The "Halls."
 
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 The nails. 
 
 i 
 
 Pi^ured by CTScotson-CUirlc. 
 
 Published by T. Fisher Vtndn* ' tcma^.
 
 \_All Riffkfs Reserved.'}
 
 Contents 
 
 1. DAN LENO. 4. VESTA VICTORIA. 
 
 2. QEORQE ROBEV. 5. CHIRGWIN. 
 
 3. EUGENE STRATTON. 6. R. Q. KNOWLES. 
 
 7. MARRY RANDALL. 
 
 8. BESSIE WENTWORTH. 
 
 9. MARGUERITE CORNILLE. 
 10. HERBERT CAMPBELL. 
 H. MARIE LLOYD. 
 
 12. QUS ELEN. 
 
 13. ALBERT CHEVALIER. 
 
 14. HARRY BEDFORD. 
 
 15. ALEC HURLEY. 
 IG. BROS. GRIFFITHS. 
 
 17. T. E. DUNVILLE. 
 
 18. MARIE LOFTUS. 
 
 19. VESTA TILLEY. 
 20 G. H. MACDERMOTT. 
 
 21. PAUL MARTINETTL 
 
 22. ADA REEVE. 
 
 23. HARRIET VERNON. 
 
 24. LOCKHARTS ELEPHANTS.
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 " The beat of the feet on the earth in the maddest merriest dancing ; 
 The glance of the eye that is glowing and bright, dancing, glancing; 
 The kiss of the lips that are ruddy and warm, entrancing : 
 These are ours, 
 In the hours 
 When the day is done, and the sweet of the night is come. 
 La-la, la-la, 
 La-la, la-la ! " 
 
 Nightshades : G. F. Monkshood. 
 
 -Y'V^ OSTLY, a music-hall artiste is a person who is 
 I JL6. neither an artiste nor a performer in a hall of 
 music : mostly, a music-hall artiste is a person 
 who has less right of existence, either as fact or as 
 name, than a pavement artiste ; mostly, a music-hall 
 artiste is a person who has to roar, bellow, screech, 
 caterwaul for supremacy throughout a mere orchestral 
 free-fight. However, the music-halls, and their show- 
 folk and merry-andrews, and their sons and daughters 
 of song and dance, are, in some cases, not entirely 
 devoid of merit. Them let us now consider. 
 
 Mr. Dan Leno is one of the greatest actors of our 
 time. That a man is not an Irving or a Wyndham, is 
 no reason for his being denied the appellation of actor. 
 In his own particular style, Mr. Leno has but a solitary 
 compeer — Mr. Arthur Roberts. Both are supremely 
 alive and alert ; both are astounding mimics ; both 
 
 9 c
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 are shrewd observers, and cunning reproducers of what 
 they have seen. Mr. Roberts is, of the two, the better 
 actor — the better man in assuming to be something 
 other than he is himself: as they could testify who saw 
 his clever, balanced, restrained performance of the 
 theatre-manager in Mr. Sydney Grundy's highly in- 
 teresting play, The Silver Shield. Mr. Leno, however, 
 could not disguise himself though he ransacked all the 
 workshops of Messrs. Clarkson and Nathan. And who 
 wants him to ? Certainly not the public ! And he has 
 his compensations. Mr. Leno is rather richer than 
 Mr. Roberts, rather riper, more bland, more unctuous, less 
 irritating, less mechanical. Beginning as a champion of 
 one of the most diabolic forms of human expertness — 
 clog-dancing, Mr. Leno has moved on to become a 
 master of twenty-minute, cheerful, happily-inspired, 
 pleasing exhibitions of ditty and monologue. He is 
 grotesque without seeming to be hideous ; he is unkempt 
 without seeming to be pediculous. He is often farcical 
 in the very extreme, often outrageous beyond measure ; 
 but he is always acceptable. He can make you laugh 
 every time : you cannot resist him. He can keep you 
 fixed in your seat till he has finished : you cannot wish 
 to be otherwhere. His gasp of surprise at seeing you 
 laugh, alternated with his own merriment in regard of 
 some fictitious jaerson's nonsense, is a thing to be up- 
 gathered and stored against a barren day of rain and 
 depression. Women assert that he is ' so silly ' ; but, 
 at his domestic allusions and feminine personalities, they 
 laugh as approvingly as loudly. Men assert that he is 
 wonderfully entertaining and amusing ; and they are 
 quite right. And so long as Mr, Leno does not try to 
 put his humour between two book-covers, but is content 
 to exhibit the same from behind the STuard of the foot- 
 lights, for just so long will he be recognised as a 
 
 lO
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 comedian wlio nevei- fails — as a comedian who is not 
 only comic, but funny — as a comedian who not only 
 makes caricatures, but presents characters. 
 
 Mr. Eugene Stratton is an artiste. His range is 
 extremely limited ; but, within that range, he is 
 extremely good. Perhaps, some of his merit consists of 
 an ability (or a means) of persuading men to sell him 
 good songs ; certainly, when he gets a bad one, he can- 
 not make it acceptable. However, he rarely oftends. 
 His few faults are negative ones, and are more than 
 balanced by his many merits. He can whistle and 
 dance and sing ; and he can do all three quite well. 
 He can hold an audience as can few others : perhaps, 
 because he is always in earnest. He can make it listen 
 to what he has to say : perhaps, because he is never 
 too obvious. He is dexterous and fantastic ; and he has 
 a ' trick ' of imparting to his impersonations a savour 
 of melancholy that is delightfully piquant. Above all, 
 he is not only a humorist ; he is an idealist — which, in 
 the music-halls, is as pleasing as rare. 
 
 Mr. R. G. Knowles has a style ; and a very happy, 
 aiTestive, entertaining style it is. He is intelligent ; he 
 is cheerful ; he is vivacious — this last to a degree that 
 is almost feminine, but which is none the less catching 
 for that. He contrives to make partial atonement for 
 being an American by using English jokes, and French 
 ones. I wish he would invent more and remember less : 
 because 1, too, can read. However, I and a great 
 many thousands of others are much indebted to him for 
 that he can make us laugh. He keeps his face and 
 garments comic but clean ; he uses songs that have 
 ideas and that ai'e not stale ; and he makes a point of 
 omitting to be dull. For which omission, many thanks 
 Mr. Knowles ! 
 
 Mr. T. E. Dunville, to some people, is as convulsing 
 
 II
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 as he himself is convulsive. He is Arthur Roberts 
 galvanised ; he is Edward Terry struck by lightning : 
 he is Mr. T. E. Dunville. Vellication, however, is not 
 humour. If he would be a trifle less epileptic, and a 
 trifle more distinct, it is to be surmised that both 
 himself and his audience would gain. Nevertheless, 
 Mr. Dunville has his moments ; and very good moments 
 thej^ are. And though, at times, he steppeth a-near 
 the perilous edge of things tabooed, no one is any the 
 worse for that ; and he is mostly able to provoke mirth 
 — from somebody or other. 
 
 Mr. G. H. Chirgwin, twenty or more years ago, was 
 struck by an idea ; he struck it back. The upshot of the 
 quarrel was " The White-eyed Kaftir." No doubt, it is 
 partly the fault of his public that he has never since 
 thought of much else. At all events, his popularity is 
 unabated ; and, though now and then he avails himself 
 of the privileges of an old favourite, he continues to be as 
 industrious as ever. He is an able musician, and a deft 
 trickster with 'properties.' He can play his violin like 
 the proverbial angel, and can extract humour from 
 articles so unpromising as clay pipes. His audience 
 greet him with ujjroarious welcome, and bid him farewell 
 with uproarious regret. And if his audience be pleased, 
 who else may grumble ? 
 
 The Brothers Griffiths, if they would acquire a little 
 new ' patter,' would continue to be amusing. About 
 twelve years ago, I heard them tell their audience that 
 they themselves were " mackerelbats," and ask of each 
 other " Which is me ? " ; about twelve days ago, I heard 
 them do precisely the same thing. In the interim, 
 however, I have met them on the Continent and in 
 various parts of the British Isles ; and, every time, I 
 have willingly joined in the laughter and applause with 
 which their performances are so deservedly greeted. 
 
 12
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 Although, now, they mostly ' fake,' they are able 
 acrobats and clever clowns. And they are genuine 
 humorists. Tlieir " Blondin Donkey " is one of the 
 most hilarious things ever presented to the public ; their 
 lion-taming episode, though not quite so popular, is 
 equally as good : both are unique, funny, care-dispersing. 
 When, for example, the lion is a ti'ifle early in taking u]:) 
 his cue to roar, and the trainer admonishes him with : 
 " Too soon ! you silly lion ! " — well, then the listeners feel 
 that, for a time, they sit in a kingdom where the only 
 weeping is caused by laughter. 
 
 Miss Vesta Tilley is clever, bright, refined. She is 
 the one woman that has ever reconciled me (even 
 momentarily) to seeing a ' male impersonator.' God 
 forbid that I should ever again see a ' female imper- 
 sonator ' ! Miss Tilley is very popular ; and not without 
 reason. She can be amusing, volatile, adroit, and a 
 presenter of character — all in one song ; and while she is 
 on the stage, her audience is never bored. 
 
 Miss Bessie Wentworth — dainty and fair — always 
 presents a pleasing picture, and has the gift of making 
 a ' coon-song ' nearly tolerable. 
 
