Life, 1890-10-16 · page 12 of 18
Life — October 16, 1890 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This is a satirical dialogue between the ghost of Paul Jones (the Revolutionary War naval hero) and St. Peter at heaven's gate. Jones describes visiting Earth and attending a Broadway Theatre performance by actress Agnes Huntington, who was apparently performing in a play about or impersonating Paul Jones. The joke's point: Jones was charmed by Huntington's singing talent and beauty—nearly overstaying his heavenly leave—but was annoyed by the British actors surrounding her on stage, whom he mocks for their affected speech and "chestnutty" (hackneyed, repetitive) dialogue. The satire targets both the theatrical production (apparently featuring British performers) and perhaps anti-British sentiment more broadly. The humor relies on the incongruity of a famous American naval figure's ghost critiquing a stage performance, and his complaint that even a talented American singer cannot overcome being surrounded by tedious British company.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
> LIFE: A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. PAUL JONES’S LEAVE OF ABSENCE. “ OME on board, sir,” said the shade of Paul Jones, as it touched its cha- peau to St. Peter.at the gate. “Where have you been?” asked Peter. “IT had shore leave, sir, and spent the evening on earth,” replied the shade. “ What did you do?” asked the gate-keeper, who seemed to be in conversational mood. HERE'S a girl down there at the Broadway Theatre named Agnes Huntington, who's trying to pass herself off for me,""—here the grizzled old shade chuckled audibly—‘and 1 - thought, sir, I'd go and scare her a bit, But | hadn't the heart to do it, sir. She's so pretty and so graceful that I came nigh to over-staying my leave. And talk about singing! Why, shiver my timbers, but the angel voices ——" A cough from the gate-keeper warned the shade that its language was growing a little too forcible for the celