Newspaper Page Text
FIFTH <PAGE
\ftY 6, 1905.
THE SUNNY SOUTH
J e ff erson ; Dean of American Stage;
& Ounint* o* ° ’
IIE world at large
ing tho praises and re
counting the scenes made
memorable in the life of
Joseph Jefferson, the ven
erable dean of the Ameri
can stage, who Immortal
ised “Kip Van Winkle,”
and was the world’s great
est Boh Acres, r>r. Pan
gloss, Caleb Plummer and
Asa Tenchard.
The death of Mr. Jeffer
son on tho 23d of April
e In West Palm Beach, Fla.,
unexpected, since for three
he had been combatting with the
eaper, now losing, now holding
cd. Gradually, surely hi s
declined and when tho sum-
l na '' v came, it found him uncon-
3 ears Mr. Jefferson had been
]- J ho American stage, and one
foremost and most popular come-
Hls was a clean art, depending
balaciOU* appeals to the sensual
tar its success. The same aim-
n.l directness which marked his
the stage characterized his work
the footlights, and tho simple an-
that ho was to appear In a
role was sufficient to Insure a
house, no mutter in wlmt sec-
tiio country his Itinerary might
(MEDIAN AND SCHOLAR.
duu-st impossible to think of him
8 anything else In life but the
'tih d comedian and scholar. It Is
Impossible to think of his with-
mjuring up the picture of Old
there are plenty of gray-haired
(• e.g whose first Introduction to
erican drama was in witnessing
Irmance of "Rip Van Winkle,” a
I li is absolutely American in
>pect in spite of its Dutch ciual- j
• ’1 to remember that Joseph .Tef- i
■seonded from a family of actors, !
there were two Joseph Jefferson
?t;ige previous to his introduction
It he footlights.
prst appearance of “Our Joe” on
ere was a babe In arms, the epl-
klng place In Philadelphia, Pa.
bom February 20, 1829.
age of 3 years he was cast as
’hild. and this was the comedian's
|n recollection of a public appear-
at about the same age, the fu-
J, n * eS * an< ^ Most Lovable of Its Comedians
j U/ye Wind-Up
4
0
of Bohemiq
Latest Photograph of Joe Jefferson, Most Beloved Actor on American Stage.
of 1 liespis, started out from Albany,
N Y., for a theatrical tour of the west.
The family was in strained circum
stances, and in those days a journey
fxom the oust to Chicago was no insig
nificant venture. These performances
were indeed the veriest “barnstormings,’*
the plays being presented in the eating
rooms of hotels, in barns, in outhouses,
in fact in any convenient outbuilding that
offered and in which a stage could be
put up.
Sometimes the “house* was a losing
cne and sometimes not. For a time,
though, the elder Jefferson was forced
to bring out his paint brushes to turn
a few dollars painting signs and decorat
ing ceilings. But, before long, a shadow*
Jefferson as "Caleb Plummer" In " Cricket on the Hearth.,,
tip" and “Dr. Pangloss", posed
|mg statue, now at “Ajax ’ defy-
: lightning and again as “Hercu-
^ying the Numidlan Hon.
ver a child was wanted on the
little Joe naturally was appi o-
dressed and decorated ana
forth. His first active appeai-
the boards, however, was Tilth
- illustrious knight of the burnt
Rice, who delighted our
Jim
liters with his then fa " 1 '’ us ..
fetches and dances. The mtl
beheld those wonderful dances
ud to imitate them,
h time after Die tiny actor was
_ York, where he appealed
1st wonderful combat, scone This
[presented an
. waving a star spangled nan
e his own head.
i years after his Ne
mt ,e a disciple
khar. who was likewise
ward conducted the dramatic perform
ances of the Peale Museum in the
Quaker City.
After a season of this work, he started
out on his first star engagement. In
New York he met and married in 1849, i
Miss Ixjckyer, an actress, and for the
next decade, was busily engaged in man
aging and acting, all the while unceas-l
ingly carrying on his dramatic studies.
In 1856 Jefferson visited London Sratl
Paris. On his return to America, he
was engaged for the leading parts In
Laura Keene's theater in New York,
making his first appearance as “Dr
Pangloss” in Coleman’s comedy of “The
Heir at Law'." This was followed the
next season by the remarkablly success
ful play. “Our American Cousin,” on
tho triumph of which pivoted the career
of Jefferson, Laura Keene and Soth-
eru.
Mr. Jefferson’s delineation of the keen
and shrewd yankee. Asa Trenohard,
was an entirely original conception on
tne American stage, and was a presage
of the admirable character acting W’hich
this student of human nature was to
give to the now world.