 Miss Marie Loftus — blithe and powerful — can dance and 
 mimic right merrily, and has the gift of perpetual still- 
 youngness. 
 
 Mr. Harry Randall has a happy ' knack ' of finding 
 popular songs— songs with popular catch-words. And 
 because, in addition, he is rather comic, rather amusing, 
 and very distinct — he has won much favour and money. 
 
 Mr. George Robey has encasked the quintessence of 
 imbecility. Sometimes he decants his vintage, and from 
 the proceeds makes much fun ; sometimes he does not. 
 He is billed as " The Prime-minister of Mirth " ; but, 
 as * "'" '"■ also was called a prime-minister — well, the 
 appellation is scarcely a complete compliment. Never- 
 
 13
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 theless, Mr. Robey is nearly always funny. Now and 
 again, he is guilty of committing somewhat Noachian 
 japes and conceits ; but, on the whole, he is quite 
 original and almost new. And there is no denying 
 that he can make his audience laugh. 
 
 Miss Marguerite Corneille is an accomplished 
 musician ; also she is a captivating singer ; and she is as 
 good to look upon as she is to listen to. If there were 
 many more such artistes so placed, the music-hall would 
 be as highly esteemed as the concert-hall now is, and 
 would have the advantage of possessing some of the 
 latter's desirable refinement without any of its repellent 
 dulness. 
 
 Miss Vesta Victoria, whatever may be urged against 
 her occasional lack of decorum, has certainly never given 
 her audience an opportunity to complain of her lack of 
 sprightliness. She is vivacity itself Her power of 
 enlivening is great. She is provocative, but amusing. 
 Although she may not always please, she will rarely 
 offend. She may sometimes disturb ; but she will never 
 bore. And if, after listening to one of Miss Victoria's 
 not too subtle ditties, you still are of opinion that a young 
 lady should sing nothing but hynms — well, there are the 
 Salvation Army lasses to hand. 
 
 Mr. G. H. Macdei^mott began before 1 arrived ; he 
 will probably be hard at work long after I am gone. It 
 is understood that he supplied much entertainment to 
 our fathers ; it is possible that he will perform a like 
 kind office for our sons : thus he may more than com- 
 pensate for having failed so signally with an inter- 
 vening generation. Twenty and more years ago — to be 
 exact, in 1877 — when Admiral Hornby took an English 
 fleet, with decks cleared for action, through the Dar- 
 danelles, Mr. Macdermott used, under peculiar conditions, 
 a popular oath that has since been twisted into phrasing 
 
 14
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 a state of mind from which no pei'son of inteUigence has 
 ever suffered. ' Jingoism ' once meant a non-desire to 
 fight, coupled with a fitness and an abiHty to do so. 
 ' Jingoism ' now means war at any price, and that only ; 
 yet we find the term being used against men who are 
 so foolish as to think that Nelson and Wellington were 
 saviours of their country — being used against men who 
 are so misguided as to believe that our navy is the power 
 by which we lay us down to sleep in peace. If ' Jingoism ' 
 be used to denote a desire for martial efficiency — well, I 
 can only say that the term should not be taken as one 
 of reproach. However, that this word, ' Jingoism,' came 
 to be coined from a song put into currency by Mr. ISIac- 
 dermott, was not his fault ; it was his fortune. That 
 his thrift has scarcely equalled his industry is — his own 
 business. And that there are people who wish him well, 
 for old sake's sake, is — their business. To this may be 
 added that, in the matter of ' lion comiques,' the old are 
 no worse than the new ; and that age is no more of a 
 crime than is youth ; and that Mr. ]\Iacdermott takes 
 rank as one of the greatest representatives of a type. 
 
 Miss Harriet Vernon is not great; she is 'immense.' 
 Though she rarely fills the bill, she always fills the 
 stage. Not that Miss Yernon depends upon her appear- 
 ance. She knows her business ; and of that business she 
 is a mistress. When her authors omit to fail her, she 
 omits to fail her authors. On those occasions, the public 
 responds with loud-voiced strong-handed applause. 
 
 Mr. Herbert Campbell is well known. 
 
 Mr. Alec Hurley I have not seen ; but I am told that 
 he is good. 
 
 Miss Marie Lloyd I have seen ; and I am told that she 
 is good. 
 
 Mr. Harry Bedford may one day have a following as 
 numerous as that of the Pied Piper of Hamelin — in 
 
 15
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 which last connection I refer, no doubt, solely to the 
 children. Let us hoj^e that Mr. Bedford's following, 
 when engaged in following, will be taken by their preceder 
 (as was promised Robert Browning's poetic-born little 
 ones) to " a land where it is always afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Paul Cinquevalli is an absolute master of his 
 business. And his title of The Incomparable is not only 
 enjoyed ; it is deserved. 
 
 Mr. Paul Martinetti is the finest pantomimist of our 
 day. His work at its best rises above mere agility. He 
 is magnetic and versatile. Without help of writing, 
 assisted only by music, he can move his audience to 
 vollej's of laughter and floods of tears. 
 
 Miss Ada Reeve is an artiste from her forehead to her 
 feet. She is clever almost beyond compare ; she is fragile 
 and dainty ; she is fine and delicate. Her singing is 
 pleasant : it is so distinct and well-managed. Her dancing 
 is delightful : it is so unforced and floating. As to her 
 gestures, she can talk with them. Than Miss Reeve, 
 there is no woman on the music-hall stage who possesses 
 a greater range from grave to gay, no woman who is a 
 completer mistress of impersonating those moods. And 
 if, in finesse, she has her superior, I do not know that 
 superior. She can be suggestive without being offensive. 
 Also, she can be pathetic without being funny, funny 
 without being pathetic. Her chief demerit is weakness ; 
 but if she were as strong as she is charming — well, as an 
 Irishman might say, she would not be so charming. That 
 I never derive artistic pleasure from a steam-roller, and 
 that I always prefer quality to quantity, are two reasons 
 why I refrain from adjourning to the bar when appears a 
 number that announces Miss Reeve. 
 
 Mr. Gus Elen is an example of the value (to the doer) 
 of imitation. But he has not copied in quite a right 
 manner. Unlike his prototype, he too much re- 
 
 i6
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 sembles the real thing (the real thing that he portrays) 
 to be wholly pleasing. To measure the little by the 
 great, he is the Zola of costermongers, as his forerunner 
 was the Dickens. However, he has shown some skill in 
 selecting songs that suit him, and that have catch-words ; 
 and the public have whistled them, and repeated them, 
 and applauded them. Wherefore, it is to be surmised 
 that Mr. Elen is not without some favour-bring-inof 
 qualities ; and certainly he has won opinions that are 
 golden. 
 
 Mr. Albert Chevalier draws ; he does not photograph. 
 Mr. Albert Chevalier has ideas, not reflections: He is 
 an experimentalist and an inventor. He has written 
 verses that even so clever a man as Mr. Barry Pain must 
 have found useful to read before setting out to write under 
 the name of Tompkins. He is a trained musician : which 
 is why his own melodies are always quite original. He 
 can make use of the minor with an effect that is often as 
 pleasing as surprising ; he is as clever an executant as 
 he is a composer ; and he does not depend upon waltz 
 refrains. His chief artistic merit is this : he is a master of 
 his materials, and he never attempts to control what he 
 does not possess. He has little dignity and less repose ; 
 yet he rarely irritates his audience, and never makes him- 
 self ridiculous. His range histrionic, over both intellect 
 and emotion, is very extensive : he can be witty and 
 sentimental, humorous and pathetic ; and he can be 
 all four with conviction. He has no ' weight ' ; but he 
 does not lack ' grip'. He has no power ; but he does not 
 lack persuasion. The things that he says and does seem 
 always right and real : because he omits to be heavy or 
 violent, and because he can suggest with digital by-play 
 and facial movement what he would not succeed in 
 conveying with voice or stature. His ability to exhibit 
 character, though rather limited, is quite superlative. 
 
 17 D
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 He can not only move and speak like the people lie 
 portrays ; he can think like them. And he can not only 
 engage the attention of an audience ; he can satisfy it. 
 His success in the music-halls is to be attributed partly 
 to the fact that he was a success in the theatres — 
 in a word, he is an actor. He does not give one the 
 impression (as do so many of his fellow-workers) that 
 he could sell vegetables quite as well as he can sing songs, 
 that he could dispose of bad beef by mock-auction quite as 
 well as he can maintain a flow of 'character-patter.' No 
 — he has the power of disguising himself Those that 
 saw his performances at the old Court Theatre, and at 
 the Royalty, Strand, Avenue — saw good things. I 
 wonder how many of his actor friends who, in those 
 days, used to smile at his partiality for ' nose-paste ' in 
 his make-ups, and who, above all, used to rock with 
 laughter at his coster stories and ditties — I wonder how 
 many foresaw his successful climb to fame and fortune. 
 Certainly he himself did not ; or,, if he did, he concealed 
 his visionary knowledge. I have not met Mr. Chevalier 
 the man and storyteller, for several years, and it is highly 
 probable that he has long forgotten my very existence ; 
 but Mr. Chevalier the artist and artiste,* is still a friend 
 of mine. During his career in the music-halls, he achieved 
 the greatest success possible. He had magazine articles 
 written round him. I do not remember that he was ever 
 pictured as seated in his ' study.' I sincerely hope not. 
 But I do remember that whatever success he won to, it 
 was worked for and deserved. In a world where popularity 
 and merit are so often kept apart, it is quite pleasing to 
 find them once in a while brought tofjether. Although, 
 of late, Mr. Chevalier does not seem to have caught the 
 public ear so completely as of yore, he has only to address 
 
 * All artist creates; an artiste perfm-nif. 
 i8
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 himself from his new quarters with a certain amount of 
 persistence, to gain a position even better than was 
 his old one. He stood liighest among the few that 
 made the music-hall a thing to be taken seriously. He 
 will yet win to the pride of place long held by the 
 ever- to-be-lamented Corney Grain. And I, for one, shall 
 rejoice. For Mr. Chevalier is a man of fine talents finely 
 applied. 
 
