man was an undertaker’s barber!</p> - -<p>Nat Goodwin tells how Billy Mannering, a -brilliant old time negro comedian, sprang the unexpected -on a hotel proprietor. The company -was having hard luck on one night stands. -Country hotels were as bad in those days as now—even -worse. The boys were eating breakfast -one morning when Bill came down late and said:</p> - -<p>“Boys, how is it? About the same as all the -rest of the hotels?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Billy.”</p> - -<p>In came the proprietor and said: “Good-morning, -gentlemen.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<p>Billy asked: “Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m the proprietor, sir.”</p> - -<p>“So you’re the proprietor! Do you know you -are a brave man? If I were you, I would live -out in the woods, and not come near the hotel. -I would be afraid to face my boarders.”</p> - -<p>“How’s that? Are not the beds all right?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but we can’t eat our beds. Still, you -have two things here that can’t be improved on.”</p> - -<p>“What are they?” asked the proprietor, filling -out his chest.</p> - -<p>“Why, your pepper and salt.”</p> - -<p>I played the unexpected on several people -aboard a certain ocean steamship, on which my -friend Perugini was a passenger. Several of the -ladies on board became enamored of “Handsome -Jack,” and were very anxious to be introduced -to him. They made me their confidant, but -Perry was not much of a “masher” and did not -care to meet them. At this time, he had an -affliction of which I am glad to say he has been -cured; he was deaf. One morning I rapped on -his stateroom door, and getting no response, I -concluded I would run the risk and go in. There -he lay, sound asleep. His valet had preceded -me, and everything looked as neat and cozy as -could be. Perry did not hear me, no matter -what noise I made. I went on deck, found four -of the young ladies and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<p>“Now’s your chance to meet Perugini; just follow -me.” They accompanied me and all four -looked in at the door, but were afraid to go in.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t he look lovely,” said one.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t he charming—I could just hug him!” -said another. I went in; as he did not hear me -they took courage and one by one they stole in -and got near to Perugini. I slipped toward the -door and quickly closed it. The girls were too -frightened even to cry out. Then I took hold of -Jack and gave him a shake that awakened him. -Poor Jack! He was more frightened than the -four girls put together. All I got out of him -when he and I got on deck was,</p> - -<p>“Oh, Marsh! How could you?”</p> - -<p>Kyrle Bellew was a passenger on the same -steamer. My acquaintance with Mr. Bellew is a -most pleasant one, so I know he will forgive me -if I detail this little joke, which, like all my -jokes, was played in good nature.</p> - -<p>On the ship he wore a yachting cap and a full -yachting costume, including a big cord around -his neck, to which was attached a telescope. In -the evening he would walk up to the side of the -steamer, pull out this glass full-length, gaze out -on the ocean at some distant ship, close it and -again walk down the deck, posing in an effective -manner, seemingly unconscious of the amusement -he afforded the other passengers. In a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -burlesque spirit I arranged, as best I could, an -imitation of him. I got a seaman’s trousers, -blouse and hat, and extemporized a sort of wig -as like to my friend’s as possible; to a piece of -rope about my neck I attached a Belfast beer -bottle. At a safe distance I walked up and down -the deck and gave the passengers the benefit of -my burlesque. I don’t believe Bellew ever saw -me. If he had, I fear it would have been my -finish; still, I think he would have enjoyed the -practical joke afterward.</p> - -<p>Even a book-canvasser can be floored by the -unexpected. James Whitcomb Riley tells of an -insinuating member of this profession who rang -the bell of a handsome residence and when a -specially aggressive looking servant opened the -door he asked politely:</p> - -<p>“Is the lady in?”</p> - -<p>“What do ye mane?” the girl asked. “I’d -have ye know we’re all ladies in this house!”</p> - -<p>In another part of this book I have referred to -entertainments I gave at an insane asylum—a -place where the unexpected should be the rule, -to the performer. But at the Bloomingdale -Asylum I once saw it work the other way, and -to an extent that was pathetic all round. Among -the inmates were Scanlon and Kernell—two men -who had thousands of times delighted great audiences -with song and joke. I knew of their presence<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -but how they would look or feel I had no -means of imagining.</p> - -<p>One of my assistants for the occasion was Miss -Cynthia Rogers of Toledo, Ohio. The programme -was not printed, nor arranged in detail, -so we were in ignorance as to what songs had -been selected. Miss Rogers “went on” dressed -as an Irish lad, beginning in a copy of Scanlon’s -familiar make-up, the most popular song of his -own composition, “Mollie O.”</p> - -<p>Everybody looked at Scanlon. His face was -suddenly aglow with interest. His lips followed, -word by word, the course of the melody. He -raised one hand and motioned as if he were directing -the music. At the close of the first -verse, when the building shook with applause, he -smiled happily. He was living his triumphs over -at that minute, oblivious to his surroundings. -He was impatient for the next verse; he followed -the words intently; his face was flushed, the old -inspiration showed in his eyes, and when the applause -broke forth again he laughed and bowed -his head.</p> - -<p>“Did you see that man?” Miss Rogers asked -me a second later. “Did you ever see such an -expression? Who is he—that young man yonder, -with his head bowed?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I thought you must have known,” I -replied. “That’s Scanlon.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<p>“Scanlon the actor?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. The author of your song.”</p> - -<p>Miss Rogers was tearfully uncertain, as she -went on to respond to an encore, whether she -had done right or wrong. She sang “In It” and -the “Latch Key in the Door.” Then Scanlon -was brought back to us and Miss Rogers was introduced -to him.</p> - -<p>“I want to thank you,” he said simply. “I -felt as I used to, you know. Some day I will -sing it again. You are very pretty and you sing -well.”</p> - -<p>If there was one man in the audience blind to -the pathos of the scene which had just occurred -it was Harry Kernell, the comedian. He had -looked on quietly, his face impassive, his hands -clasped loosely over one knee. He smiled when -Scanlon came back to the seat just in front of -him; then his face became fixed and vacant as -before.</p> - -<p>Kernell raised his face again as his wife who -had been sitting beside him, left her seat. He -seemed to have forgotten her, and to be hearing -nothing and seeing nothing, when I announced -the next number on the programme.</p> - -<p>“We have a pleasant surprise for you,” I said, -smiling in anticipation. “Mrs. Kernell is here; -she came up to see her husband, my old friend, -and we wouldn’t let her refuse to sing for you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> - -<p>But Kernell did not look up until his wife, -Queenie Vassar, began singing. The little woman -watched him tenderly. The poor fellow understood. -After that, no lover could have been -more appreciative than he was. It was the one -voice in all the world that could move him. Scanlon -turned and whispered to him, but Kernell’s -soul was in the song. Quickly he looked ten -years younger than he does ordinarily. He -seemed grateful for the applause, and eager for -another song, and another, so Mrs. Kernell sang -“Peggy Cline,” “Sligo” and “The Bowery.”</p> - -<p>After that Kernell sat still and gloomy. The -spell was broken that had made him young. The -deep lines came back on his face, his shoulders -stooped and he was an old man again, listless and -helpless. One could hardly imagine him the man -that scattered sunshine so royally, laughing his -way to fame, building his triumphs on the happiness -he gave to others.</p> - -<p>Miss Claude Rogers played a mandolin solo of -her own composing with “Il Trovatore” for an -encore. Later she played again, and was encored -repeatedly. As for me, I had as difficult an audience -as ever confronted a humorist, or any -other sort of speaker, but the success was complete -and the fun was contagious. It was curious -to see how an audience, of so many different -states of mind, could be affected by humor and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -music. I have had far less appreciative audiences -among sane people, and have been at my wits’ -end to rouse them. Here is a story that tells -how Digby Bell once roused a cold audience -without giving offense; it proved the biggest hit -of his act. He recently had to deal with a particularly -frigid audience, and the best of his jokes -met with but indifferent success. There happened -to be a little flag fastened on one side of the stage, -and the humorist, after delivering his last joke -ineffectually, ran over, gravely pulled the banner -down to half-mast and made his exit. The audience -appreciated the sarcastic proceeding, and -applauded him till he was obliged to give them a -little additional entertainment, and this time he -had no need to complain of their appreciation.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUNSHINE IN SHADY PLACES</span></h2> - -<p>On Blackwell’s Island.—Snakes and Snake Charmers.—Insane -People as Audiences.—A Poorhouse That was a Large -House.—I am Well Known by Another Profession.—Criminals -are not Fools.—Some Pathetic Experiences.—The -Largest Fee I Ever Received.</p> - -</div> - -<p>For many years the late Cornelius Vanderbilt -paid me a regular salary to visit a lot -of charitable institutions,—the Almshouse, -the Penitentiary, the Newsboys’ Lodging House -and a number of other places, where laughter -was not part of the regular daily exercises and -was therefore valued most highly. One of the -places frequently visited was the Insane Asylum -on Blackwell’s Island, and I was often invited -to lunch with the Superintendent. A harmless -patient, who was employed as waiter, was at -times quite amusing through her faculty for seeing -people where none existed. She would often -stop and argue indignantly with some one whom -she imagined was in her way, and to see how -with a tray of dishes in her hands she scolded -the empty air, was first very funny and afterward -creepingly uncanny. Once she imagined<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -that one of these annoying people had climbed -upon the table, and she attacked him so savagely -with a broom that we had to have a new set of -dishes and goblets.</p> - -<p>One night a severe storm compelled me to remain -at the Asylum. My friend the house-surgeon -gave me a comfortable room, near the wing -where the more violent patients were confined. -In the middle of the night, one of these began to -rave and scream; his appeals for help were pitiful. -I put my head out of my door and asked an -attendant what was the matter.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus24.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“For God’s Sake Come! There’s a Woman -in my Room.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“He’s seeing snakes,” was the reply, “but he’ll -be all right in a few minutes.” Just then the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -man informed the neighborhood of a new misfortune, -by shouting,</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake come to me quick. There’s a -woman in my room!” Again he became quiet -and the attendant said,</p> - -<p>“It’s all right now.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied: “she must have been a snake -charmer.”</p> - -<p>I always found insane audiences very appreciative. -Probably the majority of them were “out -of their head” on one subject only. Certainly -their enjoyment of song and pantomime was very -keen, and their interest in my exhibitions of ventriloquism -was quite pathetic. Whenever I threw -my voice in a certain direction, some of them -would look under chairs and tables, in search of -the supposed person who was talking. The poor -creatures took such hold of my sympathies that I -exerted myself to amuse them optically, for the -eye is the surest route to the wits. I would, while -on the platform, make quickly different articles of -colored paper and give them to the patients, -whose pleasure was as childlike as it was sincere.</p> - -<p>On one of my visits I was startled by coming face -to face with a notice which read “Almshouse wagon -reserved for Marshall P. Wilder and party from 12 -to 4.” On inquiry I learned that this wagon was -a Pooh Bah among vehicles, serving by turns as -patrol wagon, ambulance and hearse, so it took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -some jollying of myself to ward off gruesome -imaginings and keep my risibilities in working -order.</p> - -<p>At one of the Almshouse entertainments at -which the room was packed, I said, “This is the first -time I ever knew a poor house to be such a large -house,” and the audience “caught on” as quick -as a flash.</p> - -<p>The only painful experience of my years as an -entertainer among the public institutions was at -the Home for Consumptives, at Fordham. The -patients were cheerful and spirited, as consumptives -always are, and they seemed to enjoy my -jokes mightily, but laughter usually brought on -violent fits of coughing, so I would have to wait -from five to ten minutes after a joke, before I -dared venture another.</p> - -<p>I always recall with pleasure a visit to Elmira, -where I had the brightest and most responsive -audience of my whole career. It was at the -State Reformatory, and there were three or -four thousand prisoners in the audience. Mr. -Brockway, the Superintendent, said he would -like me to talk about ten minutes, and asked -kindly if that would be too long to talk continuously. -Before I appeared he said to the boys,</p> - -<p>“We have with us this evening Mr. Marshall -P. Wilder. How many of you know him?”</p> - -<p>Fully three-quarters of that great assemblage<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -raised their hands. It was quite flattering to be -so well known in a “profession” as cautious and -exclusive as theirs. I found my audience so -quick, appreciative and responsive that instead of -restricting myself to ten minutes, I learned afterward -that I had talked an hour and thirty-five -minutes!</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus25.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Laughter was not Part of the Daily Exercises.</p> -</div> - -<p>It may be argued by some skeptics that these -boys and young men, being prisoners, were -grateful for any entertainment that would break -the monotony of their daily routine, but I prefer -to believe their appreciation was due entirely -to their native cleverness. It takes brains to -place and accomplish anything, whether legal or -illegal, and prisoners of the class that is sent to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -the Reformatory have proved their ability to -think, or they would not be there. There are -thousands of clever men who are good, and of -good men who are stupid, but among criminals -the rule is not reversible, for I have yet to see a -criminal who is a fool.</p> - -<p>I met many interesting and pathetic personalities -while engaged in the institutions. One old -man in the Home for Incurables was so badly -paralyzed, that he could move only his hands, -and these but a few inches. He would lie all day -on his back, with his hands on his chest, holding -a little switch broken from a peach-tree, with -which he would gently scratch his face and head. -This was his only occupation and pleasure; it was -also the limit of his ability to move. Yet this -pitiable old man was always smiling and happy; -he would have repelled the idea that he was unfortunate, -for he was constantly recounting his -blessings and comforts—his bed, his food, his -kindly attention, and not the least of all, his little -peach-twig.</p> - -<p>Another interesting case in the same Home was -a feeble minded boy—almost an imbecile. His -physical development was perfect; he was -healthy and very strong, yet his vacant eyes, -dropped jaw and frontal expression of head indicated -plainly a sad lack of wits. He was gentle -and tractable and devoted to the matron, who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -by demonstration had taught him how to be useful -in many ways. His strength was utilized in -moving helpless patients from bed to chairs, or -vice versa, and he had been taught to change -the beds and do other work in the men’s ward as -neatly as a woman.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus26.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">It Takes Brains to Accomplish Anything.</p> -</div> - -<p>But his chief duty, and one at which he excelled, -was to act as baker for the institution. -The matron had taught him, and he had followed -her method so faithfully that every day he -dropped a little flour on the floor and then wiped -it up; the matron had chanced to this “aside” in -the first lesson, so it was impossible to convince -the boy that this was not a necessary detail of -bread-making. His bread was delicious too; he -made thirty-six loaves every day in a triple oven -holding three pans of twelve loaves each, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -never had a failure. Being exact in every way, -his success was always assured.</p> - -<p>One old woman, who might have been admitted -to this admirable home, refused to enter -it; she said she preferred the Almshouse. She -had been wealthy in her youth but, through unbridled -extravagance, had been reduced to -poverty so dire, that for years she had eked out -a miserable existence by selling newspapers. -When she became too ill and feeble to do even -this, it was suggested that she should enter the -Home for Incurables, but she refused, saying that -she would go to no private institution, but to the -poorhouse, which, when she was rich, she had -helped to maintain. A charitable gentleman -who would have helped her, and to whom she expressed -her desire, assured her that she should -have her choice in the matter, foolish though it -was. She asked him if instead of being conveyed -in the almshouse wagon, she might be moved in -some other way; her would-be benefactor assured -her she should go in his own carriage, and he -himself would be her escort. He invited me to -accompany them, I having already met the old -woman and been interested in her. At the appointed -time we called for her and as she stepped -into the carriage she was visibly elated by the -thought of once more going through the streets -in a manner like that of her wealthy days. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -had dressed for the occasion in style truly wonderful. -Her bonnet, though of startling construction, -commanded attention by its antiquity; -a rag of a camel’s hair shawl was pinned tightly -across her narrow chest; a black silk reticule -hung from one thin arm, which was encased in a -long suede glove, boasting the special advantage -of leaving her fingers free while her other hand -was covered with a lace mitt of antique fashion.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus27.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">She had Dressed in a Style Truly Wonderful.</p> -</div> - -<p>During the drive she sat stiffly erect, gazed -with scorn at people who were merely walking, -and occasionally dropped a stiff, formal speech, -after the manner of polite conversation in her -youthful days. When we had almost reached -our destination, she said to my friend her escort:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<p>“For your extreme kindness to me, I should -like to bestow upon you a slight remembrance, -something saved from the beautiful things I -once owned.” She put her hand into her reticule -and we expected to see a trinket such as -women prize, but she pulled out a pistol and apparently -leveled it at my friend. We gasped, -instantly convinced that she had lost the tiny bit -of sanity that was left to her, but in a second we -saw that she was presenting it to, not at, him. -It was a pretty toy with a pearl handle and inlaid -with silver, but, like herself, rusty and -dilapidated. It was her last bit of elegance and -all the poor creature had to offer in token of her -gratitude.</p> - -<p>A touching feature of this Home was the manner -of furnishing the rooms for the pay patients. -When the wing for this class of inmates was -built it was believed that a long time would -elapse before there would be money enough in -the treasury to furnish the rooms. A kind -hearted woman who visited the house weekly -with donations of snuff, tobacco and candy conceived -a clever plan. She had just lost her -mother, in whose name she presented the entire -furnishings of her mother’s room to the Home. -Word of this got abroad; other people followed -her example and in a short time the entire wing -was furnished in similar manner; so now the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -visitor to the home sees a wing of four stories, -the halls lined with doors on each of which is a -brass plate engraved with the name of the person -who furnished the room in memory of parent, -brother, sister or child.</p> - -<p>This is an appropriate place in my story to tell -of the largest fee I ever received for entertaining, -for although the giver was not heartily interested -in a public institution, he was <i lang="fr">en route</i> -for one.</p> - -<p>I was traveling in the West and looking about -the railway car for a friend, an acquaintance or -even some one with whom I might scrape acquaintance, -for I don’t enjoy being alone a long -time, when I saw, in one end of the car, an -officer with a prisoner. It did not take long to -see that the prisoner was handcuffed, his feet -were shackled to the bottom of the seat, and behind -him were two guards with revolvers in -hand. Evidently the prisoner was of some consequence, -although he looked like a mere boy. -He sat with bowed head and a hopeless look on -his white face. His eyes, which in so young a -man ought to have been bright and merry, were -downcast and full of gloom.</p> - -<p>I ventured over to the party and soon recognized -one of the guards, as a man I had seen in a -similar capacity at the Elmira Reformatory. In -reply to my questions about the prisoner, he told<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -me that the youth had been brought on extradition -proceedings from England, after evading -capture a long time. His crime had been peculiarly -atrocious and he was now being taken to -Kansas City for trial.</p> - -<p>I was sorry for the officer and guards, as well -as for the prisoner, for there can’t be much that’s -cheery in hunting down and manacling a fellow -man, no matter how bad he may be. Besides, -they looked about as uncomfortable as the prisoner, -so I got off a joke or two to brace them -up. Soon the prisoner raised his head and manifested -a trace of interest. Then I asked if I -might try some card tricks on them. Of course -I might; it’s hard to find a man so troubled, that -he won’t forget his misery a moment or two over -a card trick.</p> - -<p>All the men in the car were soon looking on, -but I kept my eye and heart on the prisoner; no -matter what he deserved, it was plain to see -what he needed. The poor wretch became thoroughly -aroused from his dejection, so I sandwiched -tricks and stories and saw him “pick up” -a little more after each one. I “played at him,” -and him alone, as actors sometimes do at one -man in a theatre audience. It was a big contract, -and I was a small man, but I was bound -to see it through. It took two hours of hard -work, but at the end of that time the prisoner<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -was an entirely different man in appearance. -His eyes were bright, the color had come back -to his cheeks, his whole manner had changed; -he had forgotten his past and for the moment he -was a man again. When we were near Kansas -City, he asked me if I wouldn’t shake hands with -him, and he said that I could never know what -my kindness in the past two hours had been to -him. The look he gave me, as I clasped his -manacled hand, was the biggest pay I ever got -in my life.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">“BUFFALO BILL”</span></h2> - -<p>He Works Hard but Jokes Harder.—He and I Stir up a Section -of Paris.—In Peril of a Mob.—My Indian Friends in the -Wild West Company.—Bartholdi and Cody.—English Bewilderment -Over the “Wild West” People.—Major -“Jack” Burke.—Cody as a Stage-driver.—Some of His -Western Stories.—When He Had the Laugh on Me.</p> - -</div> - -<p>My acquaintance with Col. William F. -Cody—“Buffalo Bill”—dates back to -a time when I was a boy at Hartford -and he was an actor in Ned Buntline’s play “The -Prairie Waif.” His life had been strenuous in -the extreme ever since he was thirteen years of -age, but neither hardship nor danger had ever -suppressed his inherent merriment and his longing -to get a joke out of something or on somebody.</p> - -<p>Our acquaintance was renewed at Rochester, -where I had for schoolmate his only son, Kit -Carson Cody, named for a famous scout of fifty -years ago. The death of this boy was a great and -lasting grief to his father, and his memory became -more and more a link to bind the Colonel -and me together, so in time we formed a close<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -and lasting friendship. Whenever we chanced to -be in the same city we were together so much -that we became nicknamed “The Corsican -Brothers.”</p> - -<p>When the “Wild West” Company first went -to Paris I was one of Buffalo Bill’s guests for -several weeks. The Paris shopkeepers and theatre -managers had heard of the enormous success -of the “Wild West” in England and some of -them, who feared it might divert money which -otherwise would find its way into their pockets, -arranged for a powerful “clacque” on the opening -day, not to applaud but to disturb the performance -and discourage Cody, so that he would -leave the city. They did not know their man, so -they had only their expense for their pains. Besides, -even a Paris mob, which is said to be the -meanest in the world, would think twice before -“demonstrating” much in the face of an arena -full of Indians and crack shots. The performance -went on with little or no annoyance, but after it -ended a great crowd burst into the ring and -almost caused a riot. Suddenly another French -peculiarity was manifested; a single gendarme -worked his way to the centre of the crowd and -fired a bullet from his pistol; in an instant the -multitude dispersed. The worst of the French -people respect the majesty of the law—when it -is backed by firearms.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<p>I soon duplicated, as well as I could, the Colonel’s -plains costume, which he always wore in -the streets as an advertisement. I too appeared -in buckskin trousers, fringed leggings, pistol belt -and broad sombrero hat. I must have looked -like an animated mushroom, but the Parisians -were quick to note the resemblance and to dub -me “le petit Buffalo Bill.” Cody himself generally -called me his “stove-in-pard.”</p> - -<p>One morning the Colonel went out to be -shaved and asked me to accompany him. As -both were dressed in wild west costume, to which -the colonel had added a pair of pistols and a -knife, a large crowd followed on and lingered -about the shop we entered. A Parisian shopkeeper -generally has his wife with him, to act as -cashier and general manager, and the barber to -whom we had gone had a chic and attractive -wife, regarding whom Cody and I exchanged admiring -remarks in English, at the risk of the barber -understanding us and becoming disagreeable. -Then Cody seated himself and asked the barber:</p> - -<p>“Do you speak English?”</p> - -<p>“Non, m’sieur,”—with apologetic eyebrows -and shoulders. The colonel thrust his hands -into his long brown curls and said:</p> - -<p>“I want you to put a little oil on my hair and -rub it in; compre?”</p> - -<p>“Oui, oui, m’sieur.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p> - -<p>Then Bill asked: “Marsh, what is French for -shave?”</p> - -<p>My French was as limited as his, so I replied:</p> - -<p>“‘Razoo,’ I guess.”</p> - -<p>“And I want you to razoo my face, compre?”</p> - -<p>“Oui, oui, m’sieur.”</p> - -<p>The barber shaved his customer, but he had -mistaken the sign language of Cody’s first order, -for he raised a pair of shears to clip the Colonel’s -long hair—one of his most treasured possessions -and features; in fact, like Samson of Biblical -fame, his hair was the secret of his strength. -Just as the barber lifted a lock and posed the -shears for the first snip Bill saw the situation in -a mirror. With a cowboy yell that would have -made a Comanche Indian green with envy he -sprang from the chair to save his hair. The -barber, who had been working with bated -breath, appalled by the savage appearance of his -customer, dropped his shears and his knees -shook, as, with chattering teeth, he begged for -mercy. The wife’s screams added to the confusion, -the lingering crowd pressed in and was -reinforced by a gendarme who began a rapid fire -of questions in excited French. No explanations -that were offered in either tongue were comprehended -by the parties who spoke the other language -and, as the barber seemed consumed with -a desire to get rid of us, we hurried away in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -cab, the barber’s wife following us with a torrent -of imprecations—and she so pretty, too!</p> - -<p>One day, while the show was at Paris, we saw -a distinguished looking man pressing against the -rope stretched around Colonel Cody’s tent. -When he found opportunity he said, in excellent -English:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus28.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“We hurried away.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Pardon me, Colonel Cody, but I should like -to speak to you. I have many friends in your -great country—a country for which I have a sincere -admiration.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to see you,” the colonel replied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -wearily; he had heard this same speech so -often. “May I ask your name?”</p> - -<p>“My name is Bartholdi,” modestly replied the -sculptor whose magnificent statue, “Liberty Enlightening -the World,” has endeared him to -Americans. From the moment he made himself -known to Cody he “owned the show.”</p> - -<p>Indians generally manifest extreme suspicion -of white men, but while I was Colonel Cody’s -guest I made friends of some of the chiefs and -braves, especially Red Shirt and Flat Iron. The -former, a famous scout and warrior, has been -called “The Red Napoleon” for his knowledge -of military tactics, his commanding dignity and -reserve. He has a fine physique, and a noble -head, while his bearing is absolutely regal. He -has always been friendly to the whites, and was -a valuable ally of Buffalo Bill in many raids -against his unruly brethren.