In view of what has been said about the almost merciless treatment the American dramatist, as a general rule, receives from the American theatrical manager, it may be well to add here the statement made lately by Mr. William Seymour, stage manager of the Madison Square Theatre, New York. He exhibited to a visitor a drawerful of manuscripts, and said, although he had read and rejected one hundred and fifty plays within nine months, he still had almost as many more left. As a usual thing the plays offered were, he claimed, weak imitations of "Hazel Kirke" and kindred plays, or wretched translations from the German or French. One or two were very original attempts. Picking up a heavy manuscript bound with blue ribbon, and looking very like a young girl's graduating essay or poem, Mr. Seymour said: Here is a play in seven acts, which opens in America at some large seaport town, the author isn't particular where, and an embarkation scene ends the first act. In the second the ship has made its way in toward the Arctic regions and is wrecked by an iceberg. The hero bravely cuts down a spar, lashes himself to it and jumps overboard. In the third act he is discovered upon an iceberg beyond the Arctic circle, starving and almost dead, while in the distance a battle is in progress between a pirate ship and Chinese junk. The Chinamen are destroyed, and in the fourth act the hero is rescued from the iceberg. A marine encounter between Chinamen and pirates in the Arctic Ocean is bad enough, but even this is outdone in the fifth act, where the hero is discovered upon a tropical island with his feet frostbitten. The remaining two acts are used to get him back to America, which is done in full accordance with the rest of the play. I have many others just as bad. Here is one with fifty-two speaking characters, and here is another in four acts, which would require but twenty-nine minutes to play the whole thing through. But strange and curious as the plays are, I think that the letters I receive from the authors are still greater curiosities. Occasionally some of them are modest enough to admit the possibility of failure, but as a general thing they do not hesitate to dwell upon the beauties of their productions and the certainties of success. Moreover, they are always ready to make terms and some of their offers are very amusing. Here is one that will serve as a sample:—
"Dear Sir: The undersigned is the Author of a new three act Drama it is romantic, Dramatic and Scenic, and has a good plot. The Story is interesting. The dialogue is bright and Witty, the unities of the plot are preserved, and the Situations Are Picturesque and effective. I have had it nicely copied.
"And wish to sell it to you if you wish to become the Proprietor of my play.
"Terms, I will sell you My copyright and Manuscript, And Give you 100 Printed copies, for the use of actors, for $1000 dols.
"The name of My Play is
"Charles Ryan.
"The scenes are in Italy, Time 1868.
"Yours, Very Respectfully, etc., etc., etc.,
"—— —— ——
"Author."P. S.—I inclose my card, I don't be at Home every day, but am at home nearly every evening bet. 8 and 10 o'clock.
"(I did not have my Play Printed yet.)"
CHAPTER XIX.
"MASHERS" AND "MASHING."
A BOWERY "MASHER."
The masher is a remarkable creature. He hovers everywhere, from the market-place to the meeting-house and from the promenade to the theatre. He is many-phased and many-faced, and may come from the slums or be the son of a first-class preacher of the Gospel. The class has been termed gunaikophagists by some fellow reckless alike of the feelings of philologists and of the jaws of the rising generation, who says it means woman-eaters, but may be less poly-syllabically styled corner loafers and miserable scoundrels, who live on the curbs and in some instances hug the wall—have a pardonable affection, considering that they part their hair in the middle, for malacca, bamboo, and rubber sticks—and last, but not least, some indulge a precocious vanity by planting eye-glasses across their noses. These are, par excellence, the cane-and-eyeglass friends, and they remind one of nothing else in the world than a sickly looking cross between a saw-buck and a half-resuscitated dried herring. The masher's sole ambition, is to win hearts, which he hopes to do by staring ladies out of countenance, and which he often does in a most flagrant and audacious manner. There are young and old of this class, and they are of all grades, from the young man who negotiates with you over a counter for a paper of pins or a dozen shoestrings, up to his employer, and from that up the monetary scale to the man who wholesales the employer the pins which the "mashing" salesman disposes of a nickle's worth at a time. Sandwiched between these at proper, or rather improper, intervals are the "What d'ye soy?" crowd, the "toughs" wearing high felt hats turned up with care before and behind, and, without exception, sporting the inevitable tight jeans breeches. Their influence extends only to a certain class—to the concert and variety dives—and it is unfortunate to the poor girls, outside of this class, who fall a prey to these ruthless "mashers."
LADY MACBETH.