 In addition to most of the ladies and gentlemen whose 
 pictures are in this book, and some of the several others 
 whose pictures are not but ought to be, many things may 
 be seen in the music-halls quite worthy of commendation. 
 The jugglers, and the acrobats, and even the trick 
 bicyclists, are mostly pleasing — if only because they do 
 not talk. Apart from their silence, one must admire the 
 dexterity, the grace, the ease, with which they accomplish 
 their astounding feats. Of course, in regard to some of 
 them, there occurs to the memory that case of a woman 
 preaching that reminded Samuel Johnson of a dog 
 standing upon its hind legs, and that caused him to say 
 it was not to be expected the thing should be done well 
 — it was merely surprising the thing should be done at 
 all ; and, in regard to most performing animals, one 
 immediately thinks of that young lady who jilayed a 
 piece of music so difficult as to make " Blinking Sam " 
 wish it had been impossible. But conjure up the sustained 
 application, the never-ceasing practice — conjure up the 
 years of labour and patience necessary to do these things 
 even badly ; then think of the hours of self-restraint, the 
 hours of hope deferred — think of the strength of wrist, 
 the sureness of eye, that go to making these tricks a 
 complete success ! Although certain of us strongly object 
 to seeing people court their death upon a high wire, or 
 encompass the murder of their self-respect by disrobing 
 upon a trapeze, we are all at agreeanoe in believing that 
 
 19
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 the average juggler and the average acrobat not only takes 
 his salary, but earns it. 
 
 Occasionally, one has the pleasing fortune to meet in 
 the progrannne with such names as Miss Lucy Clarke 
 and Mr. Curtis Dalton, and with those of other singers of 
 fine ballads and good songs. Would there were more such 
 artistes in the music-halls ! Not that I myself have the 
 slightest objection to witnessing, for example, the energetic 
 displays of agility and mock-malevolence given by fighting 
 tumblers of the order of the late Two Macs, or of the 
 present McNaughtons — especially if their 'patter' is as 
 delightfully uncouth and amusingly silly as that of the 
 first-named was and the last-named is. And as for true 
 pantomime — stories without speech, wit without words — 
 where shall one discover more brilliant exhibitions of fun 
 and frolic, dexterity and device, than those given by such 
 masters of their business as Mr. Charles Lauri and his 
 clever companions ? 
 
 Mr. John HoUingshead has written (in Plain English) 
 that the word music-hall is a " term of reproach applied 
 to the chosen nursery of the British Drama " ; and he 
 has written further that the Lord Chamberlain is a 
 " functionary in England who regulates court millinery 
 and dramatic litei'ature " ; and he has written further 
 still that " it is absurd that the Examiner of Plays 
 is empowered to strike out passages in dramatic works 
 represented at a hundred theatres, which j^assages can 
 be read or acted at ten thousand music-halls, delivered 
 from twenty thousand public platforms, and circulated in 
 a million books, pamphlets, and newspapers." Certainly, 
 the music-hall enjoys a surprising (if fortunate) immunity 
 from the meddlesome finger of the Censor ; and we might, 
 so far as stands the law, have had the wonder and pleasure 
 of seeing Madame Sarah Bernhardt performing Salome at 
 the Oxford, or a collection of English talent disjiorting 
 
 20
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 with Ibsen's Ghosts at the Tivoli — providing the duration 
 of each performance were not more than forty minutes. 
 If the plays were acted in dumb-sliow, the performance 
 could last all the evening. just, subtle, and mighty 
 Law ! 
 
 One of the worst charges that can be brought to 
 bear correctly against the nmsic hall is this : the music- 
 hall is too much of an educative factor. In short, to 
 paraplu'ase Mr. HoUingshead, the music-hall is the 
 chosen school-room of the Bi-itish Brain. How far this 
 is the fault of the British Brain, and how far the fault 
 of the music-hall, I will endeavour to decide later on. 
 Sufficient for the paragraph is the evil thereof! From 
 the music-hall come the melodies that fill the public 
 mind ; from the music-hall come the catch-words that 
 fill the public mouth. But for the fecundity of the 
 music-hall, how barren would be the land, how void the 
 chit-chat of the drawing-rooms, the parlours, the sculleries ! 
 In what way, other than by apeing the latest contortion, 
 could 'Arry make 'Arriet gutfaw ? In what way, other 
 than by parrotising the latest witticism, could Edwin make 
 Angelina giggle ? And in what Avay, other than by 
 ambling through the latest skirt-dance, could Gwendolen 
 captivate the soul of Algernon ? How would the bean- 
 feasters conceal their sadness, if there wei'e no comic 
 songs ? How ^\'ould the Bank-holiday makers conceal 
 their boredom, if there were no waltz-refrains ? And 
 how would the urban and suburban classes and masses 
 beguile the tedium of slow hours, and find an excuse for 
 pausing in their ' life-work,' if there were no barrel-oi'gans 
 to brinkerty - brankerty, crinkerty - crankerty, drinkerty- 
 drankerty — and so on through a whole horrisonous 
 alphabet of machine-made discord ? For, although some 
 of us detest these hell-wrought instruments of torture, 
 others there are who adore them ; and, although some of 
 
 21
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 us consider that every person wlio to their manipulators 
 gives money should be hurled headlong into a mortar- 
 making mill, and indiscriminately ground to death by 
 mad organ-grinders, others there are who fondly believe 
 (what time they act upon their belief) that the dear hard- 
 working Sons of Saffron Hill should be not only greeted 
 with smiles of grateful approval, but given the means 
 whereby to feed their faces with fatted-fowl. However, 
 the music-hall is not entirely an unmixed curse. It 
 assuredly has too great an influence upon the British 
 Brain ; but, after all, it serves to take the masses (and 
 certain of the classes) temporarily out of themselves : 
 which must be a blessing — to them. 
 
 Some there are who noisily assert that the music-hall 
 induces the public to annihilate its health, murder its 
 time, squander its money : this last, it is broadly hinted, 
 being mostly the property of its employers. Of course, 
 the said public might be somewhat better engaged — might 
 be occupied in planning out great schemes for the ameliora- 
 tion of mankind, or in blowing bubble companies to keejj 
 the aristocracy in pocket-money, or in compiling magazine 
 articles and ponderous tomes concerning The Methods Of 
 Making My Neighbour A Better Man Than Myself 
 
 I have no intention whatever of reproaching the nnisic- 
 liall from an ethical standpoint. This absurdity I prefer 
 to leave to those compounds of actor and bully that so well 
 contrive to play their dual-parts in our pulpits, that so well 
 contrive to induce to sit at their feet an admiring multitude 
 of good ladies — good ladies with big hearts and little brains 
 — good ladies who appear to be desirous not so much of 
 wanting to cure immorality as of wanting to learn all 
 about it. Also, I prefer that, instead of me, the President 
 of the Woman's Well-wisher Society should air her views 
 on the subject, and her person on the platform : she would 
 be more amusing than I — and quite as useless. Besides, 
 
 22
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 far be it from me to suggest that the music-hall pro- 
 grammes should be prepared for the use of Families and 
 Younof Persons. I would not have it thougfht that I 
 asfjire to sit on the right hand of the late Mr. Thomas 
 Bowdler : whose " peculiar happiness " it was that he 
 had so purged Shakespeare and Gibbon that they could 
 no longer " raise a blush on the cheek of modest 
 innocence, nor plant a pang in the heart of the devout 
 Christian." No — I should not like to add my name to 
 our language as a synonym for senseless expurgation. 
 And I have no wish even to attempt to climb to the 
 heights of Bleat that are scaled so easily by certain 
 wondrous men who, while they deceive themselves — 
 honestly but completely — into thinking that they are 
 i-aising aloft the Banner of the Ideal, merely denounce 
 artistry as an abomination, entertainment as an enormity, 
 beauty as a beast. 
 
 That brilliant and lovable genius, Robert Louis 
 Stevenson, has set down some arrestive words of wisdom 
 that, though written in 1888, still stand good. "A 
 strange temptation attends upon man : to keep his eye 
 on pleasures even when he will not share in them ; to 
 aim all his morals against them. This very year, a lady 
 (singular iconoclast •) proclaimed a crusade against dolls ; 
 and the racy sermon against lust is still a feature of the 
 age. I venture to call such moralists insincere. At any 
 excess or per^'ersion of a natural appetite, their lyre sounds 
 of itself with relishing denunciations ; but for all displays 
 of the truly diabolic — envy, malice, the mean lie, the mean 
 silence, the calumnious truth, the back-biter, the petty 
 tyrant, the peevish poisoner of family life — their standard 
 is quite different. These are \\Toug, they will admit, yet 
 somehow not so wrong ; there is no zeal in their assault 
 on them, no secret element of gusto warms up the 
 sermon ; it is for things not wrong in themselves that 
 
 23
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 they reserve the choicest of their indignation 
 
 If your morals make you dreary, depend upon it they 
 are wrong. I do not say ' give them up,' for they 
 may be all you have ; but conceal them like a vice, lest 
 they should spoil the lives of better and simpler people." 
 
