AMATEUR DRAMATISTS.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVII, Issue 1362, 28 May 1895, Page 2

AMATEUR DRAMATISTS.

They Have Sung the Same Plaint From Time Immemorial. WORK REFUSED THROUGH ENVY. Glen MacDonough, Author of "The Algerian," "The Prodigal Father," "Delmonico's at 6" and "Innocent as a Lamb," Gives Advice to Young Playwrights. There is one plaint which echoes forever through the calcium lighted vales of Stageland. It is the wail of the downtrodden and misunderstood amateur playwright. He has been wronged for centuries—in hia own estimation —and the theatrical mag-

GLEN MAC DOSTOUGH. nates of all time have been leagued against him. Thespis, while making the first of all starring tours through the Grecian provinces with a special ox cart and a company of Athenian favorites, rejected his work through pure envy. Will Shakespeare and Richard Burbage conspired to keep his productions from the stage of the long vanished Globe theater because the former insisted upon foisting his own paltry work upon an over indulgent public. David Garrick and Colley Cibber were banded together in a base conspiracy to crush his ambition and obscure his talents, while the theatrical managers of today have formed a secret league to keep the glory of the footlights from gilding the master pieces of the amateur. He is a much wronged and much plotted against person, is the unknown play maker, and his lamentations will probably continue to rend the air as long as the belief exists that play writing is an excellent amusement for rainy days, and the art of the dramatist one that maybe acquired somewhere within a week. A person absolutely ignorant of architecture would be laughed at should he attempt to design a house. The public at large is content to leave the planning of a new roadway to the civil engineers, but when a man or a woman, who doesn't know a lobby from a star trap, announces that he or she has decided to write a play, no comment is excited. There are few things which appear easier thau to supply a company of skilled actors with a sufficient number of lines and scenes to entertain an audience for two hours and a half. And yet the truth of the matter is that there are few things more supremely difficult. Statistics prove, that only one play in ten succeeds. After years of experience such masters of their craft as Sardou, Howard and Pinero have written distinct and immediate failures. The canons of good dramatic construction are as rigid as the laws of the Medea and Persians, but no matter how closely these canons may be followed the success of the play thus written is as uncertain as the final resting place of a newly spun roulette ball. Success in dramatic writing cannot bo achieved without a thorough knowledge of the stage and its requirements, while, on the other hand, the facts just cited prove that even the broadest experience cannot detect nor avert a failure. It is not the purpose of this article to suggest to the amateur the methods by which experience may best be gained, but to define the class of material which is liable to receive commercial consideration from managers at present. Three-fourths of the plays from unknown authors which find oblivion in theatrical pigeonholes are entirely unsuited to the times and the current public tastes. Whatever virtues a play may possess, it is doomed if it is out of key with the popular fancy. Fashions prevail in theatrical entertainments as well as in dress, and no less a person than Alexander Pope summed the matter up when he wrote these lines: The drama's laws the drama's patrons give, And those who live to please must please to live! Literary qualities, epigrammatic lines, strong characterization, all go for naught if the general fabric be not cut in the reigning mode. Dramatic sermons or poems have no place on the American stage of today. Such works need a leisure class of supereducated and hypercritical theater goers to support them, and such a class does not exist here. It is a nervous, hard working land that we live in, and when wo go to the theater we seek and demand entertainment. We pay to be thrilled or amused, and sociological problems or exploits in psychical analysis pall upon us. Nor do we care particularly for the new type of piece which has burst upon us of late —a type which might be defined as the theatrical photograph album sort of thing. We are asked to like it because it is so exquisitely real, but unfortunately the theater is the last place in which the public cara to encounter the exquisitely real. To them it is the home of the romantic, the ideal, and the amusing, and the play which pictures the boiling of real corn beef on a practicable stove and sends the villain to congress in the last act—because such things happen in life—will not draw over largely. Life is something which we go to the theater to forget. An excellent maxim for the aspiring one to pate in his mental hat is, "The time is now; the place is here." The American dramatist, both known and unknown, can find in his own country a wealth of material worthy of his pen. Let him leave the London coster monger and the British lordling to Messrs. Simms and Pettit—they understand them. Avoid the dashing Parisian who has long been so deftly handled by M. Bisson, and refrain from levying upon those quaint German characters that have become the peculiar property of Von Moser. Let him look to his own country for inspiration, and rememberthat the theatrical classics of today are in many instances contemporary pictures of the life of yesterday. In Sheridan's time the swells of London laughed at the uncouth antics of Bob Acres, the country clown, as loudly as the New