</p> - -<p>I knew Red Shirt was fond of me, but no one -else would have imagined it from his manner -toward me, for your Indian friend does not slap -you on the back or buttonhole you with a joke, -after the manner of white men. Later I learned -of the earnestness of his regard through a story -told me by Bronco Bill, the Wild West Company’s -interpreter. It seems that, after Red -Shirt had left the company for a few months and -returned to his reservation, he found an old illustrated<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -paper in which was a portrait he thought -was mine. He could not verify it, for he was -unable to read. Although the winter had set in -and snow was deep on the ground he rode twenty -miles to the home of Bronco Bill to ask if the -face was mine. Being assured that it really was -a picture of his friend, he took it back home and -fastened it to the wall of his cabin—an unusual -proceeding, for an Indian regards it beneath his -dignity to indicate emotion, even among his own -people.</p> - -<p>When the Wild West was last at Madison -Square Garden, I again met Red Shirt and Flat -Iron. The former was very glad to see me, so -the interpreter told me, and I had reason to believe -it, but no bystander would have imagined -it from his reserved manner and impassive face. -Flat Iron, who is an exception to almost all Indians -in having a twinkling eye and vivacious -manner, rapidly asked me many questions: was -I stronger?—had I a squaw?—etc. The fact -that I was unmarried had worried him so greatly -in the earlier days of our friendship that he offered -to select me a charming squaw from among -his own grandchildren.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus29.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“He offered to select me a charming squaw.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Flat Iron is a shrewd financier, with a money -getting system peculiarly his own, which he had -worked successfully on many whites. In New -York, he sometimes walked alone, in a street full<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -of people, muttering to himself and staring at the -sky. When he saw that he had excited curiosity—and -an Indian can see out of the back of his -head as well as out of both sides of it, he would -stop, place several nickels,—never pennies, on the -sidewalk, and make solemn “passes” over them, -as if doing an incantation act. Occasionally he -would look aside, and indicate by signs that the -observers should add to the number of nickels. -These additions he would arrange in geometric -figures, which always lacked some point or line.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -Bystanders would supply the deficiency, the coins -would be rearranged, still with missing parts, and -the mysterious passes would continue, accompanied -by solemn gazes heavenward. This pantomime -would continue until the crowd had -parted with all its nickels; then suddenly the old -man would pick up the entire collection, stow it -in his pocket and stalk off as jauntily as a broker -who has succeeded in unloading a lot of wild-cat -stocks on a confiding public.</p> - -<p>While the Wild West was at Manchester I had -my hundredth laugh—perhaps it was my thousandth, -at the density of intelligent Englishmen’s -ignorance regarding American people and ways. -Colonel Cody, his partner and business manager, -“Nate Salsbury,” were standing together, when -an Englishman approached and asked for Mr. -Salsbury. Nate asked what he could do for him -and the man replied:</p> - -<p>“I’m the Greffic.”</p> - -<p>“The wha-at?”</p> - -<p>“The Greffic—the London Greffic. I make -sketches, don’cher know?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! The London <cite>Graphic</cite>? All right. -Sail right in. You might begin with Cody.”</p> - -<p>“And who is Cody?” the artist asked.</p> - -<p>“Why, Cody is Buffalo Bill!”—Salsbury almost -screamed, he was so amazed.</p> - -<p>“And does he speak English?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> - -<p>It may be admitted, in explanation, that some -artists are as ignorant as idiots of anything but -their own profession. But list to a tale of an -American lady and an English clergyman who -was an Oxford graduate and a great reader. -He was also of charming manner and conversed -brilliantly. The lady was the first American he -had ever met, and he confessed to her that he -was startled by her complexion, for he had supposed -that all inhabitants of this country were -copper-colored! When she spoke of driving near -her own home the clergyman said:</p> - -<p>“Er—may I ask if you drive the native animals?”</p> - -<p>“‘The native animals?’” the mystified lady -echoed.</p> - -<p>“Yes;—the elk, and moose, and buffalo, you -know.”</p> - -<p>A notable “character” of the Wild West organization -was Major Burke. He was so witty -and genial that every one liked him at first -sight. The Indians almost worshiped him and -his authority over them was unquestioned. He -had been made a member of one tribe by the -“blood brotherhood” ceremony, but it had not -needed this to make him regarded as “big -medicine” by all the others. He had been -associated with Buffalo Bill ever since “The -Prairie Waif” days, and, though his nominal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -position with the Wild West was that of press-agent, -he was an all-round and indispensable part -of the management. His quick wits have served -on many occasions to put an end to difficulties -which less able men would have endured. For -instance, on one occasion a number of women -were standing on the front benches and obstructing -the view of a hundred or more people behind -them. Burke shouted,—though his voice was -smooth and exquisitely modulated,—</p> - -<p>“Will the beautiful young lady in front -please sit down?” And twenty-eight women -dropped as one.</p> - -<p>Long before he went on the stage Colonel -Cody had earned several desirable reputations -in the West. One was as a stage-driver, in -which capacity he was so much talked of that -several Englishmen who went West insisted on -riding in his coach. They made so much fuss -about it, even in anticipation, that Bill resolved -to give them a ride they would remember as -long as they lived. His only special preparation -was to fill his pockets with pebbles. The four -mules started at a good pace, at which the passengers -expressed delight. At the first down-grade, -the driver pelted the mules furiously with the -pebbles; their rough hides would have been insensible -to the whip. Soon the pace became -terrific, for the shower of pebbles continued;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -Cody looked back, saw the Englishmen huddled -on the front seat, and shouted:</p> - -<p>“Sit on the back seat!”</p> - -<p>“It’s no use, old chap,” one of the frightened -tourists replied. “We’ve just left there.”</p> - -<p>When Cody is not acting or riding or fighting -Indians or ranching or asleep he is likely to be -telling stories, and he has so many that it is hard -for him to tell any story twice, unless by special -request. One that has been frequently called -for is of an Eastern man who was employed by -Colonel Cody out West. The man had not been -out long enough to know the illusive tricks of -the clear atmosphere of the plains and hills. A -picturesque mountain, that seemed only a mile -away, interested him so greatly that he started -early one morning to visit it and return by -breakfast time. He didn’t return for three -days. A few days later the colonel saw him -beside an irrigating ditch, and asked him what -he was going to do, for the man was taking off -his clothes.</p> - -<p>“I’m goin’ to swim across this river,” was the -reply.</p> - -<p>“Swim? Why don’t you jump it? It’s only -three feet wide.”</p> - -<p>“Ye-es; I know it looks that way, but I ain’t -goin’ to be fooled again.”</p> - -<p>One evening, at the Hoffman House, he told<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -this story to two or three friends with whom he -was spending the evenings while he was General -Sheridan’s chief of scouts. There was “a little -affair” in camp at which every one present got -drunk but Cody; he had determined to keep -sober, and succeeded. Toward morning he went -to the cottage where he lived, rapped on the -window, and made himself known, and his wife, -who refused to open the door, said:</p> - -<p>“Go away, whoever you are. Colonel Cody -isn’t home yet.” At this point of the story Cody -laughed and continued:</p> - -<p>“Boys, I’d gone home sober, and my wife -didn’t know me! I went back to the camp, got -as full as any one else, returned to my house, -approached the door unsteadily, fumbled the -latch, and my wife’s voice greeted me, saying:</p> - -<p>“‘Is that you, Willie?’”</p> - -<p>When this story ended, we started from the -Hoffman House for the Lambs’ Club, which was -then in Twenty-sixth Street. With Cody and -me were Steele Mackaye and Judge Gildersleeve, -both of whom were tall, strong men. As -we neared the club we met a crowd of very -tough-looking men, and stood aside to let them -pass, which they did, to my great relief. Then -my companions got the laugh on me, for I remarked -with earnest confidence:</p> - -<p>“I’d like to see any four men get away with <em>us</em>!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ART OF ENTERTAINING</span></h2> - -<p>Not as Easy as it Would Seem.—Scarcity of Good Stories for -the Purpose.—Drawing-room Audiences are Fastidious.—Noted -London Entertainers.—They are Guests of the People -Who Engage Them.—London Methods and Fees.—Blunders -of a Newly-wed Hostess from America.—Humor -Displaces Sentiment in the Drawing-room.—My Own Material -and Its Sources.</p> - -</div> - -<p>An entertainer always leaves a pleasant -impression on other men; otherwise he -is not an entertainer. Sometimes his -gestures and manner are more effective than his -words. Yet he is not necessarily an actor. He -is a sort of half-brother of the man on the stage, -for, like the actor, he must endeavor to please -his entire audience. The humorous paper or -book, if it is not to the reader’s taste, may be -dropped in an instant, but in a crowded hall or -drawing-room one must listen, unless he is deaf.</p> - -<p>So the entertainer must be very careful in -selecting his material. Hundreds of jokes that -are good in themselves and decent enough to tell -to one’s wife and children are called vulgar by -some people who aren’t noted for refinement in -other ways. Other stories that are all right to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -try on your minister when you invite him to -dinner, are shockingly irreverent to some folks -who never go to church. Every man knows of -honest hearty jokes that he wouldn’t venture -when ladies are present, but entertainers know -of some stories told by good women that would -make all the men in a drawing-room face toward -the wall. Selecting stories for society is almost -as dangerous as umpiring a baseball game.</p> - -<p>John Parry was the original entertainer in England, -a country so loyal to whoever amuses it that -it honors its favorites, even after they have lost -the power of pleasing. He wrote many sketches -for use in drawing-rooms and became very popular -and successful. The entertainers most in -vogue in England, until recently, were Corney -Grain, a six-footer, who died about three years -ago and George Grossmith, whom many Americans -remember and who was quite prominent in -connection with D’Oyley Carte productions of -the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. These gentlemen, -both of fine appearance and manner, had -their fill of engagements throughout the London -season, going from one drawing-room to another -and always hailed with delight. Their monologues -never wearied, no matter how oft-repeated, -for it is an amiable characteristic of the Englishman, -that he can never get too much of a good -thing. The American goes so far to the other<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -extreme that he will stand something awfully -bad if it is only new.</p> - -<p>In England, the jester’s arrangements are made -with great ease and simplicity. There are no -annoying business details. His terms of fifteen -or twenty pounds an evening are already known, -so money is not mentioned by him or his host -and there is no attempt at “beating down,” such -as sometimes occurs in bargaining America. He -goes to the house and the table as a guest and is -treated as an equal by the hostess and her company, -when he is making his adieus, which he -does soon after completing his monologue, a -sealed envelope is handed him, or the money -reaches him at his hotel in the morning, and let -me say right here for this custom, that in my -own hundreds of English engagements I never -lost a penny through bad pay.</p> - -<p>Some of the more wealthy people do not limit -themselves to the customary prices. For instance, -Baron de Rothschild often pays sixty pounds for -an entertainment not lasting more than ten minutes—a -little matter of thirty dollars a minute, -and by a strange coincidence, he never fails to -get the entertainer he wants; some hosts do.</p> - -<p>Most of my own London engagements are in -May and June, up to July when the Goodwood -races end the season. They are made some time -in advance, the only preliminary on my part<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -being a batch of letters I send off when my -steamer reaches Queenstown. The fast mail -reaches London before me, so by the time I -reach my hotel, some replies are awaiting me. -The receptions usually begin at ten in the evening. -The hostess does not announce me formally, -as if she owned me, body, soul and breeches, -but asks graciously if Mr. Wilder will not kindly -favor the company with some of his interesting -experiences or reflections. Then I mount the -piano, or a chair, if the affair is a dinner party, -and the other guests listen politely, instead of all -beginning to talk on their own account.</p> - -<p>Entertainers almost never are subjected to -snubs or other rudeness; when such unpleasantnesses -occur they are promptly resented. An -American woman who had “married into the -nobility” invited me to come to her house at -half past nine in the evening. I naturally assumed -that this meant dinner. When I arrived, -the flunkey took me into the parlor and left me -there, saying Lady So-and-so and her guests were -at dinner. I waited some moments, but as no -one came to relieve me of my embarrassment, I -rang the bell, requested the flunkey to take my -card to his mistress and say I had been invited -at that hour and had arrived. Word came back -that “my lady” would be up in a few minutes. -Then the ladies came into the drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -leaving the gentlemen to their wine and cigars; -those who knew me, the Princess Mary of Teck -was one of them, greeted me kindly, but my -hostess and countrywoman did not seem to think -me worthy of notice.</p> - -<p>Then my American spirit rose to boiling point. -I called my cab and was bowling down the street -when a panting servant overtook me and gasped:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus30.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“My cab was bowling down the Street.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Lady Blank would like to see you a moment, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, would she?” I replied. When I returned -I found the fair American in great distress. -She wanted to know why I had deserted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -her at the critical moment, and when I told her -bluntly that I was not in the habit of going to -houses where I was not welcomed as a guest, she -assured me her rudeness was unintentional, it -was due to her ignorance of the custom, etc., etc., -and she begged me not to leave her in the lurch. -Of course, I pretended to be pacified, but the -story got around London and did me much good, -which is more than it did for her ladyship.</p> - -<p>A peculiar thing about the English sense of -humor is that although it is there and of full size, -one must sometimes search hard to find it. Some -types of American joking are utterly wasted on -the Englishman.</p> - -<p>The English greatly prefer burlesques on -American characteristics to those on their own -ways. I can’t call this a peculiarity, although -Americans specially like to see themselves and -their own people “hit off,” even if some one is -hit hard. I am glad to say that although I am -given to personalities, and exaggeration, I try -never to cast ridicule on the people of whom I -talk and I have never knowingly hurt any one’s -feelings by my character sketches.</p> - -<p>In London the theatres are almost countless -and are steadily increasing in number, and -comedy, burlesque and farce are the rule—all because -of the demand for fun. The English enjoy -eating and sleeping more than any other people<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -on earth, but English chops and sleep without -some fun between, are as sounding brass and -a tinkling cymbal, for dyspepsia will knock out -the chops and insomnia will knock out sleep. -But fun takes dyspepsia on one knee and insomnia -on the other and bounces both into forgetfulness.</p> - -<p>Since the days when Ward McAllister came -into style, there has been a marked change in the -work of the American jester. Time was, when -here, as in England, any old thing would do for -parlor entertainments, no matter how often it -had been heard before. It did not even have to -be funny, either; who can exaggerate the number -of times he heard “Curfew Shall Not Ring -To-night,” in those good old times? Now, -however, the entertainer must continually supply -something new, or he will fall by the wayside. -It must be something funny too; people used to -crowd lecture rooms, and enjoy serious talks by -great men—the greatest in the land, but whoever -hears a lecture-course now? Fun—fun—fun, is -the demand everywhere, so every entertainer is a -joker.</p> - -<p>In fact, to speak with my customary modesty, -this demand for amusement places Mr. Depew -and me on the same footing. Often I get letters -from people who say they expect my friend the -Senator, but, if he cannot come, will want me to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -fill the gap. Not long ago Mr. Depew cheated -me out of a famous dinner at Delmonico’s, so I -grumbled a bit when I met him. He got off the -big, hearty laugh, on which he has a life patent, -with no possible infringement in sight, and replied,</p> - -<p>“Why, Marsh, why didn’t you tell me? If -I’d known it, I wouldn’t have gone.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus31.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Enjoying serious talks by great men.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Ha, ha, pretty good, wasn’t it?</p> - -<p>Where do I get the material for my own -sketches? From the originals every time. I -pick it up in the streets, in the cars and restaurants, -get it from the newsboys, from men of all -sorts on the curb-stone, from almost everywhere, -but never from books or newspapers, for the world -is full of fun if one only has the ear to hear it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span></p> - -<p>When I get hold of a new thing that seems to -be good, I always “try it on the dog”—that is, -on my friends. I take it down to the Lambs’ -Club and work it off on some of the good fellows -there. If I escape alive with it, I inveigle a -couple of newsboys into a dark corner and have -them sample it. If it “goes” with them, I am -pretty sure it is good, so I add it to my repertoire; -but if it fails there, I never disagree with -my critics; it is damned—absolutely, no matter -who may think it might be made to work.</p> - -<p>Few Americans are busier than the successful -entertainer. His hands are full of the work of -brightening up the heavy parts of the social -affairs that crowd the long winter afternoon and -evenings, so with hurrying between New York, -Boston and Chicago, with occasional moves to -Philadelphia and Baltimore, he is kept “on the -jump.” Yet the public hears little of his work, -for it is not advertised. Why, not long ago I -went to a large party at a house only three -blocks from my apartments, and I am sure thirty -or forty of the guests had never heard my name -before.</p> - -<p>Such is fame.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN THE SUNSHINE WITH GREAT PREACHERS</span></h2> - -<p>I am Nicknamed “The Theological Comedian.”—My Friend, -Henry Ward Beecher.—Our Trip Through Scotland and -Ireland.—His Quickness of Repartee.—He and Ingersoll -Exchange Words.—Ingersoll’s Own Sunshine.—De Witt -Talmage on the Point of View.—He Could Even Laugh at -Caricatures of His Own Face.—Dr. Parkhurst on Strict -Denominationalism.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Nat Goodwin once nicknamed me -“The Theological Comedian,” because -many of my entertainments were given -in churches. On such occasions a minister would -generally preface the proceedings with prayer—whether -that I, or the people, might be strengthened -for the ordeal I never was able to discover. -But the ministers always laughed at every joke I -cracked, so there is a very warm spot in my heart -for them.</p> - -<p>One of the first of the profession I ever met -was Henry Ward Beecher. I became well acquainted -with him and—of far more consequence, -he was always friendly, fatherly and merry when -I met him. I had the pleasure of traveling -through Scotland and Ireland with him, and no -man could have been better company. Yet he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -was not traveling merely for pleasure. Wherever -he went and was known the people welcomed -him effusively, insisted on hearing from -him, so whenever he spoke in a church or Sunday-school -he had a crowded house.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus32.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Getting Properly Dismal for Sunday.”</p> -</div> - -<p>We spent one Sunday together in Glasgow, -and the depression of that city on the holy day -cannot be imagined. I have heard that some -Scotchmen get full of bad whiskey on Saturday -night for the sole purpose of being properly dismal -on Sunday, but perhaps that is not true. -But the street cars do not run; there is no sign -of animation; the very houses look as dull as if -they were untenanted; to a person accustomed to -the cheer and bright faces of Americans on Sunday<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -the town seemed enveloped in the gloom of -death.</p> - -<p>In the morning I awoke very early; I veritably -believe that the appalling silence disturbed -my slumbers. I felt so lonely and dismal that I -instinctively went over to Mr. Beecher’s room; -better a drowsy American than a whole city full -of wide-awake Scotchmen—on a Scotch Sunday. -Mr. Beecher was also awake, though in bed, and -in spite of the morning being quite chilly he lay -with one toe uncovered. I said:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Beecher, aren’t you afraid of catching -cold?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” he replied, “I always sleep that -way.” I was greatly mystified at this, and asked -him the reason. He laughed—and what a laugh -he had! It was as big and solid and enduring as -the Berkshire hills amid which he was born. -Then he replied:</p> - -<p>“Marshall, that toe is the key to the situation.”</p> - -<p>In Ireland we went about a good deal together -in jaunting cars and extracted a lot of high-grade -Hibernian wit from the drivers. Although Mr. -Beecher was one of the sensible souls who could -discern the difference between poverty and misery, -he had an American’s innate soft spot in his -heart for a man in rags, so he overpaid our drivers -so enormously that Mrs. Beecher, who was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -with us, begged that she might be allowed to do -the disbursing.</p> - -<p>One day we were driven to our hotel in Belfast -through a drizzling rain. When I paid the driver -I said:</p> - -<p>“Are you wet, Pat?” With a merry twinkle -of his eye he replied:</p> - -<p>“Sure, your honor, if I was as wet outside as -I am inside, I’d be as dry as a bone.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Beecher’s quickness at repartee, of which -Americans knew well, was entirely equal to Irish -demands upon it. One day in Ireland, after he -had made an address to a Sunday-school, a bewitching -young colleen came up to where we -stood chatting and said:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Beecher, you have won my heart.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” replied the great man quickly, with a -sunburst of a smile, “you can’t get along without -a heart, so suppose you take mine?”</p> - -<p>Which reminds me of the day when he and -Col. “Bob” Ingersoll were on the platform together -at a public meeting and Beecher went -over and shook hands heartily with the great -agnostic, though he knew that the act would -bring a storm of criticism from people with narrow-gauge -souls. Then Ingersoll brought up one -of his daughters and introduced her, saying:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Beecher, here is a girl who never read -the Bible.” Bob delighted in shocking ministers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -but he missed his fun that time, for Beecher -quickly replied:</p> - -<p>“If all heathen were so charming I am sure -we should all become missionaries.”</p> - -<p>Ingersoll himself was as quick as the quickest -at repartee. One day a malignant believer in an -awful time for the wicked after death asked him:</p> - -<p>“Are you trying to abolish hell?”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus33.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“If all Heathen were as Charming.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ingersoll.</p> - -<p>“Well, you can’t do it.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be sorry if I don’t,” the Colonel replied.</p> - -<p>Agnostic though he was, Ingersoll is frequently -quoted by preachers, for in one respect -he was very like the best of them; he never<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> -wearied of urging men to right living, not -through fear of eternal punishment, but because -goodness is its own excuse for being. No pastor -was ever more severe than he in condemnation -of everything mean and wicked in human life, so -he was worthy of place among the great teachers -of ethics. Personally he was as kind, sympathetic -and helpful as some ministers are not; whatever -he thought of systematic theology, he was practically -a teacher of the brotherhood of man as -defined by the founder of Christianity. In his -lighter moments he was one of the merriest companions -that any one could meet; no matter what -he had to say, he would always illustrate it with -a story. One day he was talking of people who -have a knack of saying the right thing at the -wrong time, and told the following, as a sample:</p> - -<p>A well-to-do merchant out west lived in a town -not remarkable for much but malaria and funerals. -His wives had a way of dying, and whenever he -lost one he went into another county and married -again. A loquacious lady in the healthy county -kindly assisted him in finding young women who -were willing to marry him and take the chances. -About six months after burying his fourth wife -he appeared again in the healthy county, called -on his friend and was greeted with:</p> - -<p>“How’s your wife, Mr. Thompson?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span></p> - -<p>“She’s dead,” he replied sadly.</p> - -<p>“What? Dead again?” the woman cried.</p> - -<p>Ingersoll was full of stories hinging on the -place he believed did not exist. Here is one of -them:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus34.jpg" width="500" height="275" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“His Wives had a Way of Dying.”</p> -</div> - -<p>A man who wanted to visit hell was advised to -buy an excursion ticket. He did so, and when -the train stopped at a place full of beautiful trees, -warbling birds and bright sunshine he did not get -off. The conductor said:</p> - -<p>“I thought you wanted hell?”</p> - -<p>“Is this hell?” the passenger asked; “I didn’t -think it looked like this.” Then he walked about -and met a man to whom he said:</p> - -<p>“I am surprised to find hell such a beautiful -place.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” the man replied, “you must remember<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -that there have been a great many clever people -here for many years, so the place has greatly -improved. You ought to have seen it when I -came here.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed? And who are you?”</p> - -<p>“I am Voltaire.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to meet you, Voltaire, and I -wish you would do me a favor.”</p> - -<p>“With pleasure. What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Get some one to buy my return ticket, -please.”</p> - -<p>Colonel Ingersoll arrived late one evening at a -Clover Club dinner in Philadelphia, to which he -had been invited, and while looking for his seat -he regarded the decorations so admiringly that -Governor Bunn exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“You’ve found heaven at last, Colonel, and a -place waiting for you.”</p> - -<p>At a Lambs’ Club dinner in New York, of -which the late Steele MacKaye was chairman, -Ingersoll was formally introduced and made a -speech, in the course of which he made so unfortunate -a remark about Deity that he sat -down amid silence so profound as to be painful. -MacKaye arose and with admirable tact brought -the Club and the speaker en rapport by saying:</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen, we all know that Colonel Ingersoll -dare not believe in God, but those of us who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -know Colonel Ingersoll and do believe in God -know that <em>God</em> believes in <em>him</em>.”</p> - -<p>The late T. DeWitt Talmage never lost a -chance to emphasize a point with a good story. -As I knew him to be a good man and a first-rate -fellow, I used to be indignant at newspaper abuse -of him, and particularly with some caricatures -that were made of his expressive features. I -took occasion to tell him of this, but he replied:</p> - -<p>“Marshall, I’m as thick-skinned as a rhinoceros, -and I never mind what is said about me. Some -of the caricatures annoy me, but only because -they pain people I love—my wife and family. -You see, my boy, it doesn’t pay to be too sensitive, -for it breaks a man up, and that’s the worst -thing that can happen to him if he has any duties -in the world. Besides, everything depends on -the point of view. Once a German family emigrated -to America and settled in Milwaukee. -The oldest son, in his teens, concluded he would -start out for himself. He ‘fetched up’ in New -York, and without any money, so he wrote home, -‘Dear father, I am sick and lonely and without -a single cent. Send me some money quick. -Your son John.’ The old man couldn’t read, so -he took the letter to a friend—a great strapping -butcher with a loud gruff voice and an arrogant -manner of reading. When the letter was read to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -him the father was furious and declared he would -not send his son a cent—not even to keep him -from starving. But on his way home he kept -thinking about the letter and wanting to hear it -again, so he took it to another friend—a consumptive -undertaker who had a gentle voice with -an appealing inflection in it. When this man -read the letter the father burst into tears and -exclaimed, ‘My poor boy! I shall send him all -the money he wants.’ You see, the same thing -viewed from a different point takes on a different -color.”</p> - -<p>After the Rev. Dr. Parkhurst visited some -notorious New York “dives” and preached his -famous sermon on New York politics he was the -sensation of the day and also one of the best -abused men in the land. He was besieged by -reporters until he had scarcely time to say his -prayers and came to hate the sight of a newspaper -man. About that time I was making a trip to -Rochester and saw Dr. Parkhurst enter the car I -was in. I said to some friends:</p> - -<p>“That is Dr. Parkhurst. Now watch me; I’m -going to have some fun with him.”</p> - -<p>His chair was at the other end of the car and -he was having a good time with newspapers and -magazines and far away, as he supposed, from -reporters. I passed and repassed him two or -three times; then, assuming as well as I could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -the manner of a newspaper man I stopped and -said:</p> - -<p>“Dr. Parkhurst, I believe?”</p> - -<p>He looked up with a savage frown, and I saw -that he took me for one of the tormenting fraternity. -I continued in an insinuating, tooth-drawing -manner until he became so chilling that I -could hear the thermometer falling with heavy -thuds. When I felt that I had made him as uncomfortable -as I could I said,</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, Doctor, but evidently you don’t -remember me.” Then I handed him my card. -His manner changed like a cloudy day when the -sun breaks through, and he said cordially:</p> - -<p>“I am glad to see you, Mr. Wilder. I mistook -you for a reporter.”</p> - -<p>“I thought, you would,” I replied, “for that’s -what I was trying to make you believe.”</p> - -<p>We laughed together and for the remainder of -the trip we were close companions. He is a delightful -talker, full of anecdotes and reminiscences. -I never met a keener lover of good -stories than he, and, beside being an appreciative -listener, he is so good a raconteur himself that a -listener is willing that he should do all the story -telling. He has no patience with narrow, hide-bound -denominationalists; he defined them by -telling me a story of a minister who preached a -sermon so touching that all his hearers were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -melted to tears—all but one man. When asked -how he had succeeded in keeping his eyes dry -the man replied:</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, this isn’t my church.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE PRINCE OF WALES<br /> -(<i>Now King Edward VII</i>)</span></h2> - -<p>The Most Popular Sovereign in Europe.—How He Saved Me -From a Master of Ceremonies.—Promotion by Name.—He -and His Friends Delight two American Girls.—His Sons -and Daughters.—An Attentive and Loving Father.—Untiring -at His Many Duties Before He Ascended the Throne.—Unobtrusive -Politically, yet Influential.</p> - -</div> - -<p>If all kings were as competent as the genial -and tactful gentleman who recently ascended -the British throne, it would be a thankless -job to start a new republic anywhere. Personally, -I have strong grounds for this opinion, for -I had the pleasure of meeting His Majesty many -times while he was Prince of Wales, and these -meetings were due entirely to his kindness of -nature and generally were of his own initiative.</p> - -<p>I don’t imagine he knew it, but the Prince of -Wales once lifted me out of as uncomfortable a -fix as I ever got into in London. The Ancient -and Honorable Artillery, Boston’s swell military -organization, visited England in 1896, as guests -of the Ancients and Honorables of London, who -entertained them handsomely and had them presented<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -to Her Majesty the queen. The Boston -company in turn, gave a great dinner to their -hosts. Some Americans then in the city were -invited, and I had the good fortune to be of the -number, through the kindness of Mr. B. F. -Keith, who was one of the Boston Ancient and -Honorables.</p> - -<p>The spectacle was brilliant in the extreme, -nine out of every ten men present being in full -dress uniform. The entire assemblage was gathered -informally in two long, glittering rows, -awaiting the Prince of Wales, who was always -the soul of punctuality. I had many acquaintances -in the two uniformed bodies, as well as -among the non-military guests, and was moving -about from one to another. I was in conventional -evening dress, and had a tiny American -flag pinned to the lapel of my coat.</p> - -<p>The Master of Ceremonies, whose manner was -more consequential than that of any distinguished -person in the room, seemed annoyed that any -civilians were present, and he did his utmost to -separate them from the soldiers. I had the misfortune -to become his <i lang="fr">bête noire</i>; whenever he -found me among the military men he gently but -persistently pressed me away, but no sooner did -he eject me in one direction than I reappeared -from another and between two pairs of gaily-appareled -soldiers’ legs, so I made the poor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -fellow nervous and fussy to the verge of distraction.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus35.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I had the misfortune to become his <i lang="fr">bête noire</i>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Exactly at eight o’clock the Prince of Wales -was announced and every one came to attention. -He entered with the genial smile which was an -inseparable part of him and shook hands with the -American minister and other dignitaries. Soon -he spied me, came across the room, greeted me -very kindly, and said:</p> - -<p>“How are you, little chap?”</p> - -<p>“Very well, thank you, sir,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“I am to hear you to-morrow night at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -Duke of Devonshire’s, I understand,” he continued. -“Won’t you give us that mother-in-law -pantomime of yours?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, sir,” I answered; as the Prince left -me and ascended the stairs I saw that the Master -of Ceremonies, who had witnessed the meeting, -was visibly disturbed. Soon he literally hovered -about me and displayed a fixed and conciliatory -smile. The guests began to follow the Prince, -and as they passed up the stairs many of them -greeted me. Senator Depew remarked:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Marshall, how are you?”</p> - -<p>That dear old gentleman and English idol, -John L. Toole, passed, blinked merrily at me -and said:</p> - -<p>“Glad to see you again, Marshall. How are -you?”</p> - -<p>Presently the Master of Ceremonies turned -nervously to an English officer and asked, with -an aggrieved tone in his voice:</p> - -<p>“Who is this little chap, anyway? Everybody -seems to know him.”</p> - -<p>The officer did not chance to know me, but -an English Sergeant who was of the attendant -guard and was willing to impart information -said:</p> - -<p>“He belongs to the American Army. He’s a -marshal.” The great functionary immediately -regarded me with profound respect, not unmixed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -with wonder at the modesty of great American -soldiers, for an officer of my supposedly exalted -rank was entitled to follow close behind His -Royal Highness.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus36.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“They regarded me with profound respect.”</p> -</div> - -<p>At the Duke of Devonshire’s on the following -evening I was assisted by two young Americans—twin -sisters, the Misses Jessie and Bessie Abbot. -Miss Bessie had a wonderful voice, and has -since achieved a great success in Paris in the -title part of the opera “Juliet.” Both girls were -clever and charming and we three maintained a -friendship which was delightful to me and which -they, too, seemed to enjoy. At that time they -were living in London with their mother, and -taking part in private entertainments, but the -evening at the Duke of Devonshire’s was their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -first appearance before the Prince of Wales or -any of the Royal family. They charmed the -audience and were loaded with compliments, -some of which were expressed by the Princess -of Wales in person.</p> - -<p>While the Princess was conversing with the -sisters she mentioned the Prince, upon which -Miss Jessie said:</p> - -<p>“I have not yet met the Prince, but I wish to -very much.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, have you not?” the Princess exclaimed, -as she smilingly regarded the pretty girl who was -unconscious that she had committed a breach of -etiquette. “Then I shall arrange it.” Immediately -she walked the entire length of the long -picture gallery in which the entertainment had -been given, found the Prince, came back on his -arm, and Miss Jessie’s request was granted. The -Prince, noting the resemblance of the sisters to -each other, asked if they were really twins.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” Miss Jessie replied, and then turning -to me she continued, “Aren’t we, Marshall? -Her ingenuous manner compelled the Prince to -laugh, after which he said to me:</p> - -<p>“You seemed to be posted, little chap.”</p> - -<p>Among royal children whom I have had the -honor to entertain, none are more widely known, -through their portraits and also by common report, -than the sons and daughters of the present<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -King and Queen of England. The first time I -ever appeared before them was at an exhibition -given for the benefit of the Gordon home for -boys. It was a social affair of great prominence, -the audience being composed principally of the -royal family and the nobility. The Prince and -Princess of Wales were accompanied by their -children—Prince Albert Victor, who has since -died but was then heir-apparent, Prince George, -who is now Prince of Wales, and the Princesses -Louise, Victoria and Maude. Other members of -the royal family in the audience were the Duke -of Connaught (brother to the Prince), the Duke -and Duchess of Teck and the Princess Louise of -Teck.</p> - -<p>I suppose I ought to do the conventional thing -by likening King Edward’s daughters to Washington -Irving’s “Three Beautiful Princesses,” but -my first impression of them has remained clear -that I frequently revert to the day I received it—three -wholesome, pretty, dainty English little girls -of demure manner, with exquisite complexions, -and whose blonde hair was very long and their -simple white frocks rather short. They had -many points of resemblance to one another, -but their brothers were quite dissimilar in one -respect, Victor being slight and delicate while -George was sturdy and robust. All seemed to -enjoy the entertainment, but did not forget and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -lose control of themselves, as well-bred American -children sometimes do in public. Princess Louise -of Teck, who is considered the handsomest of the -princesses, was at that time a very beautiful and -attractive child.</p> - -<p>I afterward met them all at the Duke of -Devonshire’s and found that in conversation -with their elders their manner was marked by -the simplicity, thoughtfulness and kindness inseparable -from good breeding. They frequently -rode or drove in the park, accompanied by a -lady-in-waiting or a gentleman of the Queen’s -household. The universal respect manifested for -them did not turn their heads in the least; in -acknowledgment of the bared heads about them -they did not bow haughtily, but graciously and -kindly, as if grateful for the attention bestowed -upon them. It seemed impossible, to any one -who had observed the condescending and even -arrogant manner in public of so many English -children whose dress and equipage indicated -parental wealth and station, that the Prince -of Wales’s children could be what they really -were—scions of the most firmly-rooted royal -stock in all Europe and that from among them -would in time come an occupant of the only -throne whose influence is felt entirely around -the world.</p> - -<p>But the key to the mystery was not far to find;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -one had but to go back to the parents of these -model children—to the Prince of Wales and his -consort, the daughter of a king whose tact and -sense are universally recognized and admired and -who to this day, although past his eighty-sixth -birthday, is a model for rulers everywhere. The -Prince of Wales was, as under his new title of King -Edward he still is, as affectionate and attentive -a father as can be found in the world. Despite -common report, founded on his affable and leisurely -manner in public, he has for many years -been a close student of affairs and a very busy -man, yet there never was a time when his children -had not free access to him, nor when he was -not his children’s industrious teacher and mentor. -For years he has been known as the most tactful -man in England, and without a superior in this -respect in the world. Speaking literally, royalty -is his life business; it is also to be the life-business -of his children, so he has made it a matter -of sense as well as of duty that his sons and -daughters should be prepared to so comport -themselves as to make their royalty secure and -themselves safe. History has taught him that -neither great armies nor well-filled coffers can -maintain a family on the throne, and that the -only security of a ruler is found in the respect -and affection of the people. While his mother -was on the throne he probably heard thousands<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> -of times—indirectly, of course, the common prediction -of “advanced” politicians that he never -would succeed her. Probably this prediction -never caused him to lose a single hour of sleep, -for he never allowed himself to neglect one of -the thousands of duties that devolved upon him -as his mother’s personal representative. Never -obtrusive politically, he nevertheless became a -positive influence in national politics; he appeared -at all public functions that asked royal -sanction, always said and did the right thing, -made himself approachable, always was affable -though never lacking in dignity, and gave to -every man, great or simple, the full measure of -attention and respect that was due him, seasoning -the same so thoroughly with courtesy as to -make a lifelong admirer of the receiver. He imparted -his manner to his sons and daughters and -his consort added to his influence by motherly -training similar to his own. No breath of scandal -has ever touched one of these children; in this -respect the family is almost unique, for black -sheep are prominent in almost all royal families -of Europe, and one such character is enough to -inflict a lasting smirch on the entire house.</p> - -<p>The Prince of Wales whom I met is now King -of England and his children are men and women. -His official presence is overshadowing his unofficial -past, almost to the extent of forgetfulness.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -But no thoughtful observer will forget that King -Edward and his children as they now appear date -back to many years of His Majesty’s life when -he was Prince of Wales and in apparent likelihood -of being outlived by his mother.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SIR HENRY IRVING</span></h2> - -<p>A Model of Courtesy and Kindness.—An Early Friend Surprised -by the Nature of His Recognition.—His Tender Regard -for Members of His Company.—Hamlet’s Ghost -Forgets His Cue.—Quick to Aid the Needy.—Two Lucky -Boys.—Irving as a Joker.—The Story He Never Told Me.—Generous -Offer to a Brother Actor-manager.—Why He is -Not Rich.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The American people at large know -Henry Irving as a great actor, scores of -Americans and hundreds of Englishmen -of his own and related professions know him as -one of the most friendly and great-hearted men -alive. Many volumes could be written about his -thoughtful kindnesses, and at least one of them -could be filled with mention of his goodness to -me, for, in my many visits to England, he never -failed to “look me up” and show me every kindness -in his power—and his power is great. If I -were to go into details regarding myself, I should -offend him, for, like any other genuine man, he -does not like his left hand know what his right -hand does, but it shouldn’t hurt for me to tell -some open secrets about his kindness to others.</p> - -<p>Lionel Brough often talks of the time when he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -and Irving, both of them young men, were members -of a company in Manchester. In those days -Irving was a dreamer of dreams and had a fondness -for being his own only company, so his associates -made him the butt of many jokes that did -not seem to disturb his self-absorption. He had -no intimates in the company, although he was of -lovable nature. Near the theatre was an upholstery -shop, the owner of which became acquainted -with Irving, understood him and loved him, as -did the family; they called the young actor “Our -Henry,” always had room and a hearty welcome -for him, and in many ways served as balm to his -sensitive nature.</p> - -<p>When Irving went to London he did not forget -his Manchester friends—not even after he -became a successful and very busy manager. He -sent them frequent evidences of his regard, -though he had no time to make visits. On coming -into possession of the Lyceum Theatre he determined -to reupholster every part of it. A -large London firm desired the contract and made -estimates but Mr. Irving sent to Manchester for -his old friend, and, as the Irving company was -leaving England for a long American tour, gave -the upholsterer <i lang="fr">carte blanche</i>.</p> - -<p>On Irving’s return from America be inspected -his theatre, was delighted with the renovation, -and asked the upholsterer for the bill. After<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -looking it over he sent for the London firm that -had offered plans and estimates, and asked them -what they would have charged to do what had -been done. They named a sum five times as -large as the Manchester man had charged; -Irving discovered later that his old friend had -charged only for materials, the work being -“thrown in” for old affection’s sake. But Irving -disregarded the bill entirely and drew a check -for twice the amount of the London firm’s estimate.</p> - -<p>But it does not require memories of past kindnesses -to open Mr. Irving’s purse, for he is almost -as susceptible to the influence of old association. -He has always maintained a far larger company -than his productions demanded, and retained old -members long after their services would have -been dispensed with by a manager at all careful -of his pennies. Many Americans have pleasant -remembrances of old “Daddy” Howe, who died -in Cincinnati some years ago while a member of -the Irving company on tour. At a memorable -dinner given Mr. Irving by his professional admirers -in America, Mr. Howe arose and told of -his offering to retire when the company was preparing -to come to this country, and how his suggestion -was received. Although he was eighty -years old at the time, he had been a member of -but three companies, one of which was Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -Irving’s. He knew that the expenses of the -American tour would be enormous, and that the -small parts for which he was usually cast would -be well played here for far less than his own salary, -so his conscience compelled him to write Mr. -Irving saying that he comprehended the situation -and would either retire or accept less pay. As -he received no reply, he repeated his suggestion -in person to Mr. Irving.</p> - -<p>“Dear me!—Ah! yes!—Well, I’ll let you know -presently,” was the evasive answer from which -Howe assumed that he would be retired, so it -was with trembling hands that he opened a note -from the manager the next day. He read:</p> - -<p>“Of course I expect you to go to America, and -I hope the increase of your salary will indicate -my appreciation and good wishes.”</p> - -<p>As Howe told this story his eyes filled and -overflowed, but Irving, when all eyes were turned -toward him, looked as if he did not see that there -was anything in the incident to justify the old -actor’s emotion or the applause of every one -around the tables.</p> - -<p>I am indebted to my friend, Mr. J. E. Dodson, -who came over with Mrs. Kendall’s company, for -these stories illustrating Mr. Irving’s manner on -the stage in circumstances which would make -almost any manager star drop into rage and profanity. -Here is one of them:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p> - -<p>“Old Tom Meade, beloved by all English players, -and the best stock ghost any company ever -had, was much given to reading in the dressing-room -between his cues. “Hamlet” was on one -night, and after his first appearance as the murdered -king, Meade went to his room for the long -“wait” before the closet scene. With his heels -on the table, a black clay pipe in his mouth and -silver spectacles astride his nose he was soon in -the profoundest depths of a philosophical work. -The call boy gave him notice of his cue.</p> - -<p>“Uh-yes,” was the reply, but Meade went on -reading. Several minutes later there was feverish -excitement in the wings and messengers from -the stage manager poured into Meade’s room; -the lights had been lowered, the stage was enveloped -in blue haze, but there was no ghost! -Dropping his book, Meade hurried to the stage, -but in his excitement he entered on the wrong -side, and almost behind Hamlet. It was too late -to go around to the other side, so Meade whispered -huskily to Mr. Irving:</p> - -<p>“Here, sir, here—just behind you!”</p> - -<p>About this time the man who managed the -calcium light succeeded in locating the dilatory -ghost and in throwing the blue haze upon him, as -Hamlet exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“See where he goes e’en now, out at the -portal!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p> - -<p>Poor Meade was in agony until he was able to -speak to Mr. Irving.</p> - -<p>“Gov’n’r,” he faltered, “reading in my dressing-room—heard -call, but forgot. Rushed to -wrong side of stage, sir. Never happened before—never -will again, sir. And after all, it didn’t -go so bad, sir.” For a moment Mr. Irving looked -him through and through, after which he said -icily:</p> - -<p>“Yes, Tom—but I like it better the other -way.”</p> - -<p>One day Mr. Irving chanced to meet McIntyre, -with whom he had played in the provinces -in his own struggling days. The two men had -not met in years, and Irving’s eyes—marvelous -eyes they are, beamed with delight, as they -always do when they see an old companion.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, McIntyre!” he exclaimed. -“What are you doing here?”—and he led the -way into Haxell’s, where they might have a quiet -chat over cigars and brandy and soda.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” was the comprehensive reply.</p> - -<p>“Have you settled on anything?”</p> - -<p>McIntyre admitted that he was expecting to -play in something at the Holborn. Before they -parted Irving said: “You must come down and -have seats in the house, so you can tell me what -you think of us.” Next day he sent to the Holborn -a most cordial letter containing tickets for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -the two best seats in the lyceum and an urgent -request for another chat. Merely as an afterthought -was this postscript:</p> - -<p>“Forgive me for handing you a ten-pound note -as a loan at your convenience. You may need to -get something new for the play.” McIntyre’s -feelings may be imagined when I repeat his confession -that at that moment he did not know -where his next meal was coming from.</p> - -<p>Mr. Irving is very fond of children and—as -does not always follow in other men’s fondness -of the same nature, he is very attentive to them. -When he produced “Olivia,” the juvenile part -was played by a nine year old boy who kept himself -very clean and tidy, but his street clothes -were so old that extreme poverty was evident. -One night Mr. Irving asked:</p> - -<p>“Where do you live, my lad?”</p> - -<p>“Beyond Hammersmith, sir”—a London section -some miles from the theatre.</p> - -<p>“And how do you get home?”</p> - -<p>“I walk, sir,” the boy replied, surprised by the -inquiry.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes. But after this you must ride”—and -Mr. Irving ordered that the boy should be -supplied with bus fares thereafter. Later Mr. -Irving noticed that the boy had a troubled look -on his face. Asked if he didn’t enjoy riding, he -confessed that he had been walking to save his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -’bus fares, for his mother was ill and his father -out of work. An order was given that the boy’s -salary should be raised; throughout the summer, -though the company was not playing, the child -continued to receive his salary, at Irving’s personal -order.</p> - -<p>Still more significant of his cherishing regard -for children is a story of how he squandered -time—more carefully guarded on the stage than -anything else,—to make a boy happy. It occurred -in a one-act piece—“Cramond Brig,” in -which there is a supper-scene in a cottage, a -steaming sheep’s head and an oat-cake are -brought in and the cottar’s little son is supposed -to do boyish justice to the feast. The little chap -who played the part did not look as if he had -eaten more than his allowance, which was not to -be wondered at; stage feasts are not prepared by -chefs, and the sheep’s head was indifferently -cooked, the only stage demand being that it -should send up a cloud of steam and look piping -hot. One night, when the meat chanced to be -well cooked, Mr. Irving noted that the boy entered -into the spirit of the scene with extreme -realism, so with a smile at the youngster’s energy -he asked:</p> - -<p>“Like it, me boy? Ah, yes; I thought so. -Boys are always hungry.”</p> - -<p>No sooner was that hungry boy out of hearing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -than Mr. Irving ordered that the sheep’s head -and oat-cake should in future be properly seasoned -and carefully cooked; still more, he informed -the players that the supper-scene was not -to be hurried, but was to be governed by the -boy’s appetite. And how that boy did enjoy the -change!—though Mr. Irving seemed to get as -much pleasure out of the feast as he.</p> - -<p>“Old John,” Irving’s personal servant and -dressing-room valet, used to go on a spree about -once a year. With the fatality peculiar to such -men, his weakness took possession of him on a -night of “The Lyon’s Mail”—a play in which -the leading character must make so rapid a -change that quick and sober hands must assist -him. Just as the change was impending poor -John stole into the theatre and stood in the -wings with comb, brush and other necessary -articles hugged to his breast, though he was -plainly incompetent to use them. He cut a ludicrous -figure, though the time was not one for -fun—not for the star. Mr. Irving grasped the -situation; almost any other actor in similar circumstances -would have grasped the valet also -and shaken the life out of him. Irving merely -said mildly—very mildly:</p> - -<p>“John, you’re tired. Go home.”</p> - -<p>Almost any man possessing a sense of humor -has one and only one way of manifesting it, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -in humor as on the stage Mr. Irving is protean. -In the course of a long chat which he and -Richard Mansfield had one night at the Garrick -Club, Mansfield spoke of his noted Jekyll-and-Hyde -part, which was very long yet called for -but two notes of his voice—a severe physical -strain, and he said:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus37.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“John, you’re tired.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“You know, Mr. Irving, it is longer than your -great speech in Macbeth. I have been advised -by our New York physicians not to do it.”</p> - -<p>Irving looked thoughtful for a moment or two, -which is a long period of silence for an eloquent -man. Then he asked:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p> - -<p>“My boy, why <em>do</em> you do it?”</p> - -<p>Members of the Dramatists’ Club (New York) -still recall with delight a story he once told them -and which promised a brilliant climax that they -could distinctly foresee. The end was quite as -effective as they had imagined, yet it was entirely -different and consisted of but two words.</p> - -<p>Irving can turn even his peculiarities to account -in story-telling. Like any other man of -affairs he had sudden and long periods of absent-mindedness—which -means that his mind is for -the time being not only not absent but on the -contrary is entirely present and working at the -rate of an hour a minute. One day while we -were driving together he turned to me and said:</p> - -<p>“Marshall, I have a story you can add to your -repertoire—a very quaint one.” Then he went -into deep thought and we had gone fully a block -before he spoke again; then he said:</p> - -<p>“And you know——”</p> - -<p>Then we went another block, then farther, but -suddenly he asked:</p> - -<p>“Now wasn’t that droll?” It certainly was, -no matter what it was, if he said so, but he still -owes me the story, for he had told it only to -himself.</p> - -<p>Such details of Irving’s thoughtfulness—almost -fatherly solicitude, for other members of his profession, -as have become generally known are but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -a small fraction of what might be told had not -the beneficiaries been begged to hold their -tongues. But here is one that was made public -by my friend, E. S. Willard, an English actor -already referred to and very popular in America. -To realize its significance, one must imagine himself -an American manager with an appreciative -eye for Lyceum successes. At a dinner given at -Delmonico’s by Willard to Irving, Mr. Willard -said:</p> - -<p>“When he heard of my first venture into the -United States, Mr. Irving, without telling me of -it, wrote a lot of friends over here that I was not -a bad sort of chap, and they might look after me -a bit. He gathered around me the night before -I left London, a lot of his friends whom he knew -I would like to meet. When I was about to leave -the room he took me aside and said:</p> - -<p>“‘If you find when you get to the other side -that your plays don’t carry, or that the American -people don’t take to them, just cable me one -word. Here is my new play at the Lyceum, a -beautiful success, and you shall have it—words, -music and all, as soon as the steamer can get it -to you.’”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus38.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“My boy, why <em>do</em> you do it?”