 To the foregoing, I add that there is just as much 
 immorality in the music-hall as men and women choose 
 to take there — and no more. The mental morass into 
 which so many of our professional moralists flounder and 
 sink is that of mistaking offences against art for offences 
 against religion. Believe me, my dear stipendiary 
 gospel-gossips, my dear salaried salesmen of lip-devotion 
 — yes, and even my dear paid but honest vendors of 
 virtue and faith — believe me, that vulgarity and stupidity 
 and incompetence are in no wise to be confounded with 
 immorality. But there ! What else than such a blunder 
 (or falsity, or self-swindle) is to be expected from people 
 that are paid to be good ? Paid to be good I Come 
 now, that, in its own way, must be as deforming as being 
 paid to be bad. 
 
 Take the music-hall as an affair of artistry. In that, 
 time after time, the music-hall fails — fails lamentably as 
 completely. Rare it is that a rose is inermous ; but that 
 is scarcely a reason why Ave should be forced, when seated 
 in a music-hall, to wear a whole crown of thorns. Rather, 
 bedeck us, Artistes, with the paper- wreath of flowers 
 and ' property ' crook of the stage shepherdess ! Instead, 
 too often, Watteau is wronged into " Wot ho ! " ; Dresden 
 is degraded into the Isle of Dogs ; and the canvas trees 
 and lime -lit dells are made to shiver and resound 
 with a wild welter of instrumental noise and I'aucous 
 bellowings. 
 
 Perhaps, the greatest sinners are the men. The majority 
 of them are not artistes at all ; they are not even artizans : 
 for, although their favourite would-be flouts and jeers are 
 
 24
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 directed at the British workman, they themselves are the 
 worst craftsmen that ever followed a calling. And failure 
 as a music-hall artiste — of their kind — is failure indeed : 
 one might as soon expect a hod-carrier to fail. Too often, 
 these men are mere professional uglies, mere practitioners 
 of the hideous ; too often, they are beautiful as gargoyles 
 and graceful as bears, without being either quaint or 
 amusing. Some are not content to transform themselves 
 into things of absurdity and laughter ; they must need 
 become thingfs of horror and loathinsf. Some are not 
 content to array themselves in appropriate garments 
 flecked with colour, and provocative of mirth ; they must 
 need bespread upon their persons unnecessary rags 
 maculated with mud, and suggestive of parasites. A 
 few go even so far as to make capital out of their 
 personal deformities. Of course, we know that writers 
 — a Dante, a Heine, a Dickens, a Lamb — occasionally 
 make capital out of their personal emotions; and, equally 
 of course, we know that musicians and painters— a 
 Beethoven, a Chopin ; a Blake, a Romney — sometimes 
 do likewise. But the result is rather different ; and 
 mostly tends to good, or at least to art. However, 
 it is better, of course, that these freaks (I beg pardon !) 
 these abnormals should be collected under the roofs of 
 music-halls and given each the salary of a secretary of 
 state, rather than that they should be spread about the 
 streets and set to selling matches or to working usefully. 
 If the latter were so, we should always be meeting them ; 
 as it is, they can be avoided. And to declaim against 
 them is to break a beetle on a wheel. 
 
 Rather, let our tears of blood be reserved for the 
 ladies. Concerning that little matter of abnormality, I, 
 for one, am in no wise overjoyed upon seeing a woman 
 bring her occipital into close contact with her glutseus. 
 Of course, if the public likes that sort of thing — well, 
 
 25 E
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 that is the sort of thinor the pubHc likes. Therefore, 
 although I omit to praise, I do not offer to blame — 
 the performer. But v.dth regard to certain of the bodily 
 contortions that I once had the ill-luck to witness, I 
 must declare that I j^earned fbi' a sialogogue : this that 
 I might have expressed my opinion the more copiously. 
 And should you remind me that I am using anatomical 
 and medical words, I shall remind you that I am dealing 
 with anatomical and medical things. It may be that I 
 am over-finical and hyper-fastidious, it may be that 1 
 am not long for this world, it may be that some time 
 since I ought to have dej^arted foi- another ; but while 
 I am here, I shall continue to confess that I see neither 
 charm nor merit even in a young lady doing the 
 ' splits.' To me, the action is v/hat Rudyard Kipling's 
 navvy l)ecame on a certain occasion — " purely disgustful." 
 It is not only unseemly, it is ungraceful ; it is not only 
 unlovely, it is unnecessary. However, turn we to the 
 ladies that stand upon their feet. Some sing like 
 dancers ; others dance like singers. Most ' get through ' 
 their business in a manner precisely opposed to that 
 that they should. Of course, many are not expected to 
 do much ; but when these so completely fulfil expectation, 
 I am none the less disappointed. Some are all leg and 
 no larynx, all figure and no foi'm, all manner and no 
 matter. And what a had manner ! Often they sing 
 with their limbs. M. Zola's Nana, when, once upon a 
 time, she broke down in a song, cunningly wriggled her 
 hips, to distract attention from her incompetence. Some 
 of our music-hall ladies do nothing else. 
 
 Man has compelled woman to conceal her legs ; she 
 has retaliated by exposing her breasts. Concerning the 
 stalls of a theatre, and some other places, this is a whole 
 truth ; concerning the stage of a music-hall, and, for that 
 matter, the stage of certain theatres, tliis is a half 
 
 26
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 truth. There .she gives a display that is not only 
 pectoral ; it i.s pedalian, patellic, pelvic : a display that 
 includes almost everything. Please record that I am 
 not reproacliing her for this. If the limbs are not 
 too obviously over-padded, and the costumes not too 
 obviously over-coloured — well, who am I that I should 
 quarrel with a masterpiece ? F(jr Woman is a master- 
 piece. Confucius has said so ; and as, to my knowledge, 
 he did not add in what wai/ she is a masterpiece, I 
 have never doubted him. Of course, a congenital stupid 
 may evolve from the slowly-churning matter of his 
 brain a debateable belief that a woman in ' tights ' is 
 suggestive of a butterfly that has flown a yai'd or so 
 too near the sun and gotten its wings burnt off. But 
 you may think otherwise. And, as for me, what I am 
 concerned about chiefly is that she shall be capable, not 
 incompetent ; that she shall sing and dance, not screech 
 and dally. Let her be an artiste, and (as with Dumas 
 heroine that loved much) much shall be forgiven her. 
 Indeed, did she but fulfll the condition that I here set 
 down, there would be nothing to forgive ; there would 
 be only something to praise. And whenever I meet 
 with that something, the praise is given ungrudgingly 
 and extensively. 
 
 So much for the manner ; now for the matter. 
 This concerns both performers feminine and performers 
 masculine. The corybantic comedians who assume to 
 be the high - priests of wit and humour, and the 
 vellicating vestals who pretend to keep alight the 
 sacred lamp of frivolity and fun — are equally to blame 
 in regard of the stufl' they elect to shout and deliver, 
 are equally to blame in supposing that perspiration is 
 art and that noise is craftsmanship. To keep to the 
 matter — and to leave the manner for good — their songs 
 and monologues are bad. They are not vicious ; but 
 
 27
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 they are vulgar. They are not indecent ; but they are 
 indehcate. And this brings us to an additional cause 
 for complaint. Vulgarity may l)e alert and amusing, 
 indelicacy may be adroit and alluring ; but, too often, 
 these ditties and ' wheezes ' are none of those things. 
 And, mostly, they are not even vulgar and indelicate ; 
 they are merely dull and silly. 
 
 However, once upon a time, I heard a certain hysterical 
 cockney — who was drawing as salary (in fact, not in fancy ; 
 in negotiable cheques, not in newspaper paragraphs) a 
 sum of money that, differently applied, might have done 
 much good in the world — well, I heard this said 
 hysterical cockney ejaculate during his performance a 
 certain remark (about a possession peculiar to fish) that 
 should properly have won him a sound ' booting ' from 
 every man in the audience. What occurred was that 
 some of the men laughed, and most of the women, 
 having first dutifully tittered, looked to the men for ex- 
 planation. It is to be hoped that that was not given 
 them. Witticisms of this kind are of such .stuff as dirt 
 is made of, and their little life is rounded with a srroan 
 — or .should be, in public. Nevertheless, I repeat that, 
 usually, the songs and ' patter ' native to the music-halls 
 are merely dull and silly. 
 
 Stui)id gaiety not only bores ; it saddens. Sometimes, 
 when seated in a " Home of Melody and Mirth," I could 
 emulate the Walrus and Carpenter — I could " weep 
 like anything." Says somebody, somewhere, somehow, 
 " Talk not to me of grief till thou hast seen the tears 
 of warlike men." Talk not to me of anguifth till thou 
 hast endured certain performances at certain music-halls. 
 I say certain advisedly. For, at others, I have seen 
 some truly admirable performances — which is why I (and 
 a vast multitude) have visited music-halls more times than 
 one ; which is why so many of us so often permit our 
 
 28
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 hopes to triumph over our memories ; which is why so 
 many of us so often sit out a whole programme-full of the 
 bad in trust that we may at the last meet with one thing 
 that shall be good. 
 
 Whence do music-hall artistes emanate ? Personally, I 
 do not care. So that they be but artistes — true artistes — 
 they may come, for all I wish, from the court, the camp, 
 the grove, the vessel, or the mart ; they may get them- 
 selves born in the gutter or on the kerbstone ; they may 
 arrange for their names to be entered on Life's Book from 
 the mansion or from the palace. As a matter of truth, 
 music-hall artistes, in general, arrive from all stations of 
 existence ; but, mostly, from somewhere a long way down 
 the line. To those, good luck ! 
 
 The following letter (which was once shown me), even if 
 it does not interest, may at least amuse : — 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Reading of your Advertisement In the Eutracte that you Learn 
 step danceing i want you to Oblige me by letting me know how much you 
 Charge for Each lesson i have got a Notion of danceing and please let me 
 know when you Give your lesson and hurry Up has this could be very 
 
 important For you. 
 
 i remain 
 
 Yours truely, 
 
 J D , 
 
 Drew's Buildings junijicr St. 
 King daTi<l Lane Shadwell. 
 
 I do not say that this brief, bright, brotherly person 
 ever won to a hundred pounds a week. But 
 
 Few people set out in life with a dominant idea of 
 entering the music-halls professionally ; they that reach 
 there, mostly drift there — which remark applies equally 
 to the average actor. Parenthetically, when is some 
 good-hearted but disinterested Samaritan going to write 
 a book on How To Get Off The Stage ? Numbers of men 
 and women that have burnt their wings in the footlights 
 would be glad to take their scorched and disappointed 
 
 29
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 persons elsewhither. Nevertheless, one still meets with 
 the following kind of thing. Fancy the man who was 
 capable of all that is tliere set forth — fancy him wanting 
 to be but a mere actor ! 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I beg to .say that I am in quest of a situation as assistant stage- 
 manager, designer, assistant scene-painter, elocutionist, and instructor of 
 stage-groujiing. Would be pleased to turn mjself useful in the fencing 
 department and at making-up from any period. I am a first-class figure- 
 drawer, ancient and modern. I speak French, Spanish, Russian, Moorish, 
 and American. I have travelled about Europe, and Heligoland, and 
 Morocco, and New York. I am a good rider, good sailor, good polo-player. 
 Can sing in five languages, and dance in any style you like to mention. 
 Can play the piano, and throw the hammer. Am well educated in history 
 of armorial bearings, costumes, shields, devices and public-house signs. 
 Composer of verise of every description. Skctcher of all kinds of things. 
 Age 31 — height 5 ft. 8 in. — complexion very fair. Doctors tell me that 
 although my teeth arc brittle they will last for some time. The tip of my 
 right ear is missing, and I have an ugly scar on the left breast. But I don't 
 think it ought to stand in my way. I should be glad to give my .services 
 to any company in London or on toiu-. Uf course, I should prefer a salary. 
 But that need only be small — at first. 
 
 Trusting an answer, and thanking you heartily in anticipation of same, 
 I am, sir, 
 
 Yours faitlifully, 
 
 FERDINAND ST. J . 
 
 (Late Valet D Cliili"). 
 
 The reply this Admirable Crichton received I am not 
 at liberty to disclose. But, although this Master of 
 All the Arts appears to liave done, and to be ready to 
 do, and to intend doing, every possible thing in this 
 worst of all possible worlds, I have not, so far, met 
 him as an actor. And yet the good fellow stood 
 an excellent chance of success, if only because of 
 his vast possession of a complete lack of self-humour. 
 Nevertheless, I have been told that it is possible to 
 meet with many men of this all-round type (and women 
 too, for that matter) wandering aindessly about on the 
 stage, disguised as ' professionals ' : good swimmers, 
 
 30
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 good shots, good lookers, good liars ; anything but good 
 actors. Now and again, these gentlemen, having carried 
 themselves on the boards, for some years, take to 
 carrying the boards on themselves, for some purpose : 
 in brief, they advertise the performances of future 
 sandwichmen. 
 
 And so, by uneasy stages, I arrive at " Poverty 
 Corner." But I do not intend to remain there. 
 " Abler pens than mine " have described that well- 
 known junction of roads, with its Monday - morning- 
 gathering of the halt, the poor, the mean, and the 
 aggressively ugly. As for my own impressions, they are 
 iluly set down in another place. However, I may state 
 here that, although I am not in the habit of viewing the 
 AVaterloo Road through " a mist of tears " — as certain of 
 our lady novelists would say — I yet do not look upon it 
 through a wreath of smiles. Around and about " Poverty 
 Corner " there is much matter for laughter ; but there is 
 little matter for mirth. 
 
 Mr. George Moore has written words to the effect that 
 an actor is a person wlio repeats what another person has 
 invented. This is quite true, so far as it goes. But it 
 does not allow for the additional truth that an actor may 
 repeat an author's invention exceedingly well ; and thus, 
 after all, may be possessed of great mei'it. Of course, 
 unfortunately, an actor can repeat an author's invention 
 very badly ; equally of course, and equally unfortunately, 
 an author can invent very badly. That is precisely what 
 so many of the \\Titers for the music-halls persistently do. 
 
 What are their subjects ? I have no desire to answer. 
 Not being absolutely facinorous, I will spare you — spare 
 you both the truth and an exaggeration. As for a 
 bui-lesque of most of these amazing works, none but 
 themselves can be their parody. 
 
 What is their language ? Cliche for their sentiment, 
 
 31
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 slang for their humour. Abstention from giving samples 
 of such things, does not imjjly a plenitude of kindness ; 
 it only exhibits a lack of cruelty. 
 
 However, please read a sentence that has been written 
 about the subject in hand by Professor Walter Raleigh in 
 his brilliant book on Sti/Ie. Speaking of slang, bad slang, 
 and the low taste of a certain section of the public, he 
 says : — " The pottle-headed lout who in a moment of 
 exuberance strikes on a new sordid metaphor for any 
 incident in the beaten round of drunkenness, lubricity, and 
 debt, can set his fancy rolling through the music-halls, and 
 thence into the streets, secure of applause and a numerous 
 sodden discipleship." Now, this is severe : not only 
 because it is severe, but because it is true. 
 
 Clever things may be said about drunkenness, lubricity, 
 and debt — by clever people. But these people are not 
 clever ; they are not even smart. Here and there one 
 may meet with a writer for the music-halls who is 
 ' tricky ' ; and that is the best that can be said : there are 
 degrees of intelligence even among oysters — at least, so we 
 may surmise. Mostly, however, these hop-leaved versifiers 
 of the Strand, these up-to-date disciples of Aristo- 
 phanes and Anacreon, are stupid — immeasurably and 
 incommunicably stupid. They lounge always along the 
 line of least resistance ; and so — unhasting but unresting — 
 they contrive to shamble forward, forward, forward to 
 beyond the ultimate outposts of inanity. 
 
 Lest it should be imagined that the j^i'esent critic is a 
 man who has failed in creating that which he can merely 
 criticise, he sets out hot-hand to write down the truth : he 
 has never tried ; he could not succeed ; and, if he could, it 
 would be of no value — to him. 
 
 This conveys me to one of the reasons for the superla- 
 tive badness of these compositions. They are of small 
 worth — either in the bringing of fame, or in the bringing 
 
 32
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 of fortune — to their producers. It is only their repeaters 
 who acquire the ' kudos ' ; it is oidy their repeaters who 
 acquire the ' shekels.' No one thinks for a moment of 
 the man who lurote the song. That Mr. Bullmouth or 
 Miss Brassthroat " adequately rendered " the same, is 
 more than sufficient for the amusement-seeking audience. 
 After all, why should sorrow seize them, why should their 
 hearts bleed to the white, because the inventor received 
 but a miserable sum for an article that the high-salaried 
 shouter is at liberty to go on repeating three and four 
 times a night for over twelve months ? 
 
 It may be urged that these compositions are not worth 
 more than is paid for them. Granted — if their intrinsic 
 value be considered ; not granted — if their accidental value 
 be considered. Andrew Fletcher, of Salton, knew a wise 
 fellow who believed that, if a man were permitted to make 
 all the ballads of a nation, he need not care who should 
 make the laws. And I know another wise fellow who is 
 of opinion that — if the men that make the laws (however 
 queerly) would arrange for the men that make the ballads 
 (however poorly) to have a proper, a greater, share of the 
 income derived (by others) from the outcome of their 
 brains — the world would be rid of a certain amount of 
 wrong. 
 