Yorker of the present at the misadventures of Bertie the Lamb, in “The Henrietta.” The great strength of both characters lies in the fact that they were as familiar to the men who created them as to the audiences to which they were presented. In brief, there is a demand from both tbe managers and the public for romantic dramas dealing with different picturesque phases of American life, and light comedies genially satirizing the same. A real lire engine is net absolutely necessary in the former, and the latter may attain flattering recognition without the aid of a flap stick or a flight of mechanical stairs. The British melodrama will scon become a depressing memory. The transplanted French farce has long been upon the wane, and the desire for plays on native subjects produced in the home market grows with each season. A final hint, which may prove of value to the amateur playwright, is the rule which D’Ennery hung above his desk after a lifetime of dramatic writing, “It is as bad a miss to shoot over the target as undei it.” Directly expressed this means, “Don’t try to educate the public.” Study their likes and give them what they want, for it is they who are the judges, and from their verdict there is no appeal. MANY FOOTBALL FATALITIES. Over a Score of Kickers Killed on the Gridiron Tliis Year. Atleast 25 young men have been killed in America and England while playing football this year and last, and hardly a day passes now that the name of a new victim is not announced. At Delavan, Wis., Nov. 4, John Peterson, a mute, tackled one of the Beloit team, fell heavily and died of concussion of the brain in an hour. A week later Hugh Saussa, a student of the College of the City of New York, while running with the ball, was downed by half a dozen of the Elizabeth Athletic club’s team, and his neck was broken. The same day Addis Hen-old of the Richmond (Ind.) Y. M. C. A. was caught in a scrimmage and his skull fractured. Physicians pronounced him fatally injured. On Nov. 18 Raymond Carew \ot Toledo fell with the ball, the Adrian college team formed a

( -- . WHAT A SCRIMMAGE LOOKS LIKE, pyramid on top of him, .'ind he died a few hours later from an injury to the spine. Two other players were seriously hurt in the same game. At Farmington (Conn.) John White, while playing with Yale seniors, was thrown with terrific violence, other players fell on him, and his body was paralyzed. James F. O'Brien of Manhattan college died in New York Nov. 24 from injuries received in a football scrimmage Oct. 11. Robert Christy was killed at Wooster, 0., Nov. 24. Malice apparently entered into none of the above accidents, but in many of the big college games this year players have been brutally struck with the fist, jumped on and even bitten by members of opposing elevens. Such wanton brutality should be eliminated from the game,in the opinion of all lovers of healthful, honest sport. A Very Remarkable Shooting Match. In a recent match between J. A. R. Elliott of Kansas City and Frank Class of Morristown, N. J., both men did some remarkable shooting. The stakes were $250 a side, and the men shot at 100 pigeons each. Class killed 99 and Elliott 95. The latter lost three by falling dead out of bounds. Class missed the thirteenth bird. CHECKERS AND CHESS. Checker Problem No. 247—"The Cross"—By Isaiah Barker. Black.

White to move and win. Chess Problem No. 217—"Letter N"—By J. B. Munoz. Black—Six Pieces.

White—Seven Pieces.

White to play and mate in two moves. SOLUTIONS. Checker problem No. 240: Black. White.