"Our American Cousin” had a phe
nomenal run. and its success established
M.r. Jefferson at Laura. Keene’s theater.
Hero he played such parts as Newman
Noggs in “Nicholas Nickleby;” Caleb
lummer, iu “The Cricket o n tho
Hearth;" Bob Acres, in Sheridan’s
“Rivals,” and Dr. Ollapad, in “The Poor
Gentleman.’’
INTRODUCING RIP.
In May. 1865, while In England. Joe
Jefferson met Dion Boucicault, to whom
he suggested his pet idea for some ade
quate dramatization of the story of “Rip
Van Winkle.” Boucicault took up the
hint and did his work. The play was put
on in London and ran ! 70 nights at tho
Adelpht, after which It toured the prov
inces.
Jefferson returned to America in 1856,
and spent his time in touring. Ho mar
ried again in 1867, and in 1869 he bought
two estates—one in New Jersey and tho
other in Louisiana.
| In his later days ’’Joe’’ did not attempt
any new parts, but what he has done
stamps his as being one of the greatest
i comedians this country has produced,
firmly establishing him in tho affections
| of the American people.
The death of Joseph Jefferson has drawn
attention to the fact that ills birth place,
at the southwest corner of Sixth and
(Spruce streets, in Philadelphia, Pa., is to
be sold at auction on May 17.
The house is an old-fashioned structure
of three stories and an attic. The first
floor was altered into a shop fifty years
ago. and is now occupied by a grocer. The
fell on that happy-go-lucky, hard-work- interior of the other portion of the house
ing family. In the city of Mobile, the ; still contains many beautiful example# of
genial, lovable anel philosophic actor and colonial architecture and decoration,
painter fell a. victim to yellow fever then notably among which are a stairway with
raging in the south, anti died in a few ; mahogany banister and several large old-
fljjyg, j fashioned fireplaces.
Little Joe’s courageous mother, noth- ! On the weather beaten front of the
lug daunted, opened a boarding house in j house is a tablet with the following In*
Mobilo for a time to tide them over a ; gcription:
temporary embarrassment, and then once) “JOSEPH JEFFERSON,
again wont on the road, making her way i “The Actor.
down the Mississippi and thence into] “Was born here Feb. 20, 1829.
Texas and Mexico. ! “Here’s to your good health and your
HARD AND ROUGH WORK. j proper.” UV * a " d
All this time “Our Joe," the young ! <ri le tablet was placed there several
actor had been earning by hard work 1 years ago by Francis Wilson and other
and rough knocks, that dramatic and
theatrical experience, which ho was
to turn to such good account in later
years. He had already dome in con
tact with Macready, the elder Booth
and James Wallack.
From that time the rise of the young
comedian was rapid. In
ANOTHER VARIETY.
“Pa," said the small boy who had not
yet started to school, “what are truant
officers?”
"Truant officers, my son." replied the
few years ! wise father, “are those who when needed
he appeared in Philadelphia and after - j can never be found on their beats.’’
[ g-m* Where Jafferaou W*s Born and Where His Father and Methw; and I£7b Half Brother Uvea.
4
•
4
• ••!».« •• . -~0-»-0-»-0*-0»-0 — 0-f0 — 0
By KARL.
ROOKE’S flat consisted of
three rooms. You entered
what he termed his
"study” through the hall
door, and this room led
into another by an arch.
Running off from this sec
ond room—he culled it his
loafing place—was his
bed room. He always
kept 4he bedroom door
locked—principally because
people dropped in on him
at all hours, and he held
that it didn’t look exactly nice to have
cue’s parlour next door to one’s bedroom,
even If one did live in a flat.
Brooke lived in Bohemia—and this Bo
hemia was In the very heart of Blooms
bury. It wasn’t the Bohemia of the half-
sfarved and the unshaven—the Bohemia
of long hair and nasty speech. It was
merely the Bohemia of congeniality and
unconventionality—a gathering together
of clever folk of both sexes, who did and
said pretty much what they pleased, who
borrowed from and loaned to each other
various small sums of money and never
bothered about making a memorandum of
it—the Bohemia where one’s secret be
longed to the crowd and went no farther.
A.> clever Jean Travers once summed
it up: “You can go to Brooke’s rooms,
meet a lot of jolly people, have all you
want to eat and drink, laugh a good deal
arid never hear anything out of the way.”
It was 10 minutes to 8 on a sultry June
night when Into Brooke's room saunt
ered Montieth.