 Dumas the elder, to make a play, wanted four boards, 
 two actors, and a passion. Some other j)eople, to make a 
 ' sketch,' want four boards, two impostors, and a vulgarity. 
 At times, one chances upon a piece of work from their 
 hands that is not wholly bad ; mostly, however, one finds 
 a mere forcible-feeble mixture of melodrama and maud- 
 linality. And, no doubt, things in this quarter remain as 
 they are, owing to the fact that writing for the music-halls 
 is the one province of Art that, so far, has not been 
 entered by women : perhaps, because they wish to prove 
 Pope's statement in regard of fools and angels.
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 Concerning the music ! Mostly, it is mere noise : 
 blatant, blaring, barbarous ; strident, streperous, shocking. 
 If you tell me that this is usually the fault of the 
 executants, I must say that the composers are equally 
 to blame. Several of the latter appear to have been 
 born and bred in a brass-foundry : which remark applies 
 even more strongly to the ' arrangers ' : their work, too 
 often, is a case of directing other peojjle to crash and 
 smash, and blare away at random. Amid such insurrec- 
 tions of noise, for something soft and soothing, a man shall 
 wait in vain. Rarely does one meet with a movement 
 that is graceful and cultured ; rarely does one meet with 
 a melody that is fantastic and riant. And as for sweet- 
 ness, it is unknown— to the composers for the music-halls. 
 That these minor weavers of sound are not Wagners nor 
 Beethovens, need scarcely preclude them from being, say, 
 second-rate Wallaces or Balfes — or even a Mr. Leslie Stuart : 
 who, if at times a trifle commonplace and obvious, is always 
 completely fluent and melodious. They might take a leaf 
 from the score of Mr. Walter Slaughter : an admirable 
 workman who has not forgotten that there are quite 
 several instruments rather more important than the drum 
 and the cymbal ; and who has proved that, in music, it is 
 possible to be popular yet pretty, popular yet tuneful, 
 popular yet original. There is no thief like a musical 
 thief But why do these particular devotees of Euterpe 
 so often steal from each other ? Why do these inter- 
 breeding compilers for music-halls so often merely 
 reproduce each others' banalities ? Why do they not 
 take horse for the British Museum ? Why do they not 
 examine those forty operas of which Handel was the 
 composer ? If they did that, they might possibly repeat 
 something original. In any case, they might possibly, for 
 a while, from the waltz refrain. 
 
 Whose fault is it that the artistical bad runs rampant ? 
 
 34
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 Whose fault is it that the artistical bad is greeted with 
 tumult of acclaim '. In brief, who is to be condemned ? 
 " That brute of a public, that ass of a public, that detest- 
 able, stupid, degraded pig of a public I " — as Charles 
 Mackay once called it. 
 
 Since such is so, small wonder that the artistic battle is 
 often to the weak — small wonder that the artistic race is 
 often to the slow — small wonder that success (in the music- 
 halls and elsewhere) is often achieved by sheer incompe- 
 tence ! I had thought of paraphrasing the following 
 epigraph to the nineteenth chapter of The Naidahka; on 
 second thought, I prefer to present it unmutilated : change 
 but a few of the words, alter the local colour, and the tale 
 is told of ourselves. Listen ! It is the makers (let us 
 suppose) of our national ballads, the makers of our songs 
 for the people. They speak : 
 
 " We be the gods of the East- 
 Older than all- 
 Masters of mourning and feast, 
 How shall we fall ? 
 
 " Will they gape to the husks that ye proffer, 
 Or yearn to your sung \ 
 And we, have we nothing to offer, 
 Who ruled them so long 
 In the fume of the incense, the clash of the cymbal, the blare 
 of the conch and the gong ? 
 
 " Over the strife of the schools 
 Low the day burns — 
 Back, with the kine from the pools. 
 Each one returns 
 To the life that he knows where the altar-flame glows 
 and the tulsi is trimmed iu the urns." 
 
 Mr. George Moore, in his haste, has written that " the 
 public is a filthy cur," and that " it is the duty of every 
 artist to kick it in the ribs on passing." This is as forcible 
 as incorrect. The public is merely indiscriminative. At 
 any rate, I trust that it was not because the public was 
 
 35
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 filthy that it bought some twenty thousand copies of that 
 unpardonably dull book Evelyn limes ; what time, for 
 example, it was comparatively neglecting so praiseworthy 
 a piece of work as Modern Pcmitiwj ; the most brilliant 
 thing of its kind ever produced. No — the public is not 
 filthy ; it is mei'ely indiscriminative : it cannot tell the 
 good from the bad. Concerning matters artistic, the 
 brain of the public works in a manner that is chiefly 
 feminine. The public likes a thing, or it does not like a 
 thing ; and if one asks the public Wh}- ? — lo, it answers 
 Because I do, or Because I do not ! To sum up, the dear 
 public is in the womanly position of knowing ])recisely 
 what it likes, and of being utterly unable to render a 
 reason. 
 
 Nevertheless, the dear public can render an opinion : 
 and it can do so (at the theatre, for instance) very 
 vehemently, very disgracefully, very unnecessai-ily. 
 There, time and again, it forgets that an opinion, and a 
 quite adverse opinion, can be loudly expressed by silence. 
 Why become uproarious, when an unbroken quiet can chill 
 the very marrow of the most conceited actor, or author, 
 that ever puffed his chest with pride ? Noise is a waste of 
 energy, noise defeats its own object ; silence gives the 
 maker no trouble, silence is most effective to the end. 
 When the rest is noise, those that are judged inunediately 
 upconjure tlie word conspiracy. And " organised 
 opposition," too ! Think how easy to say, think how easy 
 to believe, think how ea.sy to think ! The {jhrase is as 
 facile as alliterative. Ah I my dear j^ublic, kindly accept 
 the fore-uoiny: truths as from one havinsf knowledire : and. 
 when next you are in act (honestly, or otherwise) of 
 rendering an opinion on a first performance, please 
 remember that ' behind the curtain ' nobody ever pre- 
 supposes a conspiracy of silence. 
 
 Additionally, there is to be considered this : in the 
 
 36
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 theatre, your disapproval when loud is not heard : the 
 assaulted perceptions of your condemned ones become 
 occupied only with your inability to judge. Did you but 
 take the matter quietly, the author and the actors might 
 take the matter correctly ; and so might you. 
 
 Remember that unhappy winter night of 1894 when, at 
 the St. James's Theatre, Guy Domville was born and 
 murdered. Remember the behaviour of a particular band 
 of Yahoos that upon this occasion thought it good to 
 ululate and caterwaul at a certain pair of defenceless 
 men : the one of whom, during the previous four years, 
 had given to his patrons the absolute best" of the dramatic 
 work of that period ; the other of whom, during many a 
 long day, had presented to the literature-reading world 
 some of the most beautiful specimens of sheer writing with 
 which it is acquainted. Did not their past records save 
 these men from what was more than mere disapproval, 
 from what was unmitigated insult ? Oh, no ! They were 
 screeched and howled at as if they had been guilty of 
 assaulting a little child. And what, after all, had 
 Mr. George Alexander and Mr. Henry James been so 
 fascinorous as to do ^ . . . They had failed to please. 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson pre-phrased this situation in its 
 entirety. " The artist steps forth out of the crowd and 
 proposes to delight : an impudent design, in which it is 
 impossible to fail without odious circumstances." 
 
 And liow had this jmrticular ])air of artists failed in their 
 impudent design ? Had they written and spoken dis 
 respectfully of the ladies that were in the theatre ? Had 
 they denounced and cursed the Crown, or reviled and spat 
 upon the Bible ? Had they presented a work filled with 
 anti-patriotism ? Had they presented a play compounded 
 of obscenity ? None of those things. They had been 
 
 * Stmliffht and Shadow, J'ke Idhr, Lady Windermere's Fan, Lihci-itj 
 Hall, The Second Mrs. Tanqtieray. 
 
 57
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 guilty of bringing a piece of delicate literature before the 
 footlights. Consequently, the crowd, having caught the 
 culprits red-handed, set to work and carefully stoned them 
 in the market-place. 
 
 Now, this act of justice was the more noticeable because, 
 only two hours previously, that same crowd had caused to 
 come before the curtain a gentleman who had compiled a 
 farce^a farce without one memorable line — a farce made 
 acceptable chiefly with ' business ' invented by the actors 
 — a farce that was a piece of as flat burglary as ever was 
 committed. Well, and what did those discriminative 
 judges, those dispensers of praise and blame, do to that 
 gentleman ? Him they i"eceived as though he had been 
 the saviour of his country. 
 
 Mr. Dash Dash, who, apparently, bought a copy of Six 
 Months Ago and sold it again under the title of Too Happij 
 J)i/ Half, was made the hero of the evening. Mr. George 
 Alexander and Mr. Henry James, who, in their respective 
 ways, succeeded in presenting a piece of fine acting and a 
 piece of fine writing, were received as though they had 
 been guilty of an accumulative crime of arson and rapine 
 and murder. 
 
 The foregoing is not set forth to point an epigram or 
 adorn a sneer ; neither is it given as a little fairy story. 
 It is an historical fact ; and surely no great effort of 
 imagination is required to picture the Yahoos — the Yahoos 
 that helped to make this historical fact — as going out the 
 next night and applauding sincerely, if boisterously, either 
 a man howling a singultous song concerning his supposed 
 powers of swilling beer, or a woman, well-stripped, thrusting 
 lierhead backwards, backwards, till, for their admiring gaze, 
 she ultimately protruded the same from between her 
 tortured knees. 
 