</p> -</div> - -<p>It is not generally known that before being -knighted Sir Henry Irving had twice refused a -title, and accepted only after he had been convinced, -by men prominent in other professions,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -that his “elevation,” as the English call it, would -redound to the benefit of the profession at large. -Personally the rank could have placed him no -higher socially than he already was, for ever -since he became known he has been surrounded -by an aristocracy of brains. He will not and -cannot be patronized, and, through the lasting -respect which he has earned, he has done wonders -for the dignity of the actors’ calling. His -title has not changed his manner in any way. -His great dinners on the stage of the Lyceum -and his lunches at the Beefsteak Club are matters -of history. His social engagements are as numerous -as ever; often he does not retire until -three or four o’clock in the morning, generally -to arise in time to conduct a rehearsal at ten, so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -his duties require an executive genius equal in -degree to his artistic endowment.</p> - -<p>It is strange to many people that a man of Mr. -Irving’s business ability and personal popularity -should be in comparatively poor circumstances -instead of having acquired a fortune. He lives -plainly, in hired rooms, not indulging in the -luxury of a house of his own, with horses, carriages, -etc. He spends money freely for books, -and professionally for anything that may enhance -the effect of his art and that of his theatre. -But the few incidents cited above, are illustrations -of the manner in which thousands of pounds -have leaked from his pockets and show that it is -bigness of heart that keeps Henry Irving from -being a rich man.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">LONDON THEATRES AND THEATRE-GOERS</span></h2> - -<p>Why English and American Plays do Best at Home.—The Intelligent -Londoner Takes the Theatre Seriously.—Play-going -as a Duty.—The High-class English Theatre a Costly -Luxury.—American Comedies Too Rapid of Action to -Please the English.—Bronson Howard’s “Henrietta” Not -Understood in London.—The Late Clement Scott’s Influence -and Personality.</p> - -</div> - -<p>I believe I can explain why most English -plays have failed to please American audiences, -and that I have discovered the reason -of the appalling apathy with which Londoners -usually receive an American play.</p> - -<p>When I say “Londoners” I refer to the better -class. The common people flock to the comedies, -farces and burlesques, of which London is full; -they laugh at whatever is placed before them and -demand a lot more of the same kind. But the -educated, well-bred Englishman makes a serious -matter of theatre-going. He goes to the play -with the same face that he displays in “the city,” -as the business section of London is called. He -changes his clothes, for it is bad form not to be -in evening dress when one goes to a London -theatre of the better class. But he does not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -change his face. Play-going is as much a duty -with him, as business is, and I am inclined to believe -it is quite as much of a bore. However -that may be, it is a matter of his serious daily -routine. He goes to the theatre to think; goes -as solemnly as an American on his way to church.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the talk one overhears in the lobby and -stalls of a high class English theatre recall some -church experiences to an American. The play is -analyzed; so are its parts, as if the whole thing -were a matter of conscience or morals, as occasionally -it is. A “problem” play which would -drive Americans out of a theatre, unless in Boston, -where they would doze through the performance, -trusting to the morning papers for -points enough to talk about, will make its way -to the profoundest depths of the English heart -and head.</p> - -<p>It must not be inferred that English gentlemen -and ladies do not enjoy good comedies. -They are grateful for anything that is humorous -and witty, but they regard such performances as -mere relishes or dessert; the <i lang="fr">pièce de rêsistance</i> -must be solid.</p> - -<p>The best London audiences are drawn from the -fashionable set—the “smart set,” all members of -which attend the theatre whenever their evenings -are unoccupied by social duties. There are -no matinées—by name; the English say “morning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -performance,” which means the same thing; -and of course “morning” means afternoon, for -the fashionable set turn night into day so successfully, -that the old fashioned morning is gone -before they get out of bed.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus39.jpg" width="500" height="575" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“He reads what the papers say about it.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Only a man of good income can afford steady -theatre-going on the English plan. His seat costs -him about $2.75, and his program twenty-five -cents more; to these expenses must be added -cab fares both ways, for your Londoner won’t -walk more than a block after dark, if he can help -it. After he has seen and heard the performance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -he talks a lot about it, and thinks it over, and -next day reads what the papers say about it, and -these say as much and say it as seriously as if -the playhouses were of as much importance as -the House of Parliament. Only recently have -American literary weeklies taken up the theatres, -but the Englishman has seen solemn critiques of -plays in the <cite>Athenæum</cite> and <cite>Academy</cite> ever since -he began to read those papers.</p> - -<p>The well-to-do American wants change, relaxation -and fun when he goes to the theatre. He -is fully as intellectual as his English cousin and -has quite as keen comprehension of the best dramatic -work; this is proved by his enthusiastic -support of all productions of Shakespeare. But -a coldly correct drama with a sad end does not -appeal to him, no matter how good the acting.</p> - -<p>American plays are usually too compact and -too rapid of action to succeed on the English -stage. Bronson Howard’s brilliant “Henrietta” -was highly praised by the London press and -Londoners loyally try to like whatever their -newspaper tells them to. Yet “The Henrietta” -did not quite suit. The audience simply could -not understand the character of “Bertie” the -millionaire’s indolent, cheery, stupid son who -pretended to be a devil of a fellow at his club, -but really had no head for liquor and tobacco -nor any heart for the society of chorus girls.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -London society has many young men with some -one of Bertie’s peculiarities, but the combination—why, -as one Londoner said: “No chap can be -so many things, don’t you know.”</p> - -<p>Even Mr. J. L. Shine, the accomplished actor -who played the part, did not seem to understand -it. Another mistake was with “The little -English Lord,” as he was called in the play—a -lordling whom a rich American girl had married. -Here he was a fussy little fellow, an undersized -dude—a caricature, in fact, and made no end of -fun, but on the London stage he was the real -thing, and taken seriously. The management -seemed to be afraid to travesty so sacred a personage -as a noble lord. I imagine this was a -mistake, for at least a portion of the British people -had been so far emancipated as to appreciate -fun poked at the “hupper classes.”</p> - -<p>I have mentioned London’s respect for dramatic -criticism. Let us admit for a moment -that London is the centre of the universe—the -great wheel that sets all the rest in motion, and -that what is successful there ought to succeed -everywhere else—even if it doesn’t. Then, in -logical sequence, let us understand that the -greatest critic of the metropolis can make or -break any “attraction,” and that this commanding -position was held by the late Clement Scott,—poet, -<i lang="fr">littérateur</i> and playwright, for more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -than a quarter of a century and have we not -practically admitted that Mr. Scott was theatrical -dictator of the universe?</p> - -<p>Even logic is sometimes at fault. I remember -being taught at school that dry bread was better -than heaven, because dry bread is better -than nothing and nothing is better than heaven—see? -This is not cited to imply that what I -have said of Clement Scott is wrong, but to convince -the skeptical that all men cannot be expected -to reason alike.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt of the greatness of the -London <cite>Daily Telegraph’s</cite> critic, for nothing was -easier of comprehension. He was a master of -word-painting; the grace and truthfulness of his -word-pictures were evident to the most careless -reader. There was nothing vulgar or flippant in -anything he wrote, and irrelevant witticisms, -such as many would-be critics indulge in, were -entirely lacking in his work. Slow to condemn, -when he corrected a player the work was done -with gracious gentleness, although his satire, -when needed, was biting and deep. In the -righting of wrongs he proved himself utterly -fearless, and regardless of consequences to himself. -By this course he made many friends and -more enemies. Indeed, one of his peculiarities -was his readiness to make an enemy, if by so -doing he could win a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Scott was truly a friend to the friendless, -a helper of the helpless and a clever adviser to -all. Both he and his wife were very active in -charitable work, but his greatest energies seemed -to have been exerted in securing employment -for needy actors and aiding aspiring ones by -word and deed, for he did so much for both -classes that his friends wondered how he found -time for anything else. His kindness knew no -bounds of nation or tongue, and the antagonism -supposed to exist between Englishmen and -Americans found no echo in his big heart.</p> - -<p>In appearance Mr. Scott resembled a rugged -oak-tree that has grown so vigorously in all -directions that any part seems fully as strong as -any other. He was rather tall, with broad -shoulders that drooped slightly, and was quite -fleshy although not obese. His ears were set -far back on his head and his face, though intellectual, -was largely modeled—high forehead, -heavy eyebrows, kind and thoughtful gray eyes, -a large nose and mouth and in his later years -a white moustache. His hands, though large, -were so shapely as to command attention.</p> - -<p>In manner he was emphatic but never dogmatic, -as some members of his profession are. His -prominence was greater than can be imagined in -the United States, where the people seldom know -the names of the dramatic critics whose work<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -they most admire, yet he was as modest and unaffected -as any of his admirers. There was -nothing of the <i lang="la">ergo ego</i> about him, nor anything -pretentious. Yet there lurked behind his mild, -quiet manner an enthusiasm for work and a -scholarly application to work, that were absolutely -remarkable. At the theatre he was the -last man whom a stranger would suspect of being -a critic, for the bored look and the feigned -weariness that some of the dramatic reviewers -affect were entirely lacking in him. He did -not even make notes on his programme. Men -like Scott do not have to affect wisdom or the -resigned look that is supposed to result from it. -I know a young whipper-snapper with a nice, -fast-black bored look that cost years of effort to -cultivate. He is said to wrap it in a silk handkerchief -and keep it in a bureau drawer when -not in use, but he never forgets to dust it and -have it properly adjusted when he calls on a -lady or attends the theatre.</p> - -<p>Clement Scott was not that kind of man. He -had some little peculiarities, like all men of -genius but they were neither affected nor obtrusive. -The most noticeable of these was a habit -of saying “yes, yes,” and “what?” continually. -Some of his gestures were a bit odd and he had -an amusing way of belittling his own work. He -said to me one day,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<p>“I make no money from my books. It is all I -can do to give them away.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus40.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“A nice fast-black bored look that cost -years of effort to cultivate.”</p> -</div> - -<p>He had the coziest possible little home at -15 Woburn Square, London, and a wife who -would reflect honor on any mansion in the land. -Her portrait hangs before me while I write—the -face of an intelligent, refined, charming English -lady, and on its margin is written “Yours in all -faith, Margaret Clement Scott.” That describes -her perfectly—“in all faith” she was the best -possible helper to her husband, aiding him in his -correspondence, taking proper care of his memoranda,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -writing at his dictation and assisting him -in many other ways.</p> - -<p>In Mr. Scott’s study were many hundred valuable -books, some of which are very rare, and a -great collection of curios. One of the walls was -hung with old prints of noted theatrical people -of earlier generations; another with fine china. -The room was richly furnished and had an air of -oriental luxury which, combined with picturesque -disorder, was more than charming—it was bewilderingly -bewitching. In one corner was an -interesting souvenir in a frame; his first letter of -credential as dramatic critic, and was given by -the <cite>Sunday Times</cite>, with which he was first connected; -he went to the <cite>Telegraph</cite> in 1872.</p> - -<p>Mr. Scott was playwright as well as critic and -had several plays successfully produced—“Tears, -Idle Tears,” an adaptation from Marcel; “Peril,” -taken from Sardou’s “Nos Intimes,” “Diplomacy,” -written in collaboration with B. C. -Stephenson; “Sister Mary,” of which Wilson -Barrett was part author; “Jack in the Box” -(with George R. Sims); “The Cape Mail,” “Serge -Panine,” adapted from Georges Ohnet for Mrs. -Langtry, “The Swordsman’s Daughter,” in -which Brandon Thomas had a hand and -“Denise,” in collaboration with Sir Augustus -Harris. Among his published books are “Round -About the Islands”; “Poppyland”; “Pictures<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -of the World”; “Among the Apple Orchards”; -“Over the Hills and Far away”; “The Land of -Flowers”; “Thirty Years at the Play”; “Dramatic -Table Talk”; “The Wheel of Life”; -“Lays of a Londoner”; “Lays and Lyrics”; -“Theatrical Addresses” and his famous “Patriot -Songs.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">TACT</span></h2> - -<p>An Important Factor of Success.—Better than Diplomacy.—Some -Noted Possessors of Tact.—James G. Blaine.—King -Edward VII.—Queen Alexandra.—Henry Ward Beecher.—Mme. -Patti.—Mrs. Ronalds.—Mrs. Cleveland—Mrs. -Langtry.—Colonel Ingersoll.—Mrs. Kendall.—General -Sherman.—Chauncey M. Depew.—Mrs. James Brown -Potter.—Mme. Nordica.</p> - -</div> - -<p>I have had the good fortune to meet a -great many distinguished people, and the -misfortune of hearing many of these talked -of afterward as if human greatness was merely -a machine, which had some peculiar secret of -motion. I don’t like to listen to analyses of my -friends and acquaintances; it is too much like -vivisection; it is unkind to the subject and hardens -whoever conducts the operation.</p> - -<p>Besides, I have a theory of my own as to -greatness. It is that tact is generally the secret. -Almost all famous men and women admit that -certain other people are superior to them at their -own special work. They will attribute some of -their success to luck and some to accident, but -the close observer can usually see that tact has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -had far more influence than either, for success -depends largely on getting along well with other -people, and nothing but tact can assure this.</p> - -<p>Diplomacy alone cannot take the place of tact, -for it comes only from the head; tact is from the -heart. The prominent people to whom I refer -did not lack great qualities of head; they would -have failed without them, but these alone would -have been insufficient without the softer sense—“The -inmost one,” as Hawthorne named it; the -quality to which Oliver Wendell Holmes referred -when he said—“I am getting in by the side -door.” Diplomacy, as distinguished from tact, is -something with a string to it: or playing for a -place; tact is a subtle, timely touch from the -heart.</p> - -<p>A few years ago I returned from Europe on -the steamer with Mr. James G. Blaine. Every -one on board wanted to talk with him and learn -of things which taste and prudence forbade his -mentioning. Yet Mr. Blaine was so tactful -throughout this ordeal, that no one suffered a rebuff -and every one became his friend. He went -further by discovering the good but shrinking -people who in a great ship became isolated, and -bringing them into the general company and -conversation. Yet all the while he was a model -to many other married men on board by his -constant and knightly courtesy to his own wife.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> - -<p>I have referred elsewhere to the tact of King -Edward VII of Great Britain, the most popular -sovereign in Europe. This quality is not restricted -to public purposes; his acquaintances -know that it is untiringly exercised for the benefit -of Queen Alexandra, of whose deafness he is -never unmindful. Often, when I had the honor -to entertain the royal family and their friends, it -was my duty to face the King (then Prince of -Wales). Sometimes this placed me—embarrassingly -too, with my back to the greater part of -the audience. But the Prince was regardless of -custom and his own royal prerogative, when his -consort’s enjoyment was endangered; on one occasion -when he saw that the Princess was not -hearing me distinctly, he said softly to me, “Mr. -Wilder, kindly turn your face toward the Princess!”</p> - -<p>And Her Royal Highness is as tactful as he. -The audience at a special entertainment given the -Shah of Persia in London included the most distinguished -and wealthy people in the city. I -was among those engaged to entertain the Shah, -beside whom sat the Princess (now Queen Alexandra). -As His Persian Majesty was ignorant of -the English language it was not strange that he -held his programme upside down. This might -have occasioned a laugh and caused the Shah some -mortification had not the Princess deftly turned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -her own programme upside down and kept it so -during the performance.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus41.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The Shah held His Program Upside Down.”</p> -</div> - -<p>One of the “nerviest” illustrations of tact is -to the credit of Henry Ward Beecher. After the -war, he made a lecture tour of the South and appeared -at Mozart Hall, Richmond, with an address -entitled, “The North and The South.” He -was rather doubtful as to the reception he would -have but he knew what he wanted and was determined -to get it. No applause welcomed him -as he appeared on the platform, but a few hisses -were heard in the gallery. In the better rows of -seats were some grim ex-Confederates—General<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -Fitzhugh Lee, General Rosser, ex-Governor -Smith, Governor Cameron and others. Beecher -fixed his eye directly on Lee and said—(I quote -a newspaper report of the incident):</p> - -<p>“I have seen pictures of General Fitzhugh -Lee, sir, and I assume you are the man. Am I -right?”</p> - -<p>The General, slightly taken back by this direct -address, nodded stiffly, while the audience bent -forward, breathless with curiosity as to what was -going to follow.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Mr. Beecher, his face lighting up, -“I want to offer you this right hand, which, in -its own way, fought against you and yours, -years ago, but which I would now willingly sacrifice -to make the sunny South prosperous and -happy. Will you take it, General?” There was -a moment’s hesitation, a moment of deathlike -stillness in the hall, and then Fitzhugh Lee was -on his feet, his hand was extended across the -footlights and was quickly met by the warm -grasp of the preacher’s. At first there was a -murmur, half of surprise and half of doubtfulness -from the audience, then there was a hesitating -clapping of hands, and before Beecher had unloosed -the hand of Robert E. Lee’s nephew, there -were cheers such as were never before heard in -old Mozart, though it had been the scene of many -a war and political meeting. But this was only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -the beginning of the enthusiasm. When the -noise subsided, Mr. Beecher continued,</p> - -<p>“When I go back home, I shall proudly tell -that I have grasped the hand of the nephew of -the great Southern Chieftain; I shall tell my people -that I went to the Confederate capital with a -heart full of love for the people whom my principles -once obliged me to oppose and that I was -met half-way by the brave Southerners, who can -forgive as well as they can fight.”</p> - -<p>Five minutes of applause followed, and then, -Mr. Beecher, having gained the hearts of his audience, -began his lecture and was applauded to -the echo. That night, he entered his carriage -and drove to his hotel amid shouts such as have -never greeted a Northern man in Richmond since -the war.</p> - -<p>Women who are prominent as hostesses are -always remarkable for tact. No matter how -they may differ in years, beauty, tastes, nationality, -attainments and means, they are classed together -by their tact, in the minds of men who -know them and know also how arduous are the -duties of a successful hostess. I know many -such women,—Madame Patti, Mrs. Ronalds, who -is one of the most distinguished Americans in -London, Mrs. John A. Mackey, the Baroness de -Bazus (Mrs. Frank Leslie), Mrs. Kendal—but I -could fill a chapter with names. The power of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -these women in the drawing-room is simply marvelous. -Their consummate tact is something for -civilization in general to be proud of. It matters -not if they are not in their best health and spirits -and mood; everything uncongenial in themselves -is hidden by their gracious welcome, like Hamlet’s -father’s ghost by the rising sun. In a large -company there is likely to be a social knot or -tangle that would appal a well meaning novice -in the rôle of hostess, but the woman who is fit -for the position knows what to ignore and what -to illumine.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus42.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“There is Apt to Be a Social Tangle.”</p> -</div> - -<p>And cleverness at introductions in a large company—what -a world of tact it requires! Small -wonder that introductions are few at most fashionable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -affairs. But the tactful hostess keeps -untoward spirits apart and welds congenial souls -together; some of the world’s closest friendships -have come of able hostesses’ introductions of people -who otherwise would never have met.</p> - -<p>But what keen watchfulness and knowledge -this presupposes, of the jealousies, petty or large, -whether in politics, literature, art, the drama, of -a large assemblage of representative people! It -requires nothing less than genius to peep into -the nooks and crannies of the hearts about them, -throbbing with varied purposes and passions, but -these women possess it. Hence they are centres -in themselves, about which antipathetic souls -may gather with a common good-will and cordial -good word. It takes all these qualities to be a -leader in society: many women possess them, -but compared with all who should, how few they -are!</p> - -<p>I know one woman who possesses them all -supremely. She is a wonder, even among -Americans. Her name is Mrs. Grover Cleveland. -Think of that schoolgirl passing from -books to White House receptions and diplomatic -balls, from the quick but embarrassed flush of -eighteen years, to the sustained, well-poised -position of first lady of the land “all in a twinkling” -and, more’s the wonder, all in a triumph! -She went through her ordeal at Washington, for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> -it was an ordeal, without having an enemy in -that Babel of bickerings, cunning social plots -and desperate plunges after prestige. The platform -of the politicians was tariff reform, the -people’s was Mr. Cleveland, little Ruth, furnishing -the “Bye Baby Bunting” plank.</p> - -<p>The way this remarkable woman earned love -and respect, was illustrated by a little scene, that -came under my eye at Lakewood. The parlor -of the hotel is so large that men can stand at -one end of it with their hats on and escape -criticism. But one day, when Mrs. Cleveland, -unattended, entered at the other end, with -girlish haste and captivating naturalness, all -heads were uncovered in an instant. She -merely wished to find a friend who was dining -at the time, so she walked to the table of her -friend. All eyes were upon her, but she manifested -no consciousness. She with her friend -slipped out of the room and into the elevator, -and probably up-stairs for a cozy chat. She was -not thinking of the admiring glances of hundreds, -but only in a great-hearted, every-day -way of her friend. Such is the woman. She -has won her crown, woven from the blossoms of -the people’s love, and she wears it gracefully.</p> - -<p>No woman of my acquaintance has more tact -than Mrs. Langtry. I will guarantee, that her -use of it will win any man who may meet her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -When she was last in New York a certain newspaper -man was “cutting” her savagely. Did -she horsewhip him after the manner of some indignant -actress? Nay, nay! First she learned -who he was, then she determined to meet him. -Her manager invited the young man to dine -with him at Delmonico’s, and the invitation -was accepted. While at dinner the manager -accidentally (?) saw Mrs. Langtry, at another -table, in the same great dining-room and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“By Jove! There’s Mrs. Langtry! Would -you like to meet her?” The scribe hesitated; -then consented. “First, let me ask her permission,” -adroitly continued the manager.</p> - -<p>“I shall be delighted to meet him,” was the -lady’s reply. Two moments later the scribe and -the actress were in close conversation; the -young man was invited to Langtry’s hotel; he -walked down Broadway with her to the Hoffman -House, and he knew a thousand men saw -him and envied him. In the following week, his -paper contained a beautiful article on Langtry. -The question may be asked, “Was this tact or -diplomacy?” But every one ought to know -that mere diplomacy could never make a dramatic -critic change his tone so startlingly.</p> - -<p>But tact is not confined to incidents in the -world’s eye. Several years ago, when that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -clever and beautiful young woman Mrs. James -G. Blaine, Jr. (now Mrs. Dr. Bull), was greatly -afflicted with rheumatism, her friend, Mrs. Kendal, -the well known English actress, advised -massage. Mrs. Blaine objected, she disliked the -idea, but Mrs. Kendal won her over by calling -every day and massaging the sufferer with her -own hands.</p> - -<p>Men can do the tactful thing as well as -women, and it is to their credit that they often -do it when they can’t imagine that any one -will ever know of it but the beneficiary. One -rainy day at Broadway and Twenty-third Street, -an ill-clad, shivering fellow stood, probably he -had nowhere in particular to go, and would -rather look at people than think of himself and -his condition. I saw a tall, stout man with an -intellectual, kind face stop, hold his umbrella -over the tramp, and engage him in conversation; -it was a mean place to stand, too, for crowds -were hurrying past the big policeman standing -at the crossing. I dashed in front of the chap -the instant the tall man left him.</p> - -<p>“See what that man gave me!” he said, -showing me a two dollar bill.</p> - -<p>“It’s no wonder,” I replied; “that was Colonel -Bob Ingersoll!”</p> - -<p>“Hully gee!” the man exclaimed. “I’ve -heard o’ him. And here’s what else he gave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -me—listen.” The Colonel had told him the story of -“Nobody’s Dog,” as follows:—</p> - -<p>“A poor brute of a dog entered a hotel with -three travelers. ‘Walk in, gents,’ said the host -heartily. ‘Fine dog, that; is he yours, sir?’</p> - -<p>“‘No,’ said one of the men, and ‘No,’ ‘No,’ -repeated the others.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/illus43.jpg" width="350" height="500" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I Saw Him Hold His Umbrella -Over a Tramp.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“‘Then he’s nobody’s dog,’ said the host, as he -kicked the cur into the street.</p> - -<p>“You’re nobody’s dog, but here you are,” said -the Colonel in conclusion, pressing the money -into his hand and hurrying away.</p> - -<p>I have myself been the gainer by the tact of -some men, who would have been excusable for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -having their minds full of some one of more importance, -so I am correspondingly grateful. Dear -General Sherman was one of these; his tact was -as effective in civil life as his armies had been on -the battle-field. In the fall of 1899, just after I -had published my book—“The People I Have -Smiled With,” I received the following written -by the General’s private secretary.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>:</p> - -<p>“I beg you to accept my hearty thanks for a -copy of your book, the same which, I assure you, -will give me much pleasure in perusing.</p> - -<p>“With best wishes, as always, I am,</p> - -<p class="center">“Your friend,</p> - -<p class="right">(Signed) “<span class="smcap">W. T. Sherman</span>, General.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Evidently the General thought a moment after -signing the above, for he wrote at the bottom of -the sheet “Over,” where he added in his own -handwriting:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Pardon me for this seemingly formal answer -to your bright and cheery volume, which, as yet, -I have merely glanced at, but contemplate much -pleasure and profit in reading. The ‘Introduction,’ -by our mutual friend ‘Cockerill,’ is so touching -that it calls for the sympathetic tear, rather -than a smile; so are your opening words in the -first chapter about your acquaintance with -Beecher, etc., etc. But more in the hereafter.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you enroll me in your list of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -friends, and will be only too happy to smile with -you in person over your types, as occasion may -require.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your sincere friend,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">W. T. Sherman</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>I might also call attention to the above as an -illustration of the occasional opaqueness of the -private secretary as a medium between great men -and their personal friends, however humble.