“Hullo, Ben, have the things come
yet?”
“What things?” asked Brooke.
“The eatables—ordered them sent round
at 7:30. The crowd will be here tonight—
Fales, Alec Drummond, Bates. Kate
Rhodes, Etta, Fanny Locke, and may
be Jean Travers. She’s doing a turn up
at once of the halls—I forgot which one—
and she said she won’t be able to get
down before 10:30. You owe me a sov
ereign as your share of the stuff.”
Brooke dived down into his pockets
and gave Monteith the money.
“Monty, old man.” he said, seriously,
“I'm getting tired of Bohemia. Tonight
will be my last night at it.”
“Getting religious?” queried Monteith,
lighting a cigarette.
“No. getting sensible,” answered
Erooke.
“Get lots of it. Ben—it’ll do you good.
Hullo, there goes the bell; guess it’s the
fodder.”
Into the room trooped Fales. Fanny
Lccke and Kate Rhodes, their arms full
of packages. “Found them down on
the hatrack, Ben,’ said Kate Rhodes, “so
we constituted ourselves a catering com
mittee of three. Put ’em on the table,
Fanny.”
Helter-skelter on the fable went the
packages—boned chicken, rolls, olives,
caviare, fie brie, crackers, ground coffee,
butter and canned tongue.
Etta Andrews came pouting up the
stairs just then and she greeted thp crowd
with a wave of her hand, and, “Phew!
isn’t tonight a broiler?" Then she fell
ir.to a chair and nodding over to Fales,
said: “Jack, pour me nut a cold glass
of beer and you may liavo a kiss.”
*T don’t have to take it, do I Etta?”
asked Fales, with a mock resigned look.
“No, dear; I’ll give it to you—and pay
in advance,” and she jumped from the
chair, and, running over to him, threw
her arms around his neck and planted
a resounding smack on his lips.
Meanwhile, Fanny Locke had gone to
the refrigerator, and. assisted by Mon
teith and Kate, was making highballs;
she insisted, however, on squirting the
seltzer because she liked the sound of
the syphon.
" ’Punch’ accepted two of my drawings
last week. Monty,” she said, “and I Tin-
lehed a man today that is perfectly
grand.”
"Here’s to the man you finished,” said
Monteith, holding up his glass. “Your
health, you strong and mighty Amazon.”
“What have you been doing lately.
Kate?” asked Brooke.
“Oh, going to the park and painting
daisies that looked scared half to death,”
she answered. “I sold a little study of
roses last week, but somehow or other
I can’t make a daisy look like a respect
able member of society. I got a big
bunch of them, tied them on my easel,
and then attempted to transfer them to
canvas. When I’d finished—well, the
painting looked like a study of Rip Van
Winkle's beard after Rip had been eating
hard-boiled eggs, and wasn’t particular
where the yolks went.”
Brooke laughed heartily. “Here’s y<%ir
health, Kate, and may all your daisies
hereafter look like buttercups in a Held
of milk.”
Alec Drummond and Bates came in at
this Juncture, and Drummond shied his
hat over at Etta Andrews, who promptly-
kicked it under the table.
Bates had a parcel In his hand, a bulky
package wrapped In what looked to be a
newspaper.
"What’s that. Bates?” asked Brooke,
j “ ‘The War Cry,’ my son. I bought It
. from a cadaverous looking man who
1 looked as If he needed money.”
i “ ‘The War Cry’ may be the wrapper,”
1 said Etta Andrews, "but what's in it?”
' “Useful Information, my dear Etta, as
to how to avoid the Evil One—that’s
j what’s in it; and a very good paper it is."
: “Bates, you're positively brilliant to-
: night,’ rejoined Etta. “Will you kindly
■ Inform me as to the nature of the beast
you have wrapped up in that ’War
Cry?’ ”
"Certainly, Etta dear, since you be
seech so plaintively,” answered Bates.
“The monster imprisoned hero happens
to be several. Behold!” and he deftly
i ceuglit one end of the paper and allowed
i the contents to fall to the floor. *
| “Loonies!” shrieked Etta in a gurgle
: cf delight, and she scrambled on the
• floor and collected th'e different links.
| "Fourteen of them,” sh^- said,
j “Fifteen,’ said Bates,
i Etta counted again. "Fourteen links.
; my boy.”
| “I brought in fifteen." said Bates.
I “You’ve lost one. Behold, I shall emu-
! late Darwin and hunt for the missing
link,” said Bates as he dropped to his
1 knees and prensently found the sausage
peacefully reposing under the table in
■ Drummond's lint.