JINGLES OF THE DAY. "Uosy." When in some stocks you've dabbled deep And wake some morning from your sleep. Oil, what a dear, delightful thing, As on the telephone you ring Your broker up for him to sell. To have that girl back at you yell, "Busy!" When from your house you rush forth quick And leave your wife at home quite sick. And to the nearest station go And ring your doctor up, how slow The minutes pass while thus you wait Until you hear that sweet girl state, "Busy!" Perchance you've asked some fair, sweet maid To go where large hats are displayed And find, when at ber house remote. Those tickets —in another coat. You'll "telephone." 'twill take "a trice," And then that voice cries, cold as ice, "Busy I" You leave for Europe; steamer due To sail on Saturday at 2, And just before you start you look; You've left at home that pocketbookl "Great Scott! Wife knows. I'll telephone. Hello! Ah, there," and then you groan. "Busy." I knew a fellow who adored , One of the telephonic board. He loved her with a passion strong; He loved her much; he loved her long. But when to tell his love he tried The maid mechanically replied, "Busy." Fair telephonic girls, beware. Some day you'll mount the golden stair. Take heed now, ere it be too late. Or else when you've knocked at the gate And given your number Peter'll say: "Oh, come around some other dayBusy." . „ —New York World. On Deck Once More. Now school is going steady, And the boys are neck and neck. For they're busy making ready For the usual "burning deck." And now full many a region "Sir John Moore's Burial" hears, And "the soldier of the legion" Is "dying in Algiers." And as of old the fur flew, It will still fly out of sight, [ For we hope to bear that "curfew Shall not ring tonight." ; His Absent Queen. j Tonight, Fast in my arms I hold thee, Anastasia mine, My queen! ■ Fast in my very arms! ■ And yet, j If but last night I'd held thee Only in my handHow then indeed would you Have been to me A queen imperious! For then, Clasping as I did those other queens, Those three right royal ladies (And had 'em all the time), With that king full that Bill Jones held You bet I'd staid And whooped it up Until the cows came home, And, like a cyclone revolving out to hustle things, I'd rake the pot. That big, that opulent, that fat jackpot. And stowed it in my jeans— If but last night I'd held thee Just in my one weak hand. Oh, queen! Taker Tatah en Wait. When I's a little feller— De littl'st un to hum— I uster alius have to wait Whenever de preacba come. "Now y'alls das sot right down en eat, ! Bruther Johnson, and pass yo' plate, En Sammy," mam' ud say t' me, "Yo' kin taker tatah en wait." En den, when dey us done — Hit took 'em pow'f ul long— Dey stahted in wid prayin En finished up wider song. I felt lak bouncin er gre't big rook , Offcn de preacha's ole bal nate, Kase h'd luk at me en say, "Leetle boy ' Had ter taker tatah en wait." \ En when I gits ter he er man ! Wid chilluns uv my own, ', I'ze gwinter ax Preacha Johnson T' come en ca've de bone. Den I'll say: "Chilluns, sot up en eat; Dis dinnah smells fus' rate! Bruther Johnson, yo' is ole; Yo kin taker tatah en wait!" A Base Hit, He was a Princeton sophomor. And she his Vassar name. They sat upon the campus greets And watched a baseball game. < The soph was all devotion . And explained the how and why Of base hits and the difference Between a foul and fly. i The maid was all attention— In truth, so deep engrossed. The fond words that he whispered In her shell-like ears were lost. "Why so pensive?" asked the sophy. (Blissful hope! Oh, can it be That I am the attraction, And her fancy dwells on me!) "I'm thinking of the time," she sighed, "When we, as well as you, May wear the new divided skirt And run the bases too! ... ./ r i Lost. Smoking a twenty cent cigar, I walked along the street. A girl I knew stepped from a car. I saw that we must meet And mayhc talk. What could I do? How wild it makes me now! Away that choicest weed I threw, And then—she didn't bow. ; Then He Felt Different. "My wife is going away," he said And smiled a blissful smile. "Now glad I am, for with the boys I'll be gay for awhile. "I'll play upon the table green, And every night I'll roam Where fairies of the stage are seen— And this is not at home." Just then his wife came in and left A package small and neat And told him that it was for him, With smile that was so sweet. And then his castles in the air All went, as fades the rose. Unhappy man! She'd given him Her hills for summer clothes. Forensic Fire. "And now, gentlemen of the jury," shouted the young lawyer, running bis long fingers through his flowing locks, "now, gentlemen of the jury, I ask you as men aud as citizens of this great and glorioua republic if the spotless character of nij client is to be permitted to suffer from th« words uttered by that—by that—by th?A vermiform appendix who sits in the witness box with perjury stamped all ovw him."- r i ""■>:

1..15 to 18 1.. 24 to 20 2.. 8 to 12 2. .20 to 23 8..18to22 3. .23 to 18 4..22to20(l) 4. .20 to 16 5. .26 to 31 5..18tol5 6. .31 to 24 6.. 15 to 6 7..24tol5 7.. Oto 2 8. .13 to 19 8.. 2 to 18 Draw a Var. 1: 1.. 7 to 11 1..27 to23 2. .22 to 25 2..1Stol4 3..10tol7 3. .23 to 18 4..25 to 30 4..]9tol5 6..11tol6 5..20toll 6. .30 to 20 6. .15 to 10 7..26to23 J..18tol5 8..23 to 18 8..10 to 6 9..18tol4 9.. oto a 10..14tol8 10..15tol0 Drawn Cb.e?s problem No. 246: White. Black. ]..QtoB8 3..Q-BS L.KtoQE S..A&7 8..M»tW