</p> - -<p>I was at Chicago’s famous hotel, “The Auditorium” -during the dedicatory exercises of the -Columbian Exposition, more popularly known as -“Chicago’s World’s Fair.” A great dinner had -been given the evening before to men distinguished -throughout the world. The affair was -under the direction of the Fellowship Club, prominent -in which was Editor Scott of the Chicago -<cite>Herald</cite>, and such a gathering of famous men I -had never seen before. Richard Harding Davis -described it graphically in <cite>Harper’s Weekly</cite>.</p> - -<p>Next morning quite naturally, the atmosphere -of the hotel was hazy and dazy. Such of us as -dropped into the café for breakfast were not especially -“noticing.”</p> - -<p>I sat alone at the end of the room. In came -Chauncey M. Depew with a handsome young -lady. Before long his quick eye discerned me -in my isolation. He arose, walked the entire -length of that great room, leaned over me and said,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span></p> - -<p>“Marsh, most through your breakfast?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then come over and be introduced to my -niece. She wants to meet the celebrities of the -day.” Continuing he was kind enough to say -that some of my recently delivered jokes were -new, and he must have been right, for I heard -afterward that he used them himself. But many -men of less importance would have sent a waiter -for me instead of coming in person; many more -would have succeeded in not seeing me at all.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. James Brown Potter first visited -London, she was chaperoned by Mrs. Paran -Stevens, whose daughter, Lady Paget, was a member -of the Prince’s set, and had full entrée to all -social circles. On one occasion Mr. Wilson Barrett -set aside a box for Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Potter, -and their friends, I being among the number invited -to see “Clito” performed.</p> - -<p>In London it is the pleasant custom for the -actor-manager to send up refreshments, ices, etc., -between the acts, and invite his guests down into -his dressing-room. Eccentric Mrs. Stevens hesitated -when asked to join us all in going down-stairs -to visit Mr. Barrett between the acts. It -may have been that she did not wish to incur a -social obligation, but whatever the reason, Mrs. -Potter, with infinite tact, assumed the rôle of -charmed and charming guest, allowing Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -Stevens to remain quietly unobserved and free -from any future embarrassment.</p> - -<p>Mme. Nordica displayed her charming tactfulness -one Sunday at a musicale given by Mrs. -Ronalds in London. It was when peace was declared -between England and the Boers. The -news arrived about 4 <span class="allsmcap">P. M.</span> Instantly Mme. -Nordica sprang to her feet, and sang “God Save -the King.” It was most inspiring, coming just as -it did, and those who were present will never forget -how the people stood about clapping their -hands and rejoicing over this great event, which -was announced by an American.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">ADELINA PATTI</span></h2> - -<p>Her home in Wales.—Some of Her Pets.—An Ocean Voyage -With Her.—The Local Reception at Her Home-Coming.—Mistress -of an Enormous Castle and a Great Retinue of -Servants.—Her Winter Garden and Private Theatre.—A -Most Hospitable and Charming Hostess.—Her Local Charities -Are Continuous and Many.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Craig-y-Nos (Craig-of-the-Night) in the -Swansea Valley, Ystradgnlais, South -Wales, by river and meadow and mountain, -is the home of Madame Patti.</p> - -<p>Among madame’s pets at her castle is one -Jumbo, an American parrot, who carried with him -to Wales his country’s admiration for his mistress. -For when she goes forth into the great world, he -puts on a dejected bearing, and in a voice touched -with tears keeps calling, “Where is Patti? Where -is Patti?” But the parrot only gives word to -what is felt by all the good folks of Swansea Valley; -for the pets and the people, of high and low -degree, miss this wonderful little woman when -she is away, and she in turn longs for her pets -and her peasants, her country roads and princely -retreat, with that whole-hearted longing which -doubtless gives much to the depth of feeling the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -world knows in her rendition of “Home, Sweet -Home.” This little song, that makes the whole -world kin, bears to the difficult song work of -Patti some such relation as does her life of artlessness -to her life of art. Her nature undisguised -is childlike and spontaneous.</p> - -<p>When I took ship on the <i>City of New York</i> in -May, 1892, in the same party with Madame Patti, -and her husband, Signor Nicolini, she was full of -greetings, and words of parting to those coming -and going just before we sailed.</p> - -<p>Nicolini’s devotion to his wife was the remark -of the ship. He was ever thoughtful of her, and -his services were continual, from his first one in -the morning, that of delivering her mail to her.</p> - -<p>Previous to sailing, a Boston lady friend had -sent aboard seven or eight letters, with the direction -that one should each morning be delivered -to Madame Patti. What a merrymaking there -was when the usual, or rather, unusual letter -bobbed up every morning! A fresh-cheeked -young country girl could not have been more demonstrative. -But such is her single-mindedness: -her heart is young, and that is no doubt one of -the great causes of the depth of her beauty. An -ocean voyage generally washes out the skin-deep -variety, but when I saw Patti every day, rich -Spanish beauty turned up with her every time. -She was the pet of the people without seeming to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -be conscious of it, and went along through the -days like other folks, speaking to friend after -friend in the language of their preference, for it -makes no difference to her—German, French, -Spanish, Italian or English; and with all her -naïvete, she is an adroit and charming diplomat.</p> - -<p>“You must visit me,” she said one day on the -steamer to me. “I will not take no for an answer. -I will follow you all over England with telegrams, -if you do not.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus44.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I will follow you all over England with telegrams.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I went.</p> - -<p>At Paddington station I found that my hostess -was truly a royal one, for there was the private -car of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, -awaiting her. The interior was banked with -flowers, from end to end, and snatching up bunches -here and there, Patti would be all in a glee over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -them. As the train moved, three beautiful young -girls ran down the length of the station to get a -last glimpse of Patti. Two of them threw up -their hands, their faces flushed with the race; -but the third sped to the end of the platform. It -was a pretty picture.</p> - -<p>In our party were Madame and Monsieur Nicolini, -madame’s companion and two maids, Nicolini’s -attendant and valet. I completed the -group, and with reason was congratulating myself, -knowing the scarcity and luxury of the private -car in England. As we swept by Neath, the -former home of my hostess, then the seat of -Henry M. Stanley, her eyes sparkled, for home -meant so much to her, and she was almost there. -What a lark there was too on our short run, with -Patti singing “On the Bowery,” and snatches -from other “fad” airs, Nicolini joining in, and -now breaking away on his own account into -“Annie Rooney” with the refrain, “Adelina Patti -is my sweetheart.”</p> - -<p>We were met at the station by a corps of servants, -a big drag, and equipages for guests, and -were driven in handsome style around the frowning -brow of the great craig, into full view of the -castle, spreading out its arms as if in gladness at -the happy home-coming of its queen.</p> - -<p>As we neared the great gate all the household -gathered to meet us, from the head man Heck,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -to the stable boys. It seemed to me that I had -been assigned to the choice of the eighty rooms -of the castle, so luxurious were all the appointments -about me.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus45.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The clever bird surprised me by ejaculating Pity Patti.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I spoke of the pets. There were twenty-five -or thirty varieties of birds, besides donkeys, ponies -and rare dogs, of which Patti is very fond, always -having numbers of them accompany her in -her walks. Ten of these birds were parrots. -Each one of these birds had acquired that peculiar -style of eloquence best suited to his disposition -and temperament. For example, one day when -Patti got a trifling hurt, the clever bird surprised -me by ejaculating, “Pity Patti!” This gushing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -bird has ever since maintained a steady sympathy, -spending most of his verbally unhappy life saying -“Pity Patti! Pity Patti!” As you go up to -each parrot, he thus, with some different speech -unburdens his mind to you. They are sociable -birds, spending most of their time together, and -when, new and then, a sewing-society notion -strikes them all at once, it might be called a -unanimous change of subject.</p> - -<p>From the moment of arrival, a valet is put at -the service of the guest, and orders are taken by -him at night, for the following morning’s breakfast. -There is no rising time. While Patti is an -early riser, she makes no such demands upon her -guests. The valet appears at the hour ordered, -prepares the bath, and serves breakfast at any -time desired. Patti after her regular morning -bath, takes her breakfast, and reads her daily -mail before going out for the day. The guest is -absolutely free to do as he wishes until half-past -twelve. During my morning strolls I often met -Patti sauntering through the grounds with her -well-beloved dogs.</p> - -<p>At half-past twelve all meet at luncheon, and -all must be prompt. At this little <i lang="fr">déjeuner</i>, which -is by no means a light meal, Patti is a gale of -joyous chat and greeting. The trivial incident is -touched into color by her vitality.</p> - -<p>Then comes the famous afternoon drive. As a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> -rule the homes of the neighborhood are connected -by telephone with the castle, and invitations -come and go. One afternoon we drove to a farmhouse -of a neighbor, where we saw a contest between -three sheep dogs. There were three sheep -to each dog, and that one was proclaimed winner -who most quickly drove his three sheep through -one opening into a corral. It was an intensely interesting -illustration of the instinctive sheep-driving -skill of the dogs. Then again we would -go for a long spin over the hills through the keen -mountain air.</p> - -<p>A light English tea at five, after which we had -until half-past seven to rest and dress before appearing -at dinner, the great event of the day. -All, of course, wear full dress, gathering in the -boudoir where one sees pictures and autographs -of famous people the world over. Among the -photographs I noticed those of Mrs. Cleveland, -Christine Nilsson, Nieman, Albani, Scalchi, Hans -Richter, Verdi, and the King and Queen of Italy. -A full length portrait of Mrs. Cleveland appears -beside that of the Princess of Wales. The coloring, -hangings, and wall coverings are all suggestive -of restfulness in their richness.</p> - -<p>The first announcement one has of dinner is a -melody of silver bells. The notes seem to cling -to the bells until they are fairly shaken off like -bubbles into the air; then there seem to be two<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -melodies, one the tender musical shadow of the -other.</p> - -<p>Nicolini would go in front of madame, who -quickly took his arm and they would lead the -way into the great conservatory or winter garden, -where flowers are rushing into bloom the -year round. The fragrant air is musical with -singing birds, and the effect is magical under the -effulgence of the electroliers. The windows command -a magnificent view of the country around, -mountain and valley and winding river, spread -just at the feet of the castle; salmon brooks, -stretches of thousands of acres, and hunting -grounds covering nearly ten miles of fine shooting. -With her own fingers Patti puts a boutonnière -on guests here and there, and then we intrust -ourselves to the mercy of one of Britain’s -greatest chefs.</p> - -<p>Just here I am reminded of Norris, the Irish -butler, whose sense of humor almost broke up -his self-possession. At the table while I was -telling stories he would hold down his upper lip -with his teeth, like the side of a tent, afraid to -let it go, lest it might be blown away by a -breeze of laughter. As it was, the lip kept -wrinkling. Both Madame Patti and I saw it, -but concealed our knowledge from Norris, for -the poor conventional soul’s heart would have -been broken, had he suspected that we knew of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -his having lost the icy calm of a properly conducted -butler. He would “list” his head over -to one side, cough, fly around in unnecessary -ways, and altogether expend a great deal of -energy in keeping down the humorous side of -his nature.</p> - -<p>The attachment of Patti’s servants to her is -as constant as that of her friends and her pets. -Norris had been with her thirteen years; one -servant had been with her five years; another, -her Swedish valet, for nine years; then there -were the driver, Joe; George, her courier; and -the general manager, a man of varied accomplishments -and great executive ability, Guillaume -Heck.</p> - -<p>Among all those about her, none is so close as -is Caroline Baumeister, an Austrian woman, her -companion, who has been with her nearly forty -years. Constantly at her side with her council -and care, Caroline is Patti’s friend in every sense -of the word. Of excellent family, robust in mind -and body, of that well-balanced, soothing and -serene temperament which has finally made Patti -a child in her dependence upon it. Caroline has -a Mexican girl, Padro, as her assistant.</p> - -<p>After dinner we pass into the billiard rooms, -of which there are two, with French and English -and American tables. At the end of one of these -rooms is a monster orchestrion, which cost thirty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -thousand dollars, and which furnishes music during -the games. Anything may be played on it, -from Wagner to the latest popular air, by simply -inserting a roll. These rolls, by the way, cost -one hundred dollars each; in truth golden music.</p> - -<p>During these little after-dinner billiard games -the sincerity and simplicity of Patti is seen to -great advantage. For instance, imagine the picture -of the great diva catching up a billiard cue, -and marching around the room, followed by all -the guests, to the tune of the Turkish March -played on the orchestrion. Often during the -course of the evening, when she could stand the -buoyant effect of the music no longer, she would -break into song, trilling as naturally as a bird, -and as spontaneously.</p> - -<p>After a certain time spent in the billiard rooms, -we would wander through a continuation of the -winter garden, into one of the most cherished -possessions of Patti, her private theatre. This -theatre was erected at a great cost, and with a -care for detail which may be imagined, when it -is known that Mr. Irving sent down his head -carpenter from London, to see that perfection -was reached at every point. Mr. Irving has said -several times that it was the most perfect thing -of its kind he had ever seen. Every property is -complete; there are the traps, the thunder and -lightning, everything metropolitan, even the floor,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> -which is adjustable either for inclined auditorium -purposes or for the level of a ball-room floor. -There are six dressing-rooms, and the stage, built -for sixty people, has a “run” of eighty feet, -while the auditorium will accommodate three -hundred and fifty and the gallery eighty people. -During the little evenings, the gallery is generally -filled by domestics and peasants. Programmes -are prepared with elegance for each -entertainment. I have one now—the operatic -matinée in honor of His Royal Highness, Prince -Henry of Battenberg, and party:</p> - -<p>Overture “Martha,” orchestra. Vocal concert -(artists, Madame Adelina Patti-Nicolini, Madame -Giulia Valda, Signor Vovara), “Faust” Act III, -Garden Scene, in which Signor Nicolini, as Faust, -took part. The conductor was Signor Arditi. -The programme is richly embellished in purple -and scarlet and gold.</p> - -<p>One of the ornaments on the walls of this -beautiful little theatre is the armor worn by -Patti in her creation, at the age of nineteen, of -the character of Joan of Arc. She also appears -in a splendid painting on the curtain, as “Semiramis” -in her triumphal car.</p> - -<p>During my stay the idea struck Patti of having -a little entertainment in my honor. So -George, the courier, was posted off to Swansea -to get an orchestra, and other parts of the equipment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -needed for this hasty-pudding matinée, for -there was only one day in which to get ready.</p> - -<p>It took place June 15th, 1892. The programme -was filled by Patti and four or five -friends, including myself in the humorous number. -Patti’s voice can never be heard to such -advantage as under the shadow of her mountains -in this peaceful valley; here she sings from very -gladness because she is free. She is out of the -cage (for Patti is never so caged as when before -the public) in her own home where song is not an -article of merchandise, but the gratuitous offering -of nature. So it is that her trills are more -brilliant and spontaneous than the same flights -for which she receives five thousand dollars a -night.</p> - -<p>Every Christmas a thousand children are entertained, -and a charity concert is given, when -presents are distributed by her to the poor of -Swansea and Neath districts, being handed out -by her personally.</p> - -<p>Her good offices to the poor are done in numberless -ways, the greater part unknown. I heard -during my visit this story: there was a poor child -born just inside the big gate one evening. The -quivering peasant mother, homeless and alone, -turned instinctively in her agony to the good -mistress of the valley, and had crawled within -the friendly shelter of the lady’s wall. Patti,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -returning from a drive found them and took -them to her home and had them cared for. She -named the little tot Craig-y-Nos. When all was -well, the woman offered to work out the debt, -but “No,” said her hostess, “you are my guests.”</p> - -<p>There is a standing rule that no poor shall be -turned away from the castle. Each one, no matter -how deserving, is given bread and beer, and -they come in continually from miles around.</p> - -<p>“Lady of the Castle,” she is affectionately -called by the plain folk of that country. Can -one wonder then that when she drives out all -greet her with grateful deference, and the little -children curtsey as if to a queen. Whenever I -drove out with her I saw the same demonstration.</p> - -<p>Patti has a retinue of sixty domestics while -she is at home, and leaves twenty-five to look -after things when she is away. There is a complete -electric plant with a power-house so far -away as to avoid the noise of the machinery; -also a gas plant, if this light is preferred; a telephone -and telegraph service connect the castle -with the outside world. Let me not forget the -dairy, the steam laundry, and the refrigerating -facilities for the meats. The stables are elegantly -constructed and equipped, there being seven -pairs of carriage horses beside the riding horses, -ponies and donkeys.</p> - -<p>One of the ponies had been pensioned after<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -long and faithful service, and spent most of his -time browsing in the paddock with Jenny, the -little pet donkey of the place. The two were -uncommonly knowing and the fastest of friends, -one running in front of a person trying to catch -the other. This manœuvre they could successfully -carry out, until the one trying to catch -either of them would retire in disgust, to the -great satisfaction of Tom and Jenny, who would -peacefully resume their tête-à-tête meal.</p> - -<p>With all the paraphernalia of comfort and convenience, -it remains only for the personality of -Patti to convert the castle into home. What a -hostess! During my stay everything seemed to -be done with special reference to me. Even the -American flag was hoisted on the castle in honor -of my nationality. Thus special guests are always -flatteringly recognized by the sight of their -own country’s flag. The individual tastes of the -guests are studied to the minutest degree by all. -For instance, I have always been very fond of -ice. Imagine this trifling taste of mine being -detected without my knowledge. I found out -that it had been in this way. When I left I -found my lunch providently and daintily put up, -and among the delicacies I discovered a piece of -ice! It had been frozen into a small block specially -for me, and I enjoyed it very much, all the -trip.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p> - -<p>Then again, I had expressed an interest in her -jewels, so during my stay she decked herself -every night with different ones, all in my honor, -as she assured me.</p> - -<p>Do what she will, this woman, worshiped of -all nations, is the willing slave of a loving heart. -Her old parents, whom she loved and revered -when they were living, she loves and honors now -that they are dead, and not a day passes, without -some fond reference to them.</p> - -<p>A friend of Patti’s, a French lady, met with -distressing financial losses. In her need Patti -said to her, “Come and live with me!” and she -did, for many happy years after that.</p> - -<p>When Joe was driving me to Penwyllt I -thought of it all as the road lengthened between -me and my friends. I remembered that Patti -had told me that of all American cities, Richmond -and Syracuse were her favorites, but I feel -sure she is the favorite of all our cities.</p> - -<p>The world has been made glad by her song, -but not more glad than the mountain district by -her presence. There she lives a queen, crowned -by the love of all about her.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOME NOTABLE PEOPLE</span></h2> - -<p>Cornelius Vanderbilt.—Mrs. Mackey.—The Rockefellers.—Jay -Gould.—George Gould and Mrs. Edith Kingdom Gould.—Mary -Anderson.—Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske.—Augustin -Daly.—Nicola Tesla.—Cheiro.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The mass of the people envy most the -men and women who have most money; -my own envy goes out hungrily to -those who are happiest, though I have sometimes -inclined strongly toward the majority. One day -in London, while my mind was full of the good -that a great lot of money would do me, I learned -that Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, who was still suffering -from the effects of a paralytic stroke, was -at a hotel in Piccadilly. Besides being one of the -best men in the world, he had been one of my -best friends, so I called on him, hoping I might -cheer his heart in some way and make him forget -his trouble. It was hard to get at him, for his -secretary had been ordered by the physician to -admit no one, but I got my card to him, and he -was kind enough to express a wish to see me and -a belief that my visit would do him good.</p> - -<p>From Mr. Vanderbilt’s hotel I went to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span> -home of Mrs. John A. Mackey, whose son Willie -had recently lost his life by being thrown from -his horse. I had no desire to intrude upon grief, -but Willie and I had been merry friends together, -and I believed remembrance of our acquaintance -would make Mrs. Mackey willing to see me. -Here again I had great difficulty; the butler had -received positive order, and it took me twenty -minutes to persuade him that Mrs. Mackey would -not refuse to receive my card. I was right, for -she was very glad to see me. Her house was a -veritable palace, containing everything valuable -and artistic that money would buy, yet amid all -these evidences of wealth the bereaved mother -sat in deep black, mourning the loss of her beloved -son and, like Rachel, “would not be comforted.” -So my visits to these two good friends -convinced me that money could not do everything.</p> - -<p>Probably the most envied man in America is -John D. Rockefeller, for his income alone is believed -to exceed half a million dollars a day. -There are many men and women near Owego, -N. Y., who attended school with John Rockefeller, -in the little schoolhouse on the old river -road. They did not regard him as a prospective -millionaire: he was merely “one of the Rockefeller -boys,” yet they knew him from the first -as the leader of boys of his age. He was the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> -first to suggest a game of sport, and those who -remember him best assert that unless John had -his own way he would not play. He did not fly -into a rage when opposed and overruled, but he -would watch the play without taking part in it. -And such has been his business policy; it is a -matter of record that he has embarked in no -business ventures not of his own suggestion, nor -in any of which he had not full control.</p> - -<p>Like another great financier, Jay Gould, his -personality dominated every undertaking in -which he was interested; neither he nor Gould -allowed any one to think for them. Both men -were alike in another respect; they brought up -their sons in the same self-reliant manner, instead -of allowing them to drop into luxury and self-indulgence, -after the manner of most millionaires’ -sons.</p> - -<p>Young Mr. Rockefeller is a man of simple and -regular habits, but not at all afraid to enter the -field of labor in competition with great brain-workers. -He is a creditable exponent of his -father’s business creed.</p> - -<p>Jay Gould once wrote as follows, in a letter to -a personal friend:</p> - -<p>“Man seems to be so constituted that he cannot -comprehend his own situation. To-day he -lends his ear to the charming words of the -deceiver and is led to believe himself a god; to-morrow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> -he is hissed and laughed at for some -fancied fault, and, rejected and broken-hearted, -he retires to his chamber to spend a night in -tears. These are certainly unwarranted positions: -the first to ingratiate himself or obtain -your notice, and therefore his delusion of greatness -is unwarranted, while the latter is the voice -of the envious—those who look with a war-like -spirit upon the tide of your prosperity, since they -deem themselves equally meritorious. And this -last assumption, over which you have shed your -tears, is the true voice of your praise!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus46.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Luxury and self-indulgence after the manner of most -millionaire sons.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Only the man who had thus accurately gauged -the world’s estimate of wealthy men could have -been the example and inspiration of George<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> -Gould, upon whose shoulders was laid a burden -of almost incalculable weight, which he has borne -successfully and without making a public show of -himself and his millions. He is a genuine man, -and has a worthy companion in his wife, who as -a bride went from the stage to the home of one -of the wealthiest young men in the land, yet -whose admirable womanhood has never been -marred by consciousness of great riches. She -has never forgotten her old professional associates -whom she liked, nor, indeed, any mere acquaintance. -Not long ago she happened to see me in -the studio of Marceau, the photographer. Leaving -some friends with whom she had been conversing -she came over to me, greeted me cordially, -and congratulated me heartily on my marriage, -yet with the unstudied simplicity and directness -for which she is noted.</p> - -<p>Early in life I became an autograph hunter -and an admirer of stage deities of both sexes, and -one of the first autographs I ever got was that of -Mary Anderson, who gave it very graciously. -Since then she has favored me with others, but -that first one is among my dearest treasures. -The American people were in accord with me in -admiration of Miss Anderson. She was lovingly -referred to as “Our Mary” and her success in -this country was regarded as a guarantee of an -enthusiastic reception abroad.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span></p> - -<p>But the English public is hard to approach; to -please on this side of the water is not an assurance -of success over there, and Miss Anderson’s -appearance did not make an exception to the rule. -For sometimes she had poor audiences at the -Lyceum (London). Efforts were made to have -the Prince of Wales attend a performance, but for -a time they were unsuccessful. One night he entered -the theatre and was so much pleased that -after the first act he sent word to the stage that -he wished to see Miss Anderson. The lady’s -mother, Mrs. Griffen, who received his message, -requested that he would defer the meeting until -the end of the play, as she feared the honor might -“upset” her daughter and mar the performance. -The Prince replied: “Certainly,” like the considerate -gentleman he always is.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Michael Gunn, the manager of the -theatre, with characteristic managerial shrewdness, -saw a great chance for advertising, so he -rushed off by a cable to America a message which -read:</p> - -<p>“Mary Anderson refuses to see the Prince of -Wales without the Princess.”</p> - -<p>The difference in time—five hours, between the -two countries gave him the advantage he wanted. -The New York papers got it barely in time for -their last editions. Next day they cabled London -papers for particulars, but the day of a great<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span> -American morning paper does not begin until -noon or later, by which time, say 6 <span class="allsmcap">P. M.</span> on the -other side of the Atlantic, all London is at dinner -or getting ready for it and must not be disturbed. -Besides, the English papers do not exhibit American -taste and enterprise in nosing out news. So -they published the story as a fact, and without -comment. It was too small a matter for either -of the parties to formally deny in print, but it -was large enough to make no end of talk and of -interest in the American actress. From that bit -of advertising shrewdness—some Englishmen -gave it a ruder name, dated Miss Anderson’s -success in London.</p> - -<p>Mention of Miss Anderson recalls a reception -in her honor which I attended, at the home of -Mrs. Croly (“Jennie June”). Among the guests -was a young actress who was just coming into -notice—Miss Minnie Maddern, now Mrs. Fiske. -Her beautiful, expressive eyes followed the guest -of honor so wistfully that I said:</p> - -<p>“I see you are observing Miss Anderson intently.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied. “What a beautiful woman -she is! And what an actress! What wouldn’t -I give to be able to act as she can!”</p> - -<p>Such modesty has its reward. Mrs. Fiske has -not only reached the plane of Mary Anderson’s -ability, but has gone far above it, and stands<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span> -to-day upon a pinnacle of art that no other American -actress has ever climbed. One night, at a -performance of “Hedda Gabler,” I asked my -friend Charles Kent, whose high rank as an actor -is admitted by every one, if Mrs. Fiske was not -our greatest actress. He replied:</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Fiske is more than our greatest actress -She is the greatest personality in the profession. -She is the Henry Irving of America.”</p> - -<p>One of the greatest losses the American stage -ever sustained was through the death of Augustin -Daly. I have heard some of his most determined -rivals call him the greatest stage manager in -America, and since his death they have expressed -doubt that his equal would ever appear. I was -his neighbor for quite a while; I saw him often -and chatted much with him, but I never knew a -man less given to “talking shop.” Apparently he -had no thought for anything but his two sons, -both of whom were then living, and on Sunday -mornings it was a great pleasure to me to see him -walking with his boys to the Catholic Church, of -which he was a devout member. But he lost both -sons in a single week, one dying, broken-hearted, -after the death of the other. The double loss -was one from which Mr. Daly never recovered, -though he sought relief in hard work. I often -met him after midnight on the old green car that -passed through Thirty-fourth Street, yet next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span> -morning saw him leave the house as early as -eight o’clock. Busy though he was, he never forgot -his friends; he was so kind as to keep them -under continual obligations. I recall a complimentary -dinner which Major Handy wished to -give Mr. Daly, but when he approached the -prospective guest, Daly said:</p> - -<p>“Oh, you invite your friends, and I’ll give the -dinner.”</p> - -<p>New York managers are seldom visible in the -front of the house during a performance, but Mr. -Daly’s eyes seemed to be there as well as on the -stage. At the hundredth performance of “The -Taming of the Shrew” the house was packed; -after endeavoring in vain to buy a seat I stood -at the railing, where Mr. Daly saw me and said:</p> - -<p>“Come with me, Marsh.”</p> - -<p>We went up-stairs to the balcony where he got -a camp-stool from somewhere and placed it for -me in the middle aisle, whispering me at the same -time to fold it at the end of the performance and -bring it down to him, as he was breaking one of -the ordinances regarding fires in theatres by -allowing me to sit in the aisle.</p> - -<p>Dr. Nicola Tesla, the great electrician, is an -oft-seen figure, yet his retiring disposition and -his distaste for society make him personally unknown. -Any one who has visited the Waldorf -in the evening must have seen this interesting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span> -man sitting alone at a table in a corner of the -winter garden, for there he is, night after night, -after his solitary dinner, wrapped in his thoughts. -He has told me that here, in an atmosphere of -bustle and chatter, he can think better than anywhere -else: he is oblivious to the people who stare -curiously at him, for his mind is absorbed in the -details of some wonderful invention. He lives at -the Waldorf; once he thought of leaving, so he -packed his trunks. His departure was postponed -from day to day, so his trunks remained unopened: -rather than unpack them he purchased -new things from time to time according to his -necessities. Finally he decided to remain at the -Waldorf, but for all I know to the contrary the -trunks still remain unpacked.</p> - -<p>I have the honor of being numbered among -Dr. Tesla’s friends, so I have often stopped at his -table for a chat, but never without his invitation. -Most sensitive natures are so self-absorbed -as to be utterly selfish, but Dr. Tesla, although -sensitive in the extreme, is always considerate of -the feelings of others. I know of many occasions -on which he displayed this rare quality, and -I may be pardoned for mentioning one which -concerned myself. I sent Dr. Tesla a copy of my -book “People I’ve Smiled With” and received a -polite acknowledgment, which was followed almost -immediately by a long letter, as if he feared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -I had been hurt by the shortness of the earlier -communication.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus47.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“He was reading a lady’s palm.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Several of my friends were at the Victoria -Hotel in London while I was also stopping there, -and among them was Miss Loie Fuller, who usually -held an informal reception after theatre -hours—the Thespian’s only “recess.” One evening, -on returning from an entertainment I had -given, I went into Miss Fuller’s parlor and found -the hostess and her friends clustered about a gentleman -whom I did not know. He had dark hair -and eyes and was extremely good looking—a -perfect type of Irish manhood. He was reading -a lady’s palm, and the others were listening with -great interest. Soon Miss Fuller said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span></p> - -<p>“I want you to read Marshall’s palm.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said the others; “let’s hear what -Marshall’s luck will be.”</p> - -<p>We were introduced; his name was Louis -Warner, and on looking at my hand he began to -tell my characteristics with an accuracy which -was startling. I had no opportunity for conversation -with him that evening, so I invited him to -lunch with me the next day. He came and we -had a very interesting chat about palmistry. I -asked him if he made a business of it and he said -he did not—he was an actor, and playing at the -Princess Theatre.</p> - -<p>“Do you ever think of taking up palmistry as -a business?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” he answered, “but I may some day.”</p> - -<p>I told him I thought there was a great deal of -money in it, to which he assented. During the -conversation he kept calling me Mr. Marshall; -when I corrected his mistake and told him what -my name was, he was much surprised, and asked -my pardon for making the mistake. I told him -I was glad he had, for it showed me more clearly -the truth of his palmistry.</p> - -<p>“Of course I know you by reputation,” he -said. “You did a great deal for Heron-Allen in -America, helping him to get acquainted there.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied, “and if you ever come over -there I’ll do what I can to introduce you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p> - -<p>A year later I was walking through the corridor -of the Imperial Hotel (New York) when I -was stopped by a gentleman, who said:</p> - -<p>“You don’t remember me, do you, Mr. -Wilder?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I answered, “you are Louis Warner of -London.” He laughed and said:</p> - -<p>“You have a very good memory, Mr. Wilder, -but I have taken another name. I wish to be -known as Cheiro. I have chosen that name as it -is the Greek word for ‘hand,’ and while appropriate -it is also an attractive one for professional -work. You see, I have followed your advice, and -taken up palmistry as a business.”</p> - -<p>I introduced him to a great many of my -friends, and he was most successful in reading -their palms correctly. A little later, a lady -called upon me, asking me to give her topics for -newspaper work. I gave her some letters to -friends of mine,—well known men, asking them -to let her take an impression of their hands. -She visited, among others, Mr. Russell Sage, Mr. -Chauncey Depew and Sir Henry Irving, who was -in town, taking impressions of their hands on -paper with printer’s ink. She also entered the -Tombs and obtained the impression of the hand -of a notorious forger. These she took to Cheiro, -and without knowing whose hands they were he -read each and every one correctly. Among them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -was an impression of my own hand. He picked -it up, and said immediately:</p> - -<p>“This is the hand of my friend, Marshall -Wilder.” To my mind, this was the greatest test -of his powers.</p> - -<p>The story was written up, readily sold to a -newspaper, and was copied many times, widely -read and commented upon. Since then Cheiro’s -work has become known all over the world.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">HUMAN NATURE</span></h2> - -<p>Magnetism and Its Elements.—Every one Carries the Marks of -His Trade.—How Men are “Sized Up” at Hotels.—Facial -Resemblance of Some People to Animals.—What the Eye -First Catches.—When Faces are Masked.—Bathing in -Japan.—The Conventions in Every-Day Life that Hide -Us from Our Fellows.—Genuineness is the One Thing -Needful.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The oftener a man—any man, from the -beginner at vaudeville to the great actor -or orator—appears before audiences, the -more he is impressed by the many varieties of -human nature and the many ways there are of -comprehending it.</p> - -<p>A few people who have to meet large numbers -of their fellow-beings have no trouble on this -score, for they possess something that for lack of -a better name is called magnetism. Some actors -who are full of faults succeed by means of this -quality; twenty times as many who are more intelligent -and thorough fail through lack of it. -The same may be said of Congressmen, lawyers, -preachers and presidents. Magnetism seems to -be a combination of sensitiveness, affection, impulse<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -and passion, so it is not strange that only a -few people of any profession possess it.</p> - -<p>For instance, go into Weber & Fields when -both Lillian Russell and Fay Templeton are on -the bill. The former delights the eye and ear, -for she is beautiful with a charming voice. Yet -Miss Templeton gets beyond the eye and ear to -the heart; she takes possession of the company -as well as of the audience; even the “chorus”—and -the chorus is noted for paying no attention -to anything or anybody but itself and its personal -friends—loves Fay Templeton and manifests -close interest in her work.</p> - -<p>But one need not be on the stage to study human -nature. Wherever there is a successful business -organization, there you will find close observers -of human nature. Go into a great hotel—the -Astoria for instance—and even the bell-boys -are adepts to it. Walk down the lobby, -supposing yourself unobserved, and you are -“sized up” at once. If you are a reporter, the -whole house from the bell-boys to the head clerk -know that you are not of a class that can be -“pigeon-holed.” The Southern man, with his -family on a pleasure jaunt, is accurately “tabbed” -at once. So is the public man—not always by -his clothes, but by his manner. The “drummer” -signifies his business by a side-to-side movement, -something like a wheat-hopper in an elevator.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span> -The prominent man betrays himself by using his -legs as if they were intended solely to hold up his -body, which, no matter how well off he may be, -is almost sure to have an empty buttonhole somewhere. -The needy man is likely to be carefully -clad, but his trousers are out of season, a trifle -short and pieced out with gaiters. The hotel -clerk takes in all these signs at a glance, and gives -answers and rooms accordingly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus48.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The needy man is likely to be carefully clad.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I believe many men size up people by resemblances -to animals; I know I do, and with uniform -success—when I select the right animal; so -my mind contains a menagerie of acquaintances -and a few strangers not yet identified. It is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -almost impossible to see a man with a fox-face -without finding him foxy. Then there are -monkey faces, with eyes close together and -shifty—eyes that seem to look into each other. -Beware of them! I have heard good housekeepers -say that they prefer servants with eyes wide -apart, for the other kind have invariably been -connected with missing silver and other portable -property. Nearly every criminal whose -portrait appears in the “Rogues’ Gallery” has -monkey eyes; the criminal class is recruited from -this type.</p> - -<p>The bulldog face may be seen every day among -the never-give-up men in every business. The -late William M. Evarts’ face suggested the eagle, -and he made some great fights side by side with -our national bird. What is the matter with -Joseph H. Choate as the owl, the late Recorder -Smyth as the hawk, Dr. Parkhurst as the wary -tabby on watch for the mouse? We have some -orators who look like pug-dogs; preachers who -resemble fashionably sheared poodles, and I -know one unmistakable Dachshund of the pulpit. -Strong combinations are occasionally seen; Roger -A. Pryor suggests a clean-cut greyhound with -the face of a mastiff. Other men resemble great-hearted -St. Bernards, with intelligent eyes and a -reserve force that is never squandered on trifles -or bickerings. Daily, one may see a man in a carriage<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span> -with his dog, and the two look so alike that -you hesitate to say which dog is driving.</p> - -<p>The first thing apt to be noticed about a man -is his hat; then his shoes, collar and clothes in -the order named; the face is generally left to the -last, though it should be the first. Nothing is so -significant to me as the eye, especially if it won’t -look straight at me. Some men of great mental -vitality carry so much strength focalized in the -eye that they absolutely absorb. After an earnest -conversation with such a person one feels as -if he had done a day’s work.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus49.jpg" width="500" height="575" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“You hesitate to say which dog is driving.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span></p> - -<p>Men often suggest their business occupations -by their walk. A dentist displays the gait and -bearing he has when he is coming to the side of -your chair to draw a tooth. A printer carries -his arm forward, as if feeling for the “case.” -The preacher you can almost hear saying “Now -we will hear from Brother Hawkins.” The rôles -of stage people stick to them on the outside; the -tragedian I rarely mistake; the “leading man” -can’t get rid of his descriptive look. The villain -and the comedian you will know apart, although, -strange to say, their real characters are generally -diametrically opposite to the parts they play.</p> - -<p>Faces are like looking-glasses; they generally -reflect the treatment they receive. Driving in -the park, the wealthy lady wants Mrs. Jones to -know she is on deck—footman, mountings, dog-chairs -and all. You can tell her by the “Oh-have-I-to-go-through-with-this-again?” -sort of -look. The young Wall Street plunger’s face -says, “You thought I wouldn’t be here, eh? -well, here I am.” One man’s face tells you he -is driving with his sweetheart; the simple soft -quietude of one woman’s face tells you that she -is beyond all else a mother.</p> - -<p>As a rule, however,—and more’s the pity—a -man’s real nature is obscured when he is in pursuit -of gain—absorbed in business, of any kind. -You would no more know him then, than you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span> -would your own house-cat when the Mr. Hyde -side of his nature crops out on your garden fence -late at night. Two boys were selling newspapers -on a car; the larger in his eagerness for business, -pushed the other off. The little fellow fell, -dropped and scattered his papers and began to -cry. Instantly the big boy was a different being; -he lost all thought of business, hurried to his -disabled rival, put the little chap on his feet and -got his papers together for him.</p> - -<p>Some people have a magnetic manner that is -both instant and quelling in its effect. A certain -woman enters a parlor, and for some subtle, indefinable -reason all eyes are fixed upon her. She -may not be brilliant yet she holds the winning -hand; she bears on her face “a royal flush,” yet -let her go out and some inferior will say, “now -that she’s gone, we can talk about her.” Her -quality is generally called instinctive, but probably -it was slowly acquired, for lives are like -lead-pencils—it takes long experience to sharpen -them so they will leave a clear, keen line. Sometimes -this line appears in the profile, which I -have often believed a sure indication of character; -so did Talleyrand.</p> - -<p>Human expression is much affected by geographical -location and custom. An American -in Japan asked his host’s servants for a bath, -and was soon informed it was ready. As he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span> -saw nothing to indicate its whereabouts, he -asked,</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Look out into the garden, sir.” He looked -and saw his hostess and host, the latter being -governor of the town, awaiting him, beside an -artificial pool, and entirely nude. He was told -that according to Japanese custom the first -plunge is the right of the guest, so there was no -time to lose, for the good people were shivering -while they waited. The guest went out looking -like Adam before the downfall, and much embarrassed -besides. Stepping into the water he -found it too hot and begged for cold water; the -Japanese take only warm baths, but at once the -pool was emptied and cold water was turned in. -Meanwhile the lord and lady stood as unadorned -as Greek statues, this being Japanese custom -while waiting at a bath. Such a performance in -New York would cause even Tammany to rally -around Dr. Parkhurst, but in Japan it “goes.” -This gentle, courteous, considerate family also -expressed wonder at the straightness of their -guest’s legs, their own being bent through the -habit of sitting on them in tailor-fashion;—Japanese -custom again.</p> - -<p>When men do not act in accordance with their -looks, some tradition or custom of their ancestors -or associates will account for it; a man is generally<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> -a Democrat because his father was one, -though it doesn’t invariably follow that because -“the governor” is a total abstainer the “Martigny” -is unknown to his son. Men unconsciously -initiate other men and their ways, because -other men have done it. We dress in -black when some one dear to us dies.</p> - -<p>Why, oh men of Athens, do we do these things? -Should any dear relative of mine die, I think I -would go to the theatre that night,—if I felt -like it. I believe, with Mr. Beecher, in rose-colored -funerals; not in those which are gray -and ghostly with ashes. There is too much convention -about these things. Why do we have all -the formal funerals, when the only real sentiment -is attended to by the hearts of the bereaved? -When the body is dead it should be -put away quietly, kindly, reverently, but without -any display of tears—and without the cards -and flowers. They are the style, you know, but—why -cards? Why shouldn’t we send flowers -anonymously, so as to spare the real mourners -the pains of writing an acknowledgment? Let -us steer clear of conventional sorrow when we -can, for there is enough of the real article to go -round. If the night must come, sprinkle it with -stars; if there be the winding sheet of snow, -tinkle sleigh bells over it. The living want your -love far more than the dead want your tears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span></p> - -<p>But, after all that can and must be said against -it, human nature is kind. Deceit, love of gain, -suspicion and even violence are often mere means -of defense. Get through the joints of any one’s -every-day armor and reach the heart and the -same sweet response of sympathy rings out, the -world over, in tones as mellow as old Trinity’s -chimes on New Year’s eve, and self-disguised -people become genuine. For illustration, let an -old man or old woman enter a streetcar crowded -with men whose faces are hard with business -cares; why every seat is at their disposal; there -is the genuineness of the people.</p> - -<p>Yet if we were all and always genuine there -would be no human nature to study, for “Truth -is simple, requiring neither study nor art.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUNNY STAGE PEOPLE</span></h2> - -<p>“Joe” Jefferson.—I Take His Life.—His Absent-Mindedness.—Jefferson -and General Grant.—Nat Goodwin and How -He Helped Me Make Trouble.—Our Bicycling Mishap.—Goodwin -Pours Oil on Troubled Dramatic Waters Abroad.—George -Leslie.—Wilton Lackaye.—Burr McIntosh.—Miss -Ada Rehan.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Every class of people on earth contains a -pleasing number of cheery folk, but far -the greatest proportion is found in the -theatrical profession. Get together, if you can, -all the companionable, hospitable souls of all -other classes and the stage people by themselves -can make almost as good a showing. When -talking of them I never know where to begin or -how to stop, for they have loaded me with kindnesses, -and began it when I was on the extreme -outer edge of a profession which they regarded -as a mere side show to their own.</p> - -<p>Years ago when I was on the lecture platform -I used to have some cloudy hours, in spite of my -efforts to be sunny, for, unlike theatrical people, -lecturers are usually their own only traveling -companions, the railway runs are long, the engagements<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> -are what the dramatic agents call -“one night stands,” so the stops are so short that -the lecturer has no chance to adapt his digestive -apparatus to the surprises that unknown chefs of -unknown hotels delight in springing upon him. -Years ago—as I said a moment ago, I was thinking -of all these miseries, as I left a train at Utica -on a snowy, stormy afternoon of the Christmas -holidays, when I specially longed to be with some -friends in New York. I had four blank hours -before me, for I was not to appear on the platform -until evening, and it was one of the days -when I was too tired to study or read and too -shaken up to sleep. Suddenly a negro porter in -drawing-room car uniform accosted me with:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wilder, Mr. Jefferson would like to see -you.”</p> - -<p>He pointed to the right, and there in the -window of a parlor car, sidetracked for the day -only, stood “Joe” Jefferson. When I got into -the car and looked about me I saw the great -“all-star” cast of “The Rivals”—dear Mme. -Ponisi, Mr. John Drew, Viola Allen, W. J. Florence, -Otis Skinner, Frederic Paulding, Frank -Bangs, George Dunham, Elsie C. Lombard (now -Mrs. John T. Brush), and Mr. Jefferson’s sons, -Tom, Charlie, Joe, Jr., and Willie.</p> - -<p>These good people were all seated around the -dining-table of the special car that I entered, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> -the cordial greeting I received, combined with -the contrast with “all-outdoors” and all else -that had been depressing me, made me the happiest -man on the continent. I remained there -two or three hours, partly because, when manners -suggested I should go, I was forcibly detained. -I told stories whenever I could, but I -was more entertained than entertaining. The -time came when I was really obliged to go and I -said:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Jefferson, I am booked here to-night at a -church, and I must begin my hour-long entertainment -at seven o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Marshall,” was the reply, “that will -give you a chance to see our performance, so -we’ll reserve a box for you.”</p> - -<p>I thanked him, seized my bag, hurried to a -hotel and prepared for my work. The church in -which I appeared was crowded—packed, in fact; -I afterward learned that, although I was well -and properly paid, there had been no charge for -admission. When I reached the theatre the -house was only half full, but the performance of -“The Rivals” was of full size. After the curtain -fell I went to my hotel, packed my bag and hurried -to the station; I had almost two hours to -spare, but there are times when the station is -more interesting than the hotel. Soon Charlie -Jefferson stumbled over me and took me back to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> -the company’s car, where I had supper with the -entire cast.</p> - -<p>My train was due about an hour after midnight -and as I rose to make my adieux, Mr. Jefferson -looked kindly down on me, took me by the ear -and said, in his own inimitable plaintive manner,</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus50.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I Seized My Bag and Hurried to a Hotel.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Friends, I want you to look at this little -scoundrel. He comes up here from New York; -we entertain him; we dine him for three hours, -he queers our house, yet gets a big fee for his -own work. We again entertain him for hours by -giving a “Rival” show, and yet he is not satisfied -without taking my life”—with this he handed -me a beautifully bound book, “Memoirs of Joseph -Jefferson,” with the inscription in the fly-leaf,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> -“Presented to my little friend, Marshall P. -Wilder.”</p> - -<p>Everybody tells stories of Jefferson’s absent-mindedness, -and he sometimes tells them himself. -I can venture to repeat two which he himself has -told. A friend of young Joe was making a long -visit at Mr. Jefferson’s house, so the comedian -saw him at the table every day for a fortnight. -One evening young Joe took his friend to the -Player’s Club, in New York. The elder Jefferson -was there, and on being reminded of the -young man’s presence he said cordially,</p> - -<p>“My boy, I’m very glad to meet you. Why -don’t you come up and see us? Do come and -make me a visit.”</p> - -<p>But here is Jefferson’s star story against -himself.</p> - -<p>“I was in a down-town office building in New -York, a few years ago, and when I entered the -elevator a short stout gentleman with a cigar in -his fingers spoke to me, saying,</p> - -<p>“‘How do you do, Mr. Jefferson?’</p> - -<p>“‘I am very glad to see you,’ I replied. He -continued,</p> - -<p>“‘You don’t know me, do you, Mr. Jefferson?’</p> - -<p>“‘Well, really, you must pardon me, but your -face is quite familiar but your name has escaped -my memory.’</p> - -<p>“‘My name is Grant,’ he said quietly, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> -a twinkle in his eye. I got out at the next -floor; I was so afraid I might ask him if he -had been in the war.”</p> - -<p>But there is no accounting for absent-mindedness. -Charles Wyndham, the English comedian, -tells of an enthusiastic hunter, a man who -thought of nothing else. One morning his -wife saw him leaving the house and asked:</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Hunting,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“But where is your gun?”</p> - -<p>“Bless me! I was sure I had left something -behind.”</p> - -<p>Regarding sunny-hearted actors, it is well to -remember that they too have troubles peculiarly -their own, and one of the worst is to have an -impulse where only solemnity is in order. Nat -Goodwin who has been making audiences laugh -for the last thirty years and I “took” a certain -degree of masonry together, and as all masons -know, the proceedings were quite as solemn as a -church ceremony. Taking the degree with us -was a worthy German, whose hold on the English -language was both weak and spasmodic, as -was manifested when it became our duty to repeat -certain obligations, sentence or sentences -after an officer of the lodge. Both Goodwin -and I were fully impressed by the gravity of -the occasion, yet we could not help hearing that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -German; he had a dialectic utterance that would -have driven a Philadelphia vaudeville audience -wild with delight and although he caught the -sense of all the responses required of us, he unconsciously -repeated many of them backward according -to the constructive forms of the German -language.</p> - -<p>Goodwin and I knew it would be an unpardonable -breach of decorum, as bad as laughing -aloud in church in prayer time, if we gave -way to our feelings. I bit my lips till they bled. -Nat, less conventional, tried to stow his entire -handkerchief in one side of his mouth, while he -voiced the responses from the other. We had -almost got full control of ourselves; the beautiful -and impressive service was almost over, but -when the oath was required, that engaging German -repeated it backward. I yelled; Goodwin -had a spasm—almost a fit.</p> - -<p>To square ourselves, required a dinner for the -entire lodge, and Goodwin and I were the hosts.</p> - -<p>This was not the only scrape I was in with -Nat Goodwin. During the bicycle craze of a -few years ago, when wheels were as numerous -at any good road-house as free-ticket beggars at -a theatre, Nat and I met at the Casino, in -McGowan’s Pass, Central Park, and he asked -me to wait for him, so that we might ride home -together. We found many acquaintances about<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> -the tables, remained till after dark and then -started homeward on bicycles without lamps. -We had not expected to be out after sunset. -At that time the law was very stringent and -rightly so, about lights on bicycles, so I urged -haste. Luckily I had many friends among the -Park Police; they knew I was not a “scorcher” -and that I had proper respect for my own life, so -they kindly looked aside as we passed. But Nat—well -they probably had seen him on the stage -again and again and been the better for it, but -actors don’t wear their stage clothes and wigs -and paint when they go bicycling, so none of the -officers recognized him. At a turn of the road -we came upon a policeman who didn’t know me -either, and he shouted—“Here you fellows—stop!” -I don’t believe I am a slippery chap, -but I slipped past that officer before he could -touch my wheel, but alas for poor Nat! he -didn’t. I did not remain to hear the conversation, -for I knew I could not make any useful addition -to it. Goodwin was to play the next -night in Boston, so I expected to see a “scare -head” story in the morning paper about his arrest. -But fortunately while he was reasoning -with the policeman, a friend came along in a carriage -and succeeded in rescuing Nat and his bicycle -from the clutches of the law.</p> - -<p>I wish the carriage had been mine for Nat<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span> -Goodwin has come to my rescue more than -once. I recall one of the (London) Green-room -Club’s annual dinners, which Nat and I -attended. It was given at the Crystal Palace; -Mr. Bancroft—“Squire” Bancroft, “Squire” being -his name and not a title—Mr. Bancroft was -in the chair. About the middle of the evening -a four cornered discussion between Sir Augustus -Harris, Henry Arthur Jones, Henry Pettit and -Comyns-Carr, all good fellows, became so heated -that something had to be done to restore quiet, -so Chairman Bancroft in a suave, diplomatic manner -of which he has a mastery, arose and said,</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus51.