! Brooke brought out tho chafing dish,
and the rest of the crowd busied them
selves with opening cans, bringing out
the plates, knives, forks, spoons, etc.
Brooke wanted coffee, so Kate started
the kettle on the 5 o’clock tea stand-
; "Who’s waiter?” asked Drummond,
| plaintively.
“Listen L> the Czar of all tho Kussiaa,”
said Fanny Locke, scornfully. "Alec,
dear, if you want a drink, wait on your
self."
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“Any ginger ale in the refrigerator,
Ben?" asked Drummond.
“I think there are a couple of bottles,
Alec. Go hunt and take them away
from the intoxicating crowd against
whom they’re nestling. I’m busy boiling
eggs.”
"I never tasted better boiled eggs than
Ben cooks,” said Bates. “You’re a past-
master at hardboiled eggs, Ben. I never
saw your equal. What’s your recipe?”
“Oh," answered Brooke, with a twinkle
in his eyes. “I put them in boiling wa-
tei and let them stay there until you j
make a brilliant remark. They’re in j
there so long they’re bound to be hard.”
And so the good-humored chaff went
round until about half Jast 10 a low, pe
culiar whistle was heard from the street.
“That’s our whistle,” said Fales. “Who
Is it?”
Brooke looked from the window and
answered the whistle. “It’s Jean Trav-
Tliey found a bench and sat down, just
as the sun showed his face in a shamed
way, as if he’d been caught napping and
was getting up late.
“Well, Ben?” she queried.
“Well, Jean, I’m going t.o give up Bo
hemia. I didn’t say anything to the
crowd tonight because I thought it
might act as a wet blanket. But L in
going to give it up.”
"Why, my boy?”
"Well, for a time it fascinated me, i
Jean. I like clever people, like to heoir !
them talk, like to rub my brains against ;
theirs, and have my wits stirred a bit.
But what does it all amounr to?”
“What does anything amount to?”
asked the girl, wearily.
“Lots of things, Jean, have something
substantial back of them. Bohemia has
absolutely nothing. We sit and drink
and eat until daylight comes, and then
we're totally unfit for any sort of work
she nodded her head slowly in the af
firmative. “Ben, dear,” she began, five
seen the seamy side of life. I dance
and sing in a musical hall, so I can make
money and keep adding to my little bank
account. Yet, in that music hall there
is no taint, for I’m myself; and, after
all, it’s for ourselves we must answer.
Bohemia is a life in itself. It’s a jolly
comradeship; its sexless; it's honest.
Compare our little evening we have just
lived through with an evening company
among your social equals. One woman
vies with another in h.J- gowning; they
say catty things of and to each other.
The men are cliquey. Now. take our
Bohemia; it’s honest—not a mean word
escapes, not a sentence that might hurt.
Do you wonder that it appeals to us
girls? That it touches us, because it is
the one place we can unbend and be
free, p.nd not have our actions miscon
strued?”
It was Benny Brooke’s turn to be sil
ent. After a little while he said: “There’s
another reason for my giving up Bohem
ia. Jean—I’m going away.”
“Where?” she asked, quickly, putting
her hand on his arm.
“Oh, I don’t know exactly,” he said,
uneasily, “but I’m going somewhere
where I can make more money.”
"I’ve a hundred pounds, Ben, that I
haven’t a. particle of use for; take it,
won't you, and—and—stay in the city!
Give tip Bohemia—yes, we’ll both give it
up; but stay in the city, won't you?”
He looked down at her flushed, eager
face, and If is arm stole around her waist,
and he drew her to him gently and kissed
her. “Jean, dear, I must go away,” he
said.
Her head was buried in his chest, but
she lifted it ever so little and peeped
up at him through tearful eyes. "Why
must you go away, Ben?” she whispered.
"Well, I’ve lost my position on the pa
per. I've no prospects ahead, and I want
to get some money before I ask a certain
girl a certain question. So I'm going
away, Jean, dear, to find the money.”
There was a ring of pathos in his voice,
and the girl noted it.
"Couldn’t you.” she whispered—"could
n’t you ask the girl the question before
you went away? Couldn’t you ask her
now?”
‘Tt wouldn't be fair to her,” he said,
quickly; “she might have to wait for
“if I loved a man,” she said, “I’d
wait a lifetime for him.”
“Will you wait for me, dear?” he said,
gently, bending close to her.
He could feel her tremble from head
to foot. “Oh, Ben. Ben!” she sobbed—
and that was her answer.