 Mr. John Hollingshead, in his collection of entertaining 
 and brilliant sketches called Footlights, has set down some 
 
 38
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 shocking truths in regard of "A Discerning British 
 Pubhc." He has put his indictments into the mouth of 
 a created character ; but, although the voice is the voice 
 of Signor Lunatico, the hand is the hand of John Holhngs- 
 head. Note the first paragraph : — 
 
 " I dare say the pubhc thinks itself a remarkably clever 
 creature — always right, always rational, always amiable, 
 always beyond criticism ; but I don't. I've seen a good 
 deal of it, too, in my time ; and I ought to know. People 
 flatter it, and toady it, and call it fine names, and jjretend 
 that its enlightenment is beyond question, and its judg- 
 ment final ; while they believe the very opposite in their 
 secret hearts, and give utterance to their real opinions in 
 places where their voices have no influence." 
 
 Mr. Hollino-shead's character is one of those roi^jues, 
 vagabonds, outcasts called a play actor, who, having made 
 a certain amount of money and acquired a certain amount 
 of fame by using, in the legitimate drama, every kind of 
 clap-trap trick with which he was acquainted, determines 
 to gain, without so much trouble and hypocrisy, still more 
 celebrity and fortune by devoting himself to — the tight- 
 rope. In due season, his first appearance is announced. 
 Blood-red placards, bestrewing the walls of the metropolis, 
 proclaim that a certain SigJior Lunatico has been engaged, 
 at an enormous expense, to go through one of the most 
 daring acts upon the aerial rope ever presented to a 
 discerning British public. 
 
 " The day, the hour, the minute, arrived at last ; and 
 never had such an audience assembled before at the Royal 
 Greenacre Gardens. Every publicity had been given to the 
 entertainment — the prospect of sudden death had been deli- 
 cately hinted at — nothing, in fact, had been neglected by 
 my intelligent manager, who had long felt the public pulse 
 in such matters ; and the result was that 20,000 happy and 
 amiable beings were accommodated within the grounds, 
 
 39
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 while 50,000 more clung desperately to the walls of their 
 paradise, and a larger number still were damned in the outer 
 darkness of a remote distance. People were trampled under 
 foot, like a field of corn ; the weakest went to the wall, and 
 never came back again ; mothers squeezed into the crowd 
 with children at the breast, and — lawk-a-daisy ! who 
 would have thoitght it ? — the poor helpless innocents were 
 smothered ; housetops were worth a guinea a foot in pure 
 virgin gold ; and every chimney within a mile of the place 
 was the home of some straining column-stander. The tall 
 old elms chat encircled the gardens were full to bowing 
 down with eager human fruit ; platforms of slender planks 
 were hurriedly raised, which snapped like egg-chests under 
 a brewer's dray, crippling many a determined sightseer in 
 the splintered ruin ; tall men were looked upon with dan- 
 gerous spite by soiled and battered dwarfs, who felt inclined 
 to bound upon the giants' shoulders, and wind themselves 
 in their hair, like star-fish amongst the sea-weed. A row 
 of scaffolding before some newly-raised carcases of buildings 
 at no great distance was stormed like a fortress, and at 
 almost the same cost ; while the empty unseasoned skeletons 
 of dwellings seemed to rock under the weight of heavy men, 
 who clung: to them as to a sinking wreck ; and in the 
 outskirts of the ci'owd a boy was murdered by a savage 
 gang of costermongers, because he refused to give up a 
 telescope." 
 
 What was the hell-sent miracle that wrought this wide- 
 spread madness ? 
 
 " A human being had undertaken to ascend a cord 
 stretched from its root in the earth to a small harbour of 
 refuge near the top of a lofty tree, some 200 feet high ; 
 and, while in the centre of his perilous journey — at the half- 
 way house of death — by throwing several clear somersaults 
 in mid-air, he would linger and dally with a fearful suicide: 
 which was just covered, but not concealed, by the thin 
 
 40
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 disguise of a clever gymnastic entertainment. Truly the 
 British public had much ground for priding itself upon its 
 rapid advance in taste and humanity ! " 
 
 There is a little delay. Then the manager goes to the 
 room of the ex-actor, now Signor Lunatico, fearful that at 
 the eleventh hour he has repented of his rashness. 
 
 " ' My dear sir,' he said, ' don't let mo hurry you at such 
 a moment, but the people are beginning to get impatient.' 
 
 " ' Couldn't you murder a baby, a waiter, something of 
 that kind,' I replied, ' to appease them ? ' 
 
 " ' Sir ? ' he returned excitedly, not seeming to com- 
 prehend me. 
 
 " ' Suppose,' I said, ' I feel heart-sick and unequal to the 
 eflFort ? ' 
 
 " ' Mr. War I beg pardon I Signor Lunatico I ' 
 
 gasped the manager and projirietor of the Royal Greenacre 
 Gardens. " I trust that I am dealing with a gentleman I ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied ; ' but gentlemen are human, and this 
 experiment requires nerves that are superhuman.' 
 
 " ' Mr. — Signor ! ' returned the manager, ' this is no time 
 for bandying words. There's fifty thousand people in and 
 about my gardens who will tear everybody and everything 
 to pieces if they're disappointed — ---' 
 
 " ' Of their prey ? ' I filled in. 
 
 " ' Sir ! ' returned the manager, becoming more and more 
 excited, ' I don't understand you ! ' 
 
 " ' Are they Christians ? ' I continued. ' Are they white 
 men ? ' 
 
 " ' Sir ! ' repeated the gasping manager, ' I don't under- 
 stand you — they've paid their money ! ' 
 
 " ' Oh, I beg your pardon,' I said. ' Kindly announce 
 that I shall be ready in a second.' 
 
 " ' Thank you, signor,' he said, much relieved, as he left 
 the place ; and the next moment I heard the loud brass 
 band playing the ' Conquering Hero.' " 
 
 41 G
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 Well, he does it. Step by step, he mounts and moves 
 along the rope. As his howling enemies, the public, stand 
 surging below and uttering what they intend for applause 
 every time he moves his motley-covered limbs, he feels a 
 contempt for his fellows that comes near to ecstacy. He 
 duly effects his somersaults at a point from where the 
 enlightened British audience look more contemptible still ; 
 and from his jjeaceful haven in the lofty tree-top they 
 appear quite to sink into utter insignificance. 
 
 " The daring feat, after a few months' performance, lost 
 at once its novelty and its reputation for daring. As I 
 demonstrated by experiment that a series of somersaults 
 could be effected with the same mathematical certainty 
 upon a rope 150 feet above the ground as upon the ground 
 itself, my visitors fell off by degrees, and the advanced 
 prices of admission were considerably diminished. From 
 the moment that the shadow of death no longer hovered 
 over the feat, an enlightened British audience could see 
 nothing wonderful in it." 
 
 The foregoing, though written in 1883, is still applicable. 
 " Paid their money " I Exactly ! But I have yet to learn 
 why a first-night audience is able to give (if so it wishes) 
 such an exhibition of inanity and vulgarity and brutality 
 as would disgrace a cock-pit or a bear-garden — and yet 
 is permitted to go unpunished ; while, if a second-night 
 audience (money or no money) did a similar thing, they, in 
 all likelihood, would be washed out of the theatre straight 
 into the street with firemen's hose, and smitten (care- 
 fully but hard) on their silly heads with batons of rates- 
 paid policemen. However, although the Guy Domvillc 
 episode is in no wise the only one of its kind that I have 
 witnessed, we may continue to hope that there will come a 
 time when an enlightened and discerning British public 
 shall realise that the most convincing and sufficing method 
 of stating disapproval is by omitting to praise. And if I 
 
 42
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 am told that an audience — which, if it be pleased, is 
 expected to laugh and applaud — should, if it is not pleased, 
 be permitted to howl and boo — well, I can only rejoin that 
 there are quite a number of degrees in conducting the ex- 
 pression of one's emotions between, say, patting a man on 
 the shoulder and spitting into his face. 
 
 Who fill the music-halls ? The public. What public ? 
 People from both town and country : the second wanting 
 to see life ; the first wanting to avoid it. Does each win 
 to the goal of his desire ? The countryman thinks Yes ; 
 the townsman is not sure : both are seemingly content. 
 
 After all, the public is as easily pleased as it is hardly 
 satisfied. It absorbs and enjoys, for example. The 
 Sorrows of Satan, set forth by a too-industrious person 
 whose name escapes me ; whom, however, I remember 
 as possessed of a supreme genius for making a short 
 story long, and a long story longer. When a boy, I was 
 once amazed at seeing a pint bottle filled to the very cork 
 with a quantity of dry pyrogallic acid that I knew to be 
 just one ounce. It was a triumph of bulk over weight. 
 But I never realized the allegorical value of this 
 phenomenon till I came upon a quarter-of-million words 
 presenting an amount of matter that could easily, and 
 should properly (allowing it worth doing at all) have been 
 phrased by something less than fifty thousand. I have 
 reason to believe that this wonder-working conjurer, whose 
 name still escapes me (perhaps because it was not upon the 
 title-page of the book to which I noio refer) once set down 
 Mr. Rudyard Kipling — that master of depth and concen- 
 tration — as being shallow and expansive. This minute 
 curiosity of criticism I have mentioned merely to remind 
 myself (and all whom it may concern) that the public has 
 not taken Mr. Kipling to its bosom ; Mr. Kipling has 
 taken the public to his. The author of Barrack Room 
 Ballads is a very strong man — this being a truth which I 
 
 43
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNING 
 
 have had the jDleasure of assisting another writer to record 
 elsewhere ; * and the author of Barrack Room Ballads has 
 gripped the pubUc by the heart ; and he has made the 
 pubhc all his very own ; and he has handled it and dandled 
 it and thrilled it to the soul. When a father takes up a 
 baby and carefully throws it to the ceiling and carefully 
 catches that baby and makes it coo and chuckle with 
 delight, no unprejudiced observer alleges that the strength, 
 and power, and cunning, and merit is being exhibited by 
 the baby. To sum up from the foregoing contrast of a 
 pair of popular favourites — one may easily see that, unless 
 a man is possessed either of a private income or of a 
 supreme talent and never-failing fecundity combined with 
 an indomitable will and an unfaltering persistence, it is 
 better for him that, rather than offer to the public 
 things difficult, small, subtle, strong, deep, wise, he sell 
 to it things facile, bulky, obvious, weak, shallow, foolish. 
 If, after all this, you should ask me what I am ' driving 
 at,' I would answer that I do not so much deplore the 
 success of the one, as that I lament the mere correspond- 
 ing success of the other. And / would ask you Why, in 
 the name of all that's proportionate, when eighty thousand 
 copies of Tlie Sorroivs of Satan can be disposed of, why 
 should not Barrack Boom Ballads sell to the extent of 
 twenty millions ? 
 