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I Slipped Past, But Alas for Poor Nat, He Didn’t!”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Gentlemen, we’re here to-night for a good<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span> -time. Let’s quarrel to-morrow. I take great -pleasure in calling upon our American friend, -Mr. Marshall P. Wilder.”</p> - -<p>I arose, but the excitement had got all around -the tables; my job was too big for me, and I -could not raise a laugh.</p> - -<p>As I dropped into my chair, the chairman -called upon Mr. Goodwin. Nat got up; he -began gently to spray oil on the troubled -waters; then he drizzled it; showered it and -finally poured it on by the tub full until he -got the entire assemblage laughing and saved -the day. I mean the night.</p> - -<p>Some actors produce sunshine, that is, laughter, -by direct means, others indirectly and by inversion. -George Leslie and Wilton Lackaye are to -the point, for Leslie is an optimist and “jollier,” -while Lackaye is sarcastic. One day Lackaye -said to Leslie: “The only difference between you -and me is that you bless people and things and -I damn them—and neither of us is on the level.”</p> - -<p>At a dinner at the Lambs’ Club, Lackaye bet -Burr McIntosh that Burr would “make a break” -nine times out of ten in whatever he did, and he -added, “McIntosh, I’ll let you select the times.” -It was amusing to hear Lackaye say, at the beginning -of every dinner,—“Burr, that bet still -goes.” I believe it has not yet been decided.</p> - -<p>But Lackaye is best when telling a joke<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span> -against himself. While he was a member of the -Daly Company, he said:</p> - -<p>“Miss Ada Rehan is a charming lady, and I’ve -always considered her a great comedienne—a -creative one. At rehearsal one day we were -standing aside and chatting, the scene not being -ours and I asked off-hand,</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus52.jpg" width="500" height="525" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“How Long Would it Take You to Like Me?”</p> -</div> - -<p>“‘Are you a quick study?’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, yes, very,’ she replied. I looked at -her doubtingly and asked,</p> - -<p>“‘How long do you think it would take you to -like me?’</p> - -<p>“‘Present?—or absent?’ she asked. That -floored me.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUNSHINE IS IN DEMAND</span></h2> - -<p>Laughter Wanted Everywhere.—Dismal Efforts at Fun.—English -Humor.—The Difference Between Humor and Wit.— -Composite Merriment.—Carefully Studied “Impromptus.”—National -Types of Humor.—Some Queer Substitutes for -the Real Article.—Humor is Sometimes “Knocked Out,” -Yet Mirth is Medicine and Laughter Lengthens Life.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Perhaps the reason that the true jester is -always sunny of heart and manner is that -his output is always in demand. Busy -though his wits and tongue may be, the demand -always exceeds the supply. Laughter, like gold, -is never a drug on the market, and, as is true regarding -gold, people will endure some frightful -substitutes rather than go without it. In countries -that have no real fun in them—and there -are such countries, the people insist on having -laughter provided for them, even if they must -depend on the public executioner to do it. It is -said that in some Asiatic countries the people become -wildly mirthful at the contortions of a -criminal’s body from which the head has just -been severed; as to that, there are solemn Americans—men -who would think it sinful to smile at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span> -a comedy, who almost split their sides with -laughter over the floppings of a beheaded -chicken.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus53.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Split their sides with laughter over the -flapping of a beheaded chicken.”</p> -</div> - -<p>As to that, I assert on my honor that I have -seen Englishmen laugh over the pages of <cite>Punch</cite> -and Frenchmen roused gleefully by a copy of -<cite>Le Petit Journal Pour Rire</cite>, though both -papers seem as dismal, to the average American, -as an old-fashioned German on the doom of the -finally impenitent. According to competent -judges the best thing that ever appeared in -<cite>Punch</cite> was a poem on the death of Abraham -Lincoln, which was not exactly a laughing matter. -Yet the English are a good-natured people, -and full of laughter. Sometimes it takes them a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315"></a>[315]</span> -lot of time to get off a laugh, but, when the -climax is really reached, the sound resembles an -Indian war-whoop tangled up in a thunder-storm. -They don’t take their pleasure sadly, for there -are no more cheery-faced people in the world, but -their joke-makers are not successful when at -work on serious subjects. <cite>Punch</cite> was never -more popular than during the recent war in -South Africa, when the greatest and best nation -in Europe was being humiliated in plain sight of -all the world by a few thousand Boers, not one -in ten of whom ever fired a shot. It made me -almost wish I could be an Englishman, just to see -where the fun came in, for it was plain to see -that it came.</p> - -<p>But, to get back to my subject, every healthy -man likes to laugh; therefore he likes whoever -will make him laugh. Ella Wheeler Wilcox -voiced a great truth when she wrote “Laugh, -and the world laughs with you.” Men are so -fond of laughing that they will endure nine -wormy chestnuts, badly served, if the tenth effort -produces the genuine thing. Much of the best -fun comes by accident; that is, from incongruity. -Two of the few immortal figures of humorous -literature—Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, owe -their existence to this double motif; in the -knight, by idealized chivalry being put down -among pigs and kitchen wenches; while the persistent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316"></a>[316]</span> -coarseness and vulgarity of his squire are -thrown into juxtaposition with the chivalry and -splendor of lords and ladies.</p> - -<p>Every soul, man and woman, as well as many -who are not, tries to provoke smiles, but not one -in a thousand succeeds; as for those who actually -create new humor, their name may be called on -the fingers of two hands. Almost all humorists, -whether amateur or professional, get no further -than to evolve variations of old forms and -climaxes, but what does it matter so long as they -compel a laugh? At this sort of thing Americans -beat the world. A cook who can serve a -dozen different soups from one kettle is a bungler -when compared with the American joker.</p> - -<p>Mark Twain says there are only seven original -jokes in existence and he ought to know, yet out -of them has come an output that is incomparable, -in proportion, except to the evolution of the entire -English language, by varying the changes on -the twenty-six letters of the alphabet.</p> - -<p>The demand for laugh-making gives employment -to many who might otherwise be in far -worse business. These men are the founts of -inspiration for the newspapers and the stage. -The press and the footlights are ever clamoring -for new fun and numberless are the attempts to -supply the demand and incidentally utilize it in -the form of cold cash. This stimulus has produced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317"></a>[317]</span> -the humorist pure and simple, the paragrapher, -the comic versifier, the compounder of -burlesque and the maker of witty dialogue to -spice the works of serious playwrights. There -is also the humorous artist; when there isn’t, -there can always be found half a dozen tipsters -who can’t draw a line unless they have a yardstick -to help them but who have enough funny -concepts on tap (and for sale) to make fame and -money for all the artists in the land.</p> - -<p>The clever impromptu you hear in a vaudeville -sketch, the delicious eight line dialogue you -chuckle over in the morning paper, the flashing -contest of wit you enjoy in a society drama -often represent the labor, not of one but of a -half dozen intellects trained to the elaboration -of humorous conceits.</p> - -<p>If all the humor which appears daily in print -and on the stage could be clipped and put into -scrap-books, it would fill forty large volumes in a -year, yet nine-tenths of it—yes nine hundred -and ninety-nine one thousandth would consist of -variations of old facts, personalities, situations -and plays upon words.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus54.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The latest <i lang="fr">jeux d’esprit</i> of Chinatown.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Besides all these clever fellows and their -works, there are specialists in many other lines. -Even a language serious enough in itself, may be -so twisted as to make people laugh, especially if -the twist can be nicknamed “dialect”; so we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318"></a>[318]</span> -have the purveyor of German humor (so called) -the manufacturer of Irish “bulls,” the sedlac of -French jokes, the broker in Italian bon-mots, and -a few days ago I heard of a cosmopolitan individual -with a high sounding Celt-Iberian name, -who offered to supply a prominent comedian -with the latest humor of Portugal and Brazil. I -don’t doubt that before long some enterprising -Mongolian will be trotting around among vaudeville -managers with a stock of the latest <i lang="fr">jeux -d’esprit</i> of Chinatown, Canton, and Hong-kong,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319"></a>[319]</span> -or that some one will put them in good enough -shape to make people laugh. Good luck to them, -for after all, the laugh is the thing. No one joke -will be equally amusing to everybody, for each -person has his own ideas of fun. For instance -on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the country, a -lot of good healthy minded folks will munch red -winter apples and gather round the piano and -sing “Happy Day,” and other Sunday-school -songs, and look as full of fun as any comedian’s -audience. And the grab-bag at the church fair! -Around it there is more fun visible in human -faces, than some great men get out of the -cleverest jokes ever cracked. There is no end -to fun, no more than there is to the melodies -that keep rising, like birds from the eight keyed -home of song, that octave that reaches from -“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay” to “Tannhäuser.”</p> - -<p>And there is no need of it all, for “mirth is -medicine and laughter lengthens life.” That is -what my good friend Colonel Robert Ingersoll -wrote under his picture which adorns my wall. -The Colonel was one of us entertainers, though -not professionally. Our merry champion he! -The spirit of his tender epigram seems to haunt -the dim twilight ways of men, looking with -cheery solicitude for those who are weary, to -take them by the hand and tell them tales full of -dawn and breaking day, and rush of rosy life<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_320"></a>[320]</span> -in rising sun. It stands on the side of light -and love along the paths where flowers bloom -and birds are glad in song. And it is needed, -for from the start, there has been a fight between -merriment and misery and the latter has -its stout advocates. The gloomster and the -jester have ever been sparring for paints and -sometimes the jester has gone down under -swinging right-handers; then, something that -its enemies call Puritanism, probably because -it hates all purity not of its own peculiar brand, -has clapped its hands, all smeared with brimstone, -until you could see the blue flames of the -place that Ingersoll said didn’t exist.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321"></a>[321]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV">XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">“BILL” NYE</span></h2> - -<p>A Humorist of the Best Sort.—Not True to His Own Description -of Himself.—Everybody’s Friend.—His Dog “Entomologist” -and the Dog’s Companions.—A Man With the -Right Word for Every Occasion.—His Pen-Name was His -Own.—Often Mistaken for a Distinguished Clergyman.—Killed -by a Published Falsehood.</p> - -</div> - -<p>In one respect entertainers closely resemble -preachers;—they greatly enjoy listening to -the greater members of their own profession. -Consequently, I never lost a chance to listen to -Bill Nye, and I worship the memory of him as he -was—a gentle yet sturdy and persistent humorist -of so good a sort, that he never could help being -humorous, no matter how uncongenial the surroundings. -Although he saw hundreds and thousands -of chances of hitting other men so hard that -the hurt would last forever, he dropped every -one of them and trampled them so hard that they -never dared show their faces again. He was an -apostle of the Golden Rule, which he exemplified -in himself, so there never was a sting in his jokes; -gentle raillery was the sweetest thing he ever attempted, -and even this he did with so genial a -smile and so merry an eye, that a word of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_322"></a>[322]</span> -friendly chaffing was worth more than a cart-load -of formal praise.</p> - -<p>I speak what I do know, for he and I were -close friends for many years before his untimely -death, and he was so solicitous for my welfare -and comfort, that after he had played father and -mother to me successfully, he couldn’t help going -on till he had become my grandfather and grandmother, -as well as a number of sisters and cousins -and aunts.</p> - -<p>I don’t believe he ever had an enemy but himself, -and he injured himself only by his peculiarities -of self-description. Any one reading his -humorous articles would imagine him an undersized -scrawny backwoods invalid with an irritable -disposition and an unquenchable thirst for -something else than water. In reality he was a -tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, healthy, genial -chap so in love with the mere fact of living, -that he took scrupulous care of himself in every -way. He was as abstemious as any clergyman -who is not a total abstainer, and he never lost his -temper except when some deliberate scoundrelism -was inflicted upon him. He would go out of his -way—a whole day’s journey out of his way, with -all the railway fares and other discomforts in -such cases made and provided,—to help a friend -out of a sick bed or other trouble, and he endured -all the torments of a busy entertainer’s season on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323"></a>[323]</span> -the road as cheerfully, as if he were perpetual -holder of the record for patience.</p> - -<p>People often wondered how he could go on -year after year digging the same kind of fun out -the same old vein, but the secret was that he -lived right in the centre of that vein and was -merely digging his way out of it. He had a full -assortment of polite commonplaces, and carried -them as gracefully as he did his full-dress clothes, -but as soon as he got well acquainted with a man—and -it didn’t take him long to get inside of any -decent fellow’s waistcoat—he would talk in his -characteristic droll manner all day and seven -days a week, and as much longer as they two -traveled together.</p> - -<p>As seriously as if he were talking of audiences -or hotel tables or railway nuisances, he told me -a story of a dog he had owned. It was a -Dachshund, and Nye described him as two and -a-half dogs long by one dog high. He had named -the animal “Entomologist,” because it was a collector -of insects. In fact, the dog lived up to his -name so strenuously that something had to be -done. A friend suggested soaking the dog in -kerosene, saying,</p> - -<p>“If it doesn’t rid the dog of fleas, it will rid -you of the dog.”</p> - -<p>So kerosene was tried and the dog passed away. -After all was over Bill felt so bad that he went<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324"></a>[324]</span> -out for a walk, which did him no good. Returning -home with dejected spirits and a sorrowing -soul, he was smitten afresh with remorse when -he realized that there would be no little dog -awaiting him. But yes, surely there was something -on the steps. Looking closer he saw seven -hundred fleas sitting there, and they all looked -up into his face as if to say,</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus55.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“He has named the animal ‘Entomologist.’”</p> -</div> - -<p>“When are you going to get us another dog?”</p> - -<p>Few of the great world’s great dispatches contained -so much wisdom in so few words as Nye’s -historic wire from Washington—</p> - -<p>“My friends and money gave out at 3 <span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span>”</p> - -<p>He had an enviable faculty for suppressing annoyances -in the course of an entertainment—something -more dreaded by any entertainer than<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325"></a>[325]</span> -a thin house. In the course of one of his -lectures in Minneapolis a late-comer had some -difficulty about his seat, and lingered inside the -inner door to voice some loud protestations. Of -course every head in the audience turned toward -the door;—anything for a change, no matter how -good a thing has been provided.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus56.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Lingered inside the inner door to voice some loud protestations.</p> -</div> - -<p>Nye endured the disturbance for some time; -then he said politely but icily,</p> - -<p>“This is a large auditorium, and a difficult one -in which to hear, but fortunately we are provided -with a speaker at each end of the house.” It is -needless to say which speaker received attention -after that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326"></a>[326]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Nye was engaged to speak at Columbus, -Ohio, in a newly-finished church with which the -minister and his flock were as well pleased as a -small boy with his first pair of trousers. So, in -a short preliminary and self-congratulatory address -the minister referred to the church edifice, -called attention to its many details of architectural -beauty and convenience, and laid special -stress on its new and improved system of exits.</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” drawled Nye a moment -later, “I have appeared in a great many -cities, but this is the first time I have been preceded -by any one instructing the audience how to -get out.”</p> - -<p>Every man has his special trouble, but Nye had -two; one was the reluctance of the public to believe -that his pen name was his real name, and -the other was the persistency of some people at -mistaking for another fine fellow in a somewhat -different public position—The Rev. Morgan Dix, -D. D., LL. D., Rector of Trinity Parish, New -York. Mr. Dix’s stories are as good as his sermons, -which is saying a great deal, and Nye’s -face when in repose suggested a man who could -preach a strong sermon of his own. Nevertheless, -it is awkward to be mistaken for any one -but yourself. As to his name, every one who -heard of Bill Nye associated him mentally with -the oft-quoted person of the same name who first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327"></a>[327]</span> -appeared in Bret Harte’s poem “The Heathen -Chinee,” and assumed that the humorist’s professional -name was assumed. The poor chap explained -at length, through a popular magazine, -that he came honestly by his name, having been -christened Edgar William Nye and nicknamed -“Bill” from his cradle, but to his latest days -he was besieged by autograph-hunters who -asked for his signature—“your real name, too, -please.”</p> - -<p>This genial man of cleanly life and good habits -was brutally slaughtered by the public to whom -for years he had given laughter and sunshine. -People throughout the country turned against -him when they heard the first breath of calumny. -Without waiting to hear whether the story told -of him was true or false, “The Dear Public” -treated him so meanly that it crushed his spirit, -sturdy, honest man though he was, broke his -heart, and caused his death within a year.</p> - -<p>It came about at Paterson, New Jersey, where -he had been engaged to deliver a lecture. He -had been suffering greatly from insomnia, for -which expert medical direction he had taken a -certain anodyne (non-alcoholic). Before his -evening nap preceding the lecture he may have -taken an overdose, or it may have worked slower -than usual. Whatever the medical cause—for he -had taken nothing else, he was drowsy and slow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328"></a>[328]</span> -of speech on the platform. To make matters -worse from the start, he tumbled over a loose -edge of carpet as he came before the audience; -although very near sighted, he had good professional -precedents for disliking to wear glasses -on the platform, otherwise his eyes might have -saved his feet. But the succession of accident -and manner impressed the audience wrongly. -When the lecture was over some rough characters -who had been in the audience followed Nye’s -carriage to the railway, throwing eggs at it and -whooping like demons.</p> - -<p>Next morning almost all the New York papers -published the report that Mr. Nye had appeared -before an audience the night before in an outrageously -intoxicated condition, and had been -egged off the platform! Newspapers are entirely -at the mercy of the men whom they employ to -collect news for them; some which used the -Paterson story were honest enough to publish corrections -afterward, but no correction is ever strong -and swift enough to catch up with a lie. What -I have said regarding the causeless cause of the -untimely death of a humorist who can never be -replaced is of my own knowledge; I was very -close to Mr. Nye in the last year of his life and -know what he thought and said.</p> - -<p>I also had a strange reminder of the night on -which the story started. Some of the audience<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329"></a>[329]</span> -had complained to the lecture committee that -they had not received their money’s worth, so it -was decided to give another lecture without -charge, to make amends for the disappointment. -I chanced to be the man chosen to give the entertainment -which was to apply salve to the -wounded pockets of that audience, though I did -not know it at the time. I did notice however, -that the committee seemed to be “in a state of -mind” and urged me to do my best. It also -seemed to me that, metaphorically speaking, the -entire audience had a chip on its shoulder; still, I -succeeded in pleasing it.</p> - -<p>After I had finished I learned that I had been -selected to pacify the very people whose ignorance, -stupidity and folly had caused the death of -a good man who had been my friend. By a sad -coincidence, it was on that very day that dear -Bill Nye was buried!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330"></a>[330]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI">XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOME SUNNY SOLDIERS</span></h2> - -<p>General Sherman.—His Dramatic Story of a Trysting-place.—The -Battle of Shiloh Fought Anew.—Sherman and Barney -Williams.—General Russell A. Alger On War.—General -Lew Wallace.—The Room in Which He Wrote “Ben -Hur.”—His Donkey Story.—General Nelson A. Miles and -Some of His Funny Stories.—A Father Who Wished He -Had Been a Priest.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Soldiers are popularly supposed to be the -grimmest men in the world, but I have -found them a jolly lot, and the more prominent -they were the greater the assortment of fun -in them.</p> - -<p>The first of the military profession whom I -came to know well was General Sherman, and I -never had a kindlier or cheerier friend. He had -no end of good stories at his tongue’s end, and no -one cared if they were funny or serious when -Sherman told them, for his manner was so earnest -and animated that it was a treat to listen to -him and look at him. Besides having a fluent -tongue and a voice with no end of modulation, he -talked also with his eyes and all his features, his -head, hands and shoulders. It used to seem to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331"></a>[331]</span> -me that a deaf man could understand all that -Sherman was saying. He was one of the few -talkers who could interest all sorts and conditions -of hearers, from wise men and women, to simple -boys and girls. Speaking of girls, reminds me -of a story that General Sherman told one day at -a dinner I attended with my friend Col. John A. -Cockerill:</p> - -<p>“When I was driving one day with General -Grant, I asked him what he was going to have -as a hobby, now that the war was over. He answered -promptly, ‘Horses,’ and continued,</p> - -<p>“‘What’s to be yours, Sherman?’ and I replied,</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, I’ll take the girls!’ My fondness for the -fair sex seems to be pretty well known, but I’m -not ashamed of it; on the contrary, I’m very -proud of it, for I don’t know of any better company -than nice girls of all ages—say from a hundred -minutes to a hundred years. My fondness -for them began early; why, when I was a mere -boy I had a little sweetheart down South of whom -I was very fond. We used to take long walks in -the scented pine woods, and ride down the white -‘pikes’; but our favorite spot—it became almost -a trysting-place,—was a little hill on her -father’s plantation. No matter where we rode -or walked, we were pretty sure to find our way -to that spot, for it commanded a view of all the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332"></a>[332]</span> -country round, yet it could scarcely be seen from -the lower ground, for some pine-trees screened it.</p> - -<p>“But this love idyl of mine came to naught, -like many other boyish affairs. I went to West -Point, the girl married another fellow and the -next time I found myself in that part of the -country was on the day of a desperate battle. -The enemy was pressing us closely, we were contesting -every step, yet losing ground, for lack of -a good position for our batteries. Trees were so -numerous that it seemed impossible to find a -clearing or elevation from which the guns could -be served to advantage.</p> - -<p>“Suddenly, in spite of a head full of business -and trouble, for my aides and other men’s -aides were bringing me dismal reports, and things -were looking very dark, I realized where I was -and remembered our beloved knoll. My mind’s -eye informed me that a more perfect position for -field artillery could not have been designed, for -it commanded the surrounding country to the full -range of our guns. Yet for a moment I hesitated. -It seemed desecration, for I had absolute reverence -for the ground which that dear girl’s feet -had often pressed. But—yes, war <em>is</em> hell—my -duty at the moment was to the nation, so I -turned to an aide, described the knoll and told -how the artillery could reach it. The batteries -were soon in position there, and, as most of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333"></a>[333]</span> -enemy were in the open beyond the trees, they -were quickly checked by a deadly fire, and we -were saved.”</p> - -<p>This story was told as simply as I have repeated -it, yet the manner of telling affected all -the listeners noticeably. Colonel Cockerill leaned -over me and whispered,</p> - -<p>“I’m going to write that story up some day, -Marshall, so you be careful to let it alone, and -leave it to me.”</p> - -<p>I promised, but Cockerill’s untimely death prevented -him doing it. Besides, I have not attempted -to “write it up.”</p> - -<p>Sherman’s pen was quite as descriptive as his -tongue, as the following letters to me will attest. -One is on a subject on which he was very sore—the -oft repeated story that on the first day of the -battle of Pittsburg Landing, or Shiloh, our army -was surprised and defeated.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“<i>No. 75 West 71st St., New York, Jan. 1., 1890.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">Dear Marshall</span>:—</p> - -<p>“I thank you for sending me the printed -paper containing the observations and experiences -of our friend Cockerill about the battle of Shiloh -or Pittsburg Landing, April 6 or 7, 1862. -Having leisure this New Year’s day, I have read -every word of it, and from his standpoint as a -boy, four miles from the war, where the hard -fighting was done, his account was literally true.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334"></a>[334]</span> -His father (a noble gentleman) and I were fighting -for <em>time</em> because our enemy for the moment -outnumbered us, and we had good reason to expect -momentarily Lew Wallace’s division, only -six miles off, and Buell’s whole army, only -twenty miles away. By contesting every foot of -ground, the enemy was checked till night. Our -reinforcements came on the 7th. We swept our -front and pursued a retreating enemy ten miles, -and afterward followed up to Corinth, Memphis, -Vicksburg, etc., etc., to the end. That bloody -battle was fought April 6 and 7, 1862. After -we had actually driven our assailants back to -Corinth, twenty-six miles, we received the St. -Louis, Cincinnati and Louisville papers, that we -were ‘surprised,’ bayonetted in our beds (blankets -on the ground) and disgracefully routed.</p> - -<p>“These reports we heard at the river bank, -and from steamboats under high pressure to get -well away. And such is history.</p> - -<p>“In the van of every battle is a train of fugitives. -We had at the time 32,000 men, of which, -say five or six thousand were at the steamboat -landing, but what of the others? A braver, -finer set of men never existed on earth. The -reporters dwelt on the fugitives, because they -were of them, but who is to stand up for the -brave men at the front?</p> - -<p>“We had no reporters with us. Like sensible -men they preferred a steamboat bound for -Paducah and Cincinnati, where they could describe -the battle better than we, who were without -pen and ink.</p> - -<p>“This to me, is straw already threshed, for we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_335"></a>[335]</span> -had fought this battle on paper several times—a -much more agreeable task than to fight with -bullets.</p> - -<p>“When in England some years ago, I was -gratified to listen to old veterans fighting Waterloo -and Sebastopol over again. So, I infer, our -children will continue the fight of Shiloh long -after we are dead and gone.</p> - -<p>“Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am,</p> - -<p class="center">“Sincerely yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">W. T. Sherman</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus57.jpg" width="500" height="250" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Preferred a Steamboat Bound for Paducah.”</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“<i>75 W. 71st St., New York, Sept. 20, 1889.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">“<i>Marshall P. Wilder, Esq., The Alpine, New York City.