Life — November 15, 1888 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DELICATE SCALES, Guide: Now, Lavies AND GENTLEMEN, YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE IT, BUT IT’S TRUE, THAT THESE WEIGHTS ARE SO DELICATE THEY MARK THE DIF- FERENCE BETWEEN A BLONDE AND A BRUNETTE HAIR, Tourist (opening memorandum book): AND WHICH WEIGHS THE LESS? Guide: THE LIGHTER ONE, of people who at intervals are seized with a passionate and recurrent longing for negro minstrelsy. They acquired the habit in their youth, and must peri- odically gratify their desire. Next comes the strangers within our gates, who must see all the Metropolitan sights, and take back to their native fastnesses all the most recent fads, including the latest minstrel gags. Finally come our own society people, who, when the sports of the gladiatorial arena and other fashion- able amusements pall upon their jaded fancies say: ‘Come on; let's go to the minstrels!" “If T should ask you, Mr. Dockstader, why you do not have large audiences each evening instead of fair-sized ones, and you should reply you did not know, 1 would say that it was because yours is not a first-class show. Your end-men, with the exception of Mr. Swetman, perhaps, are far from being the best of their kind. Your specialty acts are entirely lacking in novelty. The singing is not good, judged even by the minstrel standard. Your own part is very funny, but you alone, no more than Mr. Edwin Booth, can carry an entire performance. There is room for a first-class negro minstrel show in New York, Mr. Dockstader, You can occupy it if you like, Mr. Dockstader, but you must hustle more than you are doing at present.” . . * HIS will be a sincere Thanksgiving for theatre folk, They will give hearty thanks that the election excitement is over, and that the quadrennial dul- ness in their business is at an end. Metcalfe. 279 THE WALLS HAD EARS, Dis (as his fiancée enters): Ma belle, your ormolu is two hours slow. Etste: S-s-s-sh! I know it, mon caramel; but pa don’t, and he'll think it’s only one o'clock when you go home. Pa (on back parlor sofa): Will, eh? I'll see that a messenger-boy calls for that scamp at half-past ten. THE CIGARETTE HAS ITS GOOD POINTS. comicbooks.com