Jefferson, in His Famous Characterization of “Rip Van Winkle.’'
isn’t right—it
iris, I mean—to
come down to my rooms.”
Jean Travers caught her breath hard.
"Why, Ben, dear, there’s never been the
slightest disrespect shown to any of us
down there. If I’d thought for one min
ute ttiat you’d think any less of me for
having come down there-—She stop
ped suddenly anj covered her face with
her hands.
“There, there, Jean!” said Brooke
gently, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feel
ings. I know you’re a good woman, but
tlie other evening at my sister's 1 de
scribed one of our Bohemian evenings,
and my sister said some tilings that set
me thinking. And I couldn’t bear to
have her or anyone think lightly of you.’’
The girl raised her head quickly. "You
didn’t mention my name to Tier, Ben?
You didn’t tell her I was at your rooms?”
“There!” cried Brooke, in an instant;
“by that speech of yours you see tho j
truth of what T am telling you- -you've j
nc right to come there.”
The girl was silent, thinking. Then
ers,’ he said, and he went down to tlie j that day. And then
dc-or to let her in. I i sn t right for you for
"I think Brookes like Jean rather well,’’
said Alec Drummond.
"And why shouldn’t he?” asked Kate.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” answered
Drummond musingly.
“Shouldn’t he like her just because
you do, Alec?” asked Etta pointedly.
“I take that as a compliment, Etta.
The fact that I should like tint which
Ben Brooke does shows me to be a man
of taste and judgment.”
And Just then Jean Travers entered.
"I came on my bicycle, people, because
that was the quickest way of getting
through tho park. Is my costume too
abbreviated?”
"I hope your visit, dear, will be longer
than your skirt,” said Benny Brooke,
hewing.
Jean Travers turned towards him, a
flush on her face, her eyes sparkling.
"You have such a pretty way, Ben, of
saying nasty, things that I think of the
prettiness and forget the nastiness.
“Which shows what a born philosopher
you are, Jean.” said Monteith.
“Not born so, Monty—I’ve acquired it
since I went on the stage, and its been
a mighty expensive acquisition. I m as
hungry as a bear; what nave you got to
eat?”
“Decoy r me, my dear,” said Fales,
falling on his knees in front of her. I ni
a true apostle of sweetness and light,
and I know you have a sweet tooth.
Eat me up in little pieces, but begin by
tasting my lips.”
••Get up, Jack,” said Jean; 5on d
prove too indigestible a morsel ioi m3
delicate palate. For, if repoi t do not
belie you, you're rather tough.”
"He’d be tender enough if you’d gB' e
him a chance," laughed Drummond.
Wouldn't he, Etta?”
“Alter I get finished roasting him he
v,lll,” she said, significantly.
All of a sudden Fales looked out of
the window. “It is the morn herself,”
he said. "By Jove, it’s 10 minutes of 4.”
"Shades of our ancestors, girls, let’s
gel the dishes washed!” said Jean Tr.iv-
eis. And in a jiffy plates were emptied
and the dishes trotted over to tlie bath
room and washed. i hen th03 went
downstairs.
Brooke told Jean Travers he’d take
her home just so soon as he got on his
knickerbockers.
They waited for Brooke at the front
dcor. There the party split, and Brooke
and Jean Travers pedaled along.
“Instead of going home, Jean,” said
Brooke, "what do you say to an early
morning spin In the park? The sun will
be up In half an hour.”
"Agreed,” said Jean.
Within 20 minutes they were in Hyde
park, speeding along like two heralds of
tho dawn. When they’d reached the Ser
pentina Brooke said: “Suppose we dis-
reownt, lean. I want to talk to you.”
ARTISTIC BUTTON DESIGNS.
(From The London Daily Express.)
In the trimming world one of the most
striking novelties is a button of shaded
j chenille and metal. The center of the
j button is of chenille thread running
| round in circles, and shading from dark
1 at the center to light at the outer edge,
j This chenille disc, which is usually con-
! ca\'e, and has a tiny point of gleaming
: metal at its center, is framed in a
! wrought metal circle of shaded gold,
] copper or silver, according to the color
with which the metal is to harmonize.
In greens and in browns these buttons
; are particularly good.
| Delightful shadings and designs in en-
! amel. metal and in outwork metal tinted
1 to dull yet delicate metallic colorings are
: greatly liked, and It is possible to find In
[ these buttons almost anj- coloy comblna-
| tion desired. Ivory and imitation jewels
set in metal open work are among the
button novelties.
The World’s Greatest “Bob Acres," Was That Portrayed by Jefferson.