 Hitherto have I written chiefly of things as they are ; 
 now will I write only of things as they could be. Come ! 
 Let us dream. 
 
 Lo, we are in a place of perfection ! The music-hall has 
 departed ; in its stead is a hall-of-music. The palace 
 of varieties is now but a building where can be found 
 differences only of kind and not of degree. And things 
 
 * " Rudyard Kipling : An Attemjil at A/iprecialion." By G. F. Monkshood. 
 
 44
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 are so ordained that evening shall be young and night- 
 time blue. And, although Raucous indeed is gone with his 
 red Nose, and Sot's singultous Songs, where no one knows 
 — " still a Ruby kindles in the Vine and many a Garden 
 by the Water blows." 
 
 Here (in our dream, be it remembered) is no massing of 
 the gross masquerading as the gay, no death-like dulness 
 put forth as all that there is of most brilliant. Here is no 
 riot of fact, but only a revel of fancy. Here is no rule of 
 the plumes, but only a reign of the roses. And the roses 
 are beautiful, fragrant, inermous ; and the plumes, though 
 forced to abdicate in favour of the flowers, are no longer 
 mere black feathers fit only for funerals, but are re-dyed to 
 whiteness and wedding-value. 
 
 Gone is the hideous and the hateful ; gone is the un- 
 happy and the unnecessary. Gone is the lady con- 
 tortionist with that anxious grin flickering upon her 
 troubled face ; gone is the perverted girl with those far- 
 flung legs stretched flat and wide apart. Gone are the 
 horrisonous discords ; and in their stead are melodies 
 sweet and harmonious. Gone are the honeyless words of 
 stupidity ; and in their stead are sayings sweet and wise. 
 Gone are the rags maculated and pediculous ; and in their 
 stead are garments comic but clean, garments occasionally 
 unkempt but invariably undisturbing. And the costumes 
 of the women, though rich and gay and shining, are 
 coloured correctly. 
 
 As for the authors — though they are not precisely 
 duplicates of Burns and Beranger, yet have they in them- 
 selves something of W. S. Gilbert and W. E. Henley ; 
 though they are not exactly makers of national ballads and 
 immortal songs, yet (as with the two last-named) are they 
 always witty and inspiring, always masters of rhyme and 
 reason, always producers of the original and the well- 
 expressed. For example, no longer do the}'' write concern- 
 
 45
 
 CHIEFLY CONCERNINQ 
 
 ing wine and woman as if they knew nothing about either ; 
 no longer do they permit themselves to believe that age 
 cannot wither nor custom stale the infinite vulgarities of 
 the cab-rank and the race-course. And so we may desist 
 from exhorting them to be less bad : for they now, though 
 not always quite equal, are always quite good. They are 
 intelligent and satisfying : because they are rightly en- 
 couraged. They are reliable and pleasing : because they 
 are rightly paid. They are not only prolific ; they are 
 fruitful : because they are presented (as was Ung, long- 
 ages ago) with " the little gift in the doorway and the 
 praise no gift can buy." And they are not only popular 
 and duly appreciated ; they are competent and finely meri- 
 torious : because the public has grown discriminative, and 
 become intolerant of the bad, and desirous only of the good. 
 
 Especially has the music imjDroved. It is now in the 
 hands of trained men : who are as properly rewarded as 
 should be all artists that are worthy of their pay. These 
 men show that a piece of work can be technical without 
 being tiresome, can be the more craft-like without being 
 the less enchanting ; and they contrive, in the manner of 
 Alfred Cellier and Sir Arthur Sullivan, that a melody 
 shall be cultured, sweet, riant, graceful, and yet have the 
 mercantile qualities of being easy and memorable. The 
 tunes of the music-hall (in our dream, be it still remembered) 
 possess all the merits of those of the concert-room, with 
 an added fire of spontaneity and an accessional charm of 
 resource. Modelled more upon the French and less upon 
 the German, or quaint and dear and flowing as is ever the 
 best of the English, these tunes are very popular — as 
 popular as was Ta-rara-hoom-de-ay , or any other dreadful- 
 sounding abomination of the past. 
 
 And lo ! — in our dream-built hall-of-music — we now hear 
 Voices and see Visions. 
 
 ' I am the Spirit of Song : I appease ; I do not aj)pal.' 
 
 46
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 'I am the Spirit of Dance: I enchant ; I do not repel.' 
 ' I am Gaiety : I enliven; I do not depress.' 
 * I am Pleasure : I renovate ; I do not destroy.' 
 ' I am Entertainment : no longer can you say with truth 
 that it is better to work than to be amused.' 
 
 Anon the melody changes, and we hear a song of the 
 open road. Again the melody changes, and we hear a song 
 of the open sea. And the steady sturdy tramp-tramp of 
 armed men gives place to the mighty on-coming swash- 
 swash of ironclad ships. And, loud and high, the voices 
 are heard of such writers as Algernon Charles Swinburne, 
 with his Word for the Navy, and William Ei-nest Henley, 
 with his England, My England. And, higher still, and higher 
 (as a ' runner ' might tip with fire if a vast illumination 
 surprised a festal night, outlining round and round Paul's 
 dome from pillar to spire) comes — not, as this paraphrase will 
 perhaps imply, the accents of Kobert Browning and his 
 'cello strains of Love — but the notes of Kudyard Kipling 
 and his trumpet blasts of Imperialism. Little matters it, 
 now, that the music-hall is more of a schoolroom than a 
 playgrouftd for the British Brain : there is something good 
 to learn ; and not the pothouse pleasantries of such doggrel 
 as " We don't want to fight, but, by Jingo, if we do, we've 
 got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too I " 
 Instead, are to be heard the rhymes and reasons of that con- 
 summate literary artist who is the acclaimed and accredited 
 mouthpiece of the nation that, though imperfect, is the best 
 that has ever had being on the face of the known globe — 
 the man who gave that splendid shout. The English Flag 
 — the man who sounded that note of warning, Recessional — 
 the articulate man who sang A Song of the English. 
 
 And in the palace of which we are dreaming may be 
 distinguished many other voices — equally great, equally 
 potent ; but all different. Man does not live by patriotism 
 alone. 
 
 47
 
 THE MUSIC HALLS. 
 
 In their own time, Shakspeare and his fellow craftsmen 
 dominated the thought of all England, uplifted the hearts 
 of the people to issues braver and finer. Whence was the 
 message delivered ? From the playhouse ! . . . In our 
 time, the play is mentally naught beside the novel and 
 the newspaper. Attack a subject in print, leave it for dead 
 — long after, it shall be found on the stage, not only alive 
 but pretending to have been born there . . . In the future, 
 we may find ideas truly starting into life from the theatre 
 itself. What if others sliould germinate in the very music- 
 hall ? 
 
 The future ! Ah, that is a convenient place — for 
 dreams ! 
 
 GEORGE GAMBLE.
 
 Dan Iieno. 
 
 *' Standing on the Steps of the 
 t^eft^eshment t^oom."
 
 re 
 
 vT? 
 
 e;>^ 
 
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 >»-.„'^^ 
 
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 George t^obey. 
 "pirst Pt'ize at the Beauty Shouu."
 
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 Eugene Stpatton. 
 The Cake CUalk."
 
 Vesta Vietofia. 
 "Ho, thanks, flot fop me I"
 
 Chipgcain. 
 "The Oihite Eyed Caffif."
 
 ^. G. t^nocjules. 
 **fldam and Eve."
 
 **TatehoI CUhat hoi 
 
 99
 
 §
 
 Bessie UizntuioPth. 
 "Coons I"
 
 flQafguefite Cofnille 
 "The Simple CDaid."
 
 HePbePt Csxmphelh 
 "Running to Olaist"
 
 
 
 Li^' 
 
 
 1 ^^^r^ " "'^ 
 
 { 
 
 
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 ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^H 
 
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 ^^^^^^^^ v^^B 
 
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 ffiame liloyd. 
 
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 Liovely."
 
 Gus Elen. 
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 i»
 
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 2^A
 
 Albert Chevaliet'. 
 
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 $
 
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 f9
 
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 Paul flQartinetti. 
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 Ada l^eeve. 
 
 «« T4.' 
 
 It's flU gone douxn in my 
 
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 §
 
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 Harri
 
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