</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear Marshall</span>:—</p> - -<p>“I have now completed the first reading -of the volume entitled, ‘The People I’ve Smiled -With,’ and according to promise, write to assure<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_336"></a>[336]</span> -you that it has afforded me unusual pleasure. I -feel the better at having smiled with you, with -enjoying many a happy laugh, and moved by its -pathos; and as I infer you will have occasion to -amend and add other volumes in the same strain, -I venture to suggest, as to myself, page 211 should -read, ‘some years ago, down at the little village -of Paducah, Ky., the Seventieth Ohio reported -to me. Cockerill was a drummer boy in the regiment. -His father was <em>the</em> colonel, and had got -his education in Virginia, but was true to the -nation. That regiment was with me at Shiloh, -where we stood a heavy fire, and that is what -made us staunch friends. He went ahead right -straight along, as he has been doing ever since. -As the sins of the father go down to the fourth -generation, as the Bible says, it is a comfort to -realize that the virtues go down <em>one</em>.’</p> - -<p>“The stereotype plate can easily be changed to -this, and it would be more accurate and satisfactory -to military readers.</p> - -<p>“Your anecdotes of after-dinner speakers, -actors, actresses, etc., etc., are most interesting, -and soon may become historic. I venture to add -one which you can ‘stow away’ and use, or <em>not</em> -according to your pleasure.</p> - -<p>“In January, 1872, I was with my two aides, -Colonel Anderson and Fred Grant, at the hotel -Chauerain, Nice, when the servant brought me a -card ‘B. F. Williams, New York.’ I answered -‘show him up.’ He soon entered my room, -where I had a fire on the hearth, and for some -minutes we talked about the weather, New York, -etc.,—when he remarked: ‘General Sherman, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_337"></a>[337]</span> -don’t believe you recognize me. Possibly if I -say I am <em>Barney</em> Williams, you will know me -better.’ Of course I did, and my greeting then -was as hearty as he could have wished. He had -called to invite me to a dinner party at his villa, -which compliment I accepted for the next Sunday, -and agreed upon the guests, including our -minister, Mr. Washburn, then at Nice, James -Watson Webb, Luther M. Kennet of St. Louis, -and others, and a more distinguished or congenial -company never assembled than did at that dinner. -I must not, and will not attempt descriptions, -even as to our witty genial host Barney -Williams; all told stories of their personal experiences, -and the veteran, James Watson Webb, in -his grand and inimitable way, recounted his adventures -when, in 1824, he was a lieutenant at -Fort Dearborn (now Chicago). He traveled by -night with a Sergeant of his Company, concealing -himself by day, to Rock Island, to notify the -Garrison that the Sioux and Foxes contemplated -a surprise on their stockade on an occasion of a -ball play, in which the Indians intended to massacre -the whole garrison, which was prevented by -this notice. But I now come to the real anecdote -of Barney Williams. He narrated in his best -style, his own early life as an actor: that in -Dublin he was very poor, and took his meals at a -cheap restaurant along with some fellows. Habitually -they were waited on by a servant, most -prompt and obliging, but who would periodically -get on a bad spree. This occurred about the -time when the Catholic priest, Father Matthews, -was preaching the crusade against intemperance.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_338"></a>[338]</span> -These young actors conspired to cure this servant, -and laid their plot. Paddy was absent several -days, and their meals were served badly. At -last he made his appearance, eyes bunged, face -flushed, and the well-known symptoms of a big -drunk. Whilst arranging the table for breakfast, -Barney Williams read from the morning paper—‘Horrible! -Most Horrible! Last night as -Terence O’Flanagan was lying on his bed, near -which he had brought his candle, which he tried -to blow out, the flames followed the fumes of the -alcohol to his throat, and he died in terrible -agony, etc., etc.’</p> - -<p>“‘What is that, sor? Please read it again,’ -said Paddy. It was read again with increased -accent and additions. ‘Please send for the -Bible, mark on it the cross, and I will take the -pledge.’ The Bible was sent for and on it -was marked the cross, when Paddy placed his -hand on the book, and pronounced the pledge.</p> - -<p>“Never as long as he lived, when on a drunk, -would he attempt to blow out a candle. How -far short of the reality seems the effect of words -spoken or written. Therein comes the part of -the drama, not the thing itself, but the nearest -possible.</p> - -<p>“I have seen Dioramas, Cycloramas, Dramas, -Plays, etc., of war and its thousands of incidents. -All fall short of the real thing; but I wish to be -understood as not discouraging any honest effort -to record the past, draw from it the lessons -which make us wise and better, and still more, to -give such as you, who make men, women and -children happy and cheerful, when otherwise<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_339"></a>[339]</span> -they might be moping and unhappy. God bless -you!</p> - -<p class="center">“Sincerely your friend,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">W. T. Sherman</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A battle story seems natural to follow any -mention of General Sherman, so here is one, -given me one day, by General Russell A. Alger, -Secretary of War in President McKinley’s cabinet -and also one of the best story-tellers in the -Union. I have always been as curious as any -other civilian regarding the feelings of a soldier -going into battle and while he is fighting. -General Alger told me one day that he could not -describe it better than by repeating a little story. -He said:</p> - -<p>During a religious conference at Detroit four -ministers were my guests. They, too, had wondered -much about the sensations of the soldier in -battle, and one of them asked me if I did not -think the glory in taking part in great deeds, was -a powerful stimulus causing soldiers to emulate -the great heroes of history. I replied:</p> - -<p>“Not at all.”</p> - -<p>Then they wanted to know what was the -sentiment that took possession of the soldier -when he was actually fighting. I replied that -three words, only three, were frequently uttered -by all classes of soldiers in the thick of a fight,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_340"></a>[340]</span> -and these words fully indicate the soldier’s dominant -sentiment.</p> - -<p>In my division was a captain who was noted -for religious life and extreme orthodoxy in belief -and conduct. He was a strong Sabbatarian and -had never been known to utter an oath, or even -a mild word of the “cuss” variety. I regarded -him as a Miss Nancy sort of man and feared he -would be of no use in a battle, unless a quick and -successful retreat might be necessary. But one -day, while a big battle was going on, I saw right -in the thickest of the fight, my mild mannered -Captain waving his sword and urging his men on -in such splendid style that I could not help admiring -him! I rode up to compliment him, but -when I got near him his language made me -smile.</p> - -<p>“Give ’em hell! Give ’em hell, boys!” he -would yell after each volley—and he did not -vary his remarks. I couldn’t resist saying,</p> - -<p>“Captain, I’m really surprised at such language -from you,—you, our most religious -soldier.”</p> - -<p>“Well, General,” he replied, “I’m saying just -what I feel, and just what I mean. Excuse me, -but—business is business.” Then he waved his -sword again and repeated, “Give ’em hell, boys, -give ’em hell—— Give ’em hell—— Give ’em -hell,” and gentlemen, those three words express<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_341"></a>[341]</span> -the entire sentiment of a soldier while he is in -battle! And, religious though they were, those -three ministers looked as if they felt compelled to -believe me.</p> - -<p>One evening I stood at the landing of the -grand staircase of General Alger’s handsome -residence at Detroit, looking down on a great -social gathering on the floor below. Great men -and charming women, elegant attires and animated -faces combined to make a picture that I -would not have missed for anything, but somehow -my thoughts persisted in running in a contemplative -groove, so I was not astonished when -the general tapped me on the shoulder and -rallied me on standing apart and being very -quiet and serious. I replied, there were times -when a professional funny man found it hard to -live up to his reputation when he chanced to find -himself alone and in a reflective mood. He not -only understood me, but spoke most sympathetically -of the necessary fluctuations of a mercurial -temperament, and of the tendency of quicksilver -to fall as quickly as it mounts.</p> - -<p>Most truthfully did John G. Saxe, the humorous -poet, write, “It’s a very serious thing to be a -funny man.” Real fun must be spontaneous. -The hostess who pounces upon me suddenly -when the guests begin to yawn and exclaims -imploringly, “Oh, Mr. Wilder! <em>Do</em> say something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_342"></a>[342]</span> -funny!” does not realize that she sends the -mercury down with a rush.</p> - -<p>Several times I have had the pleasure of meeting -General Lew Wallace, the distinguished -soldier, author and diplomat. He served his -country gallantly in the Mexican War, when he -was but twenty-one years of age, and afterward -did inestimable service in the Civil War; he has -been Governor of New Mexico, and American -minister to Turkey, yet it is as the author of -“Ben Hur” that he is most widely known and -loved by his own country, as well as by Christian -people of all nations, for his book has been translated -into almost every European tongue.</p> - -<p>When I was in New Mexico I visited the -Spanish Palace at Santa Fé, which was General -Wallace’s residence during his governorship. -The building was erected in 1598, long before -the Pilgrim Fathers and Captain John Smith -ever set foot on the Western Hemisphere, so it -is one of the show places of the American Continent, -yet the greatest interest of every visitor is -the room in which “Ben Hur” was written.</p> - -<p>Like every other real man of affairs, General -Wallace has a large sunny side to his nature, and -a gift for story-telling. I have listened to him -with huge delight. To repeat all his stories good -enough to print would crowd everything else -out of my book, but here is one that I have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_343"></a>[343]</span> -often recalled, and with a hearty laugh each -time:</p> - -<p>In Stamboul, Turkey, lived a well-to-do native, -named Ismail Hassan. He did not have the -imagination of Rider Haggard or the eloquence -of some Americans I could name, but he had a -ready oriental wit that could always be trusted -to get him out of a tight place. A neighbor -called on him one day and wanted to borrow -his donkey. Ismail made a low salaam and -replied:</p> - -<p>“Neighbor, I am very sorry, but my boy -started on the donkey an hour ago for Scutari. -By this time he is gaily trotting over the hills, -far from the sacred precincts of Stamboul.”</p> - -<p>Just as Ismail finished speaking a loud bray -was heard from the stable, which was under the -same roof as the house. The neighbor exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“How now, friend Ismail? I heard your -donkey bray.”</p> - -<p>Ismail protested that the neighbor’s ear had -been deceived, and that the noise was not a -donkey’s bray. But the donkey, who was supposed -to be trotting toward Scutari, brayed again, -brayed twice, and loudly, so the neighbor cried,</p> - -<p>“Surely that is your donkey, Ismail. Allah -be praised, I can now borrow him.” But Ismail -replied angrily,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_344"></a>[344]</span></p> - -<p>“Which do you believe is lying, the donkey -or I?”</p> - -<p>The neighbor could not set up the word of a -donkey against that of Ismail Hassan, so he had -to depart on foot.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus58.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Who Is Lying, the Donkey or I?”</p> -</div> - -<p>Although it has been my rare luck to meet -many great and prominent men, I am frequently -surprised anew that my first impression is of -their simplicity of manner and their lack of -affectation.</p> - -<p>General Nelson A. Miles, until recently General-in-Chief -of our Army, was always of distinguished -appearance. In his earlier days he -was known among the ladies in army circles -as “Beauty Miles,” and his photograph was in -wild demand by young women at every military<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_345"></a>[345]</span> -post in the west; yet he was always as modest -and approachable as any ordinary mortal, and I -am sure no American ever was more grateful for -it than I, for I never outgrew my boyhood’s adoration -for soldiers.</p> - -<p>I gratefully remember Miles calling on me -once when I was in Washington. I ought to -have been overcome by the honor, which certainly -it was, but he disarmed embarrassment -by “droppin’ in” informally, head of the army -though he was, in ordinary civilian costume and -with an old soft hat on his head. On another -occasion, when he chanced to be in New York, -he saw me standing in front of “The Alpine,” -where I lived many years, stopped and chatted -with me for a full half hour. As we were on -Broadway, scores of men passed us every minute, -and it was plain to see that many of them knew -who he was and gazed at him respectfully and -admiringly, yet no crowd collected and no one -“rung in”; he was as little disturbed as if we had -been in the middle of a ten acre lot. I was so -delighted with the incident, with his manner and -that of the people, that I asked him in what -other country of the world the head of the -army could be so unconventional and democratic.</p> - -<p>“Well, Marsh,” he replied, with a big smile of -content, “that’s the beauty of this country of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_346"></a>[346]</span> -ours—a man doesn’t have to be anything but -himself, or more than he wishes to be.”</p> - -<p>General Miles is loaded to the muzzle with -good stories; he has so many that he tells them -in as few words as possible, so as to have time to -tell a lot of them. Here are some that he gave -me one day in quick succession.</p> - -<p>One Irishman bet another that he could -drink a bottle of whiskey and not stagger. -The other Irishman covered the bet, and the -first one won, by going to bed and drinking -the whiskey there.</p> - -<p>A darky approached a fish stand kept by -another darky and asked:</p> - -<p>“Got any fresh fish?”</p> - -<p>“’Cose I has. What you tink I’ze sellin’? -Shoes?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I knows you’s sellin’ fish, but is dey -fresh?”</p> - -<p>“’Cose dey’s fresh. Hyah!—quit smellin’ o’ -dem fish!”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t smellin’ ’em.”</p> - -<p>“What you doin’, den?”</p> - -<p>“I’ze jus’ whisperin’ to ’em: dat’s all.”</p> - -<p>“An’ what you whisperin’ to dem fish?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ze jus’ askin’ ’em how’s all dey’re relations -dat dey lef’ in de ocean.”</p> - -<p>“An’ what dey say?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_347"></a>[347]</span></p> - -<p>“Dey say it’s so long since day seen ’em dat -dey forgits.”</p> - -<p>An Irishman said: “Last night at two o’clock -in the marnin’ whin I was walkin’ up and down -the flure wid me bare feet on the oil-cloth wid a -cryin’ child on aich arm, I cuddent help rememberin’ -that me father wanted me to be a priest. -But I thought I knew better than he did!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_348"></a>[348]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII">XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOME FIRST EXPERIENCES</span></h2> - -<p>When I was a Boy.—One Christmas Frolic.—How I Got on One -Theatre’s Free List.—My First Experience as a Manager.—Strange -Sequel of a Modest Business Effort.—My First -Cigar and How It Undid Me.—The Only “Drink” I Ever -Took.—My First Horse in Central Park.—I Volunteer as a -Fifer in School Band, with Sad Results to All Concerned.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Senator Jones of Nevada, whose stories -have greater influence than some other -Senator’s speeches, tells of a professional -“repeater” who on election day voted early and -late and often for the candidate of the party -which had employed him, but who, just before -the polls closed, begged permission to vote once -the other ticket, which was that of his own -party. With similar spirit I, who have been filling -a book with mention of other people, want -to record a few of my occasional doings. If -some of these seem insignificant, I can only explain, -in Shakespeare’s words, “A poor thing, but -mine own.”</p> - -<p>My memory goes back to the day I was baptized, -but the first Christmas I can recall—and -Christmas is the small boy’s largest day, dawned -when I was seven years old. My father and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_349"></a>[349]</span> -had lived together as bachelors, so two aunts -were the only mothers I ever knew. They lived -at Wolcott, New York; together they owned a -full dozen of children, and every boy and girl -was healthy and full of fun. I always spent -Christmas with them, and the first of these holidays -I recall is still vivid in my mind, for I upset -the whole town. My cousins and I exhausted -our collective repertoires of mischief on the day -before Christmas; children are usually “too -serious.” Suddenly I conceived the idea of disguising -myself and discovering how it would feel -to be somebody else.</p> - -<p>So I blacked my face and in other ways hid -my identity until even the family dog failed to -recognize me. Then I practiced on several neighbors, -not one of whom succeeded in seeing more -than skin-deep. Thus encouraged, I called on a -young lady of whom I was very fond—and let -me remind my readers that a seven-year old boy’s -adoration is more whole-hearted, unselfish and -intense than that of chaps who are from ten to -twenty years older.</p> - -<p>Well, I knocked at her door, after dark, intending -to ask for something to eat. She herself -opened the door, holding a lamp aloft, to see who -the caller might be. Forgetting my disguise, I -sprang toward her, after the manner of seven-year -old lovers. She shrieked, dropped the lamp—which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_350"></a>[350]</span> -fortunately went out, and fled down -several steps to the kitchen. Her cry of alarm -startled a large bulldog, whose existence I had -forgotten, but whose voice I recognized as he said -distinctly, in dog lingo, “I’m after you.” I took -to my heels and ran homeward; he was handicapped -by a door that had to be opened for him -but I had barely got within my room door when -he struck it with the impact of a cart-load of -rocks and a roar which I can recall whenever I -least want to.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus59.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Struck it with the impact of a cart-load of rocks.”</p> -</div> - -<p>In my fright I confessed all and was sent to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_351"></a>[351]</span> -bed in disgrace. But I remained awake, for it -was Christmas eve, and I had resolved to learn -whether Santa Claus was the real thing. I got -up at four o’clock, went down-stairs, but not a -thing did I find. So I went back to bed, overslept, -missed the prologue, and the others had the -laugh on me. But I was round in time for the -distribution of gifts, and as it was a case of -twelve to one, all the cousins giving me presents, -I felt that but for the dog incident I had got even -with this first Christmas I can recall.</p> - -<p>While I was a schoolboy at Rochester I was -very fond of the theatre and used to “take in” -every show that came to town. Generally this -cost me nothing, although I was not on the manager’s -complimentary list. I would assist Janitor -William Halloway light up old Corinthian Hall, -where almost all attractions appeared; then after -making a pretense of going home, I would conceal -myself in the darkest part of the house I -could find. This was easy to do, for I was very -short; when the performance was about to begin -I would bob up serenely, and no one would question -me.</p> - -<p>My first public appearance on any stage was -back of our old house on North Fitzhugh Street, -in a barn which my father never used. So some -of my schoolmates and I turned the loft into a -theatre. We rigged a stage with scenery and arranged<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_352"></a>[352]</span> -for the lighting by making an opening in -the roof. Pins were the only kind of currency -accepted at the box-office, and I “in my time -played many parts”; I would sell tickets at the -lower door, keep children waiting to make them -believe a great crowd was up-stairs, then I would -hurry to the upper door, take the tickets and seat -the holders wherever they would see best, if girls, -where they would look best. My duties did not -end here, for I was stage manager and appeared -at every performance in various characters, so I -honestly believe the audience got its money’s -worth.</p> - -<p>My first business venture was in the peddling -line; most boys have longings in that direction, -but I was one of the few that persisted in spite -of all opposition at home and elsewhere. I went -from house to house with a basket of things -which I was sure would be desired by housekeepers. -The results were not as satisfactory as I had -expected, housekeepers didn’t really know how -much they needed the articles I displayed and -explained, yet I got some lessons that have made -me a lifelong sympathizer with venders, book -agents, canvassers, etc., for I recall distinctly the -sensation of having doors closed in my face with -some such remark as “Oh, get out of here; we -don’t want any.”</p> - -<p>On one occasion I rang the bell of a house on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_353"></a>[353]</span> -Thirty-fourth Street, near Park Avenue, New -York. When the maid opened the door two -lovely little girls peeped from the fold of her -dress and exchanged wondering remarks about -“the funny little man.” I offered my wares; -the maid said she would see the mistress. The -little girls remained, we began to “make friends” -and had reached the degree of confidence at -which names and ages are compared. The maid -returned to say that the mistress did not care to -buy, but was sorry for me and had sent me a -nickel. Being proud as well as poor, my impulse -was to refuse the coin, but I put it in my pocket, -saying I would keep it for luck (which it seemed -to bring me). Years afterward at a Lambs’ Club -dinner a prominent judge said to me, “Mr. -Wilder, I want you to meet my wife and daughters. -Will you dine with us next Wednesday -evening?”</p> - -<p>I accepted, but when I climbed the steps of the -house something compelled my memory to run -backward and when I entered the drawing-room -and was presented to the wife and charming -daughters of my host it became clear to me that -these were the kind-hearted people of long ago—the -two little girls who had made friends with -“the funny little man,” and the good lady who -was sorry for me and sent me a nickel.</p> - -<p>I am not a smoker, but I did try a cigar once,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_354"></a>[354]</span> -and this first cigar is one of my lifelong memories. -I encountered this cigar at a dinner given -at the Hotel Astoria by the Aborigines Club. -The decorations were appropriate in the extreme, -the walls being hung with Indian blankets, war -bonnets, bows and arrows and many other reminders -of the noble red man. The central ornament -of the large round table was a small Indian -tepee, or tent, in which I, in the full regalia -of an Indian brave, was stored before the guests -arrived. At a signal given by Col. Tom Ochiltree, -after the club and its guests were seated, I -lighted a cigar; it was necessary for artistic verisimilitude -that smoke could issue from the top of -the tepee, and it would not be proper at the beginning -of a dinner, for the smoke to be from -anything not fragrant. Well, I never hesitated -to try anything new, so the smoke went up, but -soon afterward I went down—and out. The tepee -began to dance; I felt smothered, and without -waiting for the signal for my formal and stately -appearance I threw open the flap, staggered about -the table and saw the forty diners multiply into -a hundred and fifty, all of whom engaged in erratic -and fantastic gyrations. General Miles who -was one of the guests, caught me as I was about -to fall from the table. I was carried to another -room and put to bed in a dejected state of mind -and with a wet towel about my head. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_355"></a>[355]</span> -literally a case of “Lo, the poor Indian.” Such -is the history of my first, and—heaven help me—my -last cigar.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus60.jpg" width="500" height="250" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“I threw open the flap and staggered about the table.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Although a total abstainer from spirituous -liquors—for I can get as lively on cold water as -any other man can on whiskey, I have to my -credit or discredit, one single “drink.” It was -on a railway train, going from Liverpool to London, -that I was tempted; unlike Adam and many -drunkards, I cannot say “the woman tempted -me,” for it was a party of good fellows with -whom I was traveling. As is generally known, -European sleeping cars are divided into compartments—one -for men and the other for women. -Toward bedtime a flask of something stronger -than water was passed—they called it “a nightcap”; -all but I drank from it; I declined when -invited, but when some one “dared” me to take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_356"></a>[356]</span> -a drink it was too much for my pride, so I yielded. -There is a story of an Irishman who said to -another,</p> - -<p>“Have a drink, Moike?”</p> - -<p>“No, Oi’ve just had wan.”</p> - -<p>“Well, have another. Ye can’t fly wid wan -wing.”</p> - -<p>I believed this assertion, for I was so exhausted -by what I had swallowed that I soon made flying -leaps from one berth to another and in other -ways so conducted myself as to elicit shouts of -laughter from the other men; our party became -so noisy that the ladies in the next compartment -got into a state of extreme indignation, rapped -angrily on the wall, and sent the guard to us -with frenzied appeals for silence. The effect of -my physical condition was not so disastrous as -that of my first cigar, but I caused as much disturbance -as a man with a “load” which he should -have made two trips for, and I was so grateful -that matters were no worse that I resolved that -my first drink should also be my last.</p> - -<p>My first horse was another man’s. On the site -of Hammerstein’s Theatre of Varieties used to -be a stable, whose proprietor was so kind to me, -when I was a New York schoolboy, that I used -to spend much of my spare time there. He -owned a little black mare which he allowed me -to ride in Central Park. Her age and pedigree<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_357"></a>[357]</span> -were unknown; some men said she had been in -the Civil War; others dated her back to the -Mexican War; she ought to have been in both -for she was full of fighting blood, indicated by -defiant waves of a little flag-like tail. I could -not possibly fall off, for her back sloped into a -natural cradle; her hips and shoulders would -have made fine vantage points for wireless telegraphy. -Her manner was distinguished by severe -dignity, and her walk was slow and stately; -nothing could urge her out of it, but occasionally -of her own free will she would break into a decorous -trot for two or three minutes. She was a -capital illustration of Milton’s idea of the female -will:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“When she will, she will, you may depend on’t:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And when she won’t she won’t, and there’s the end on’t.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">When she thought she had gone far enough -she would calmly disregard any opinion I -might have on the subject and return to the -stable. I was much like the Irishman who drove -a mule up and down a street, backward and forward, -until a friend asked:</p> - -<p>“I say, Moike, where are ye goin’?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know? Ask the mule.”</p> - -<p>I must have been the cause of much amusement -to beholders as I nestled in the depression<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_358"></a>[358]</span> -of that animal’s back. A facetious Park policeman -once hailed me with,</p> - -<p>“Say, young fellow? Why don’t you get off -and get inside?”</p> - -<p>My first appearance as a musician was while I -was in a primary school “annex” in the basement -of a church which stood where the New -Amsterdam Theatre now is. The teachers were -so indulgent to me that I gave loose rein to my -inclination toward practical joking, and I became -an element of mischief which kept that school in -a wild but constant ferment. One of the teachers -planned a juvenile fife-and-drum corps and requested -all boys who could perform on either instrument -to step forward. I improved the opportunity -to join the fifers, although I could not play -a note. In time we made a creditable band; I -stood next a boy who played well, and followed -his motions industrially, though “faking” all the -while. This went on a long time, to the huge -delight of the boys who were in the secret; the -teacher did not suspect me.</p> - -<p>But the end came one day, in the presence of -distinguished visitors. The fifers were few; the -one I had imitated had remained at home, so I -shook in my shoes when the corps was called on -for music. The teacher, who was at the piano, -missed the customary volume of sound, and -looked searchingly at me. When she told me to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_359"></a>[359]</span> -stand beside her I knew my doom was sealed; I -had never professed to be a soloist anyhow. -But before I became officially dead I would have -some more fun, and play the joke to the end. -My short stature brought my instrument about -to the level of the teacher’s ear, from which -position I let off at intervals a piercing blast -which made that poor woman jump as if a wasp -had stung her. I knew what was coming, after -the visitors went, so beside having fun I was getting -my revenge in advance. It is said that when -Nemesis catches up with a man he feels her hand -on his shoulder, but it was not on my shoulder -that the hand of fate, represented by that teacher, -was felt, for those were the good old days of -corporal punishment in the public schools—the -days when an offended teacher could flog a pupil -as long as her strength lasted.</p> - -<p>If these recollections do not please, at least I -am at a safe distance, like the man who sent a -poem in to Eugene Field, entitled, “Why Do I -Live?” Field replied, “Because you sent your -poem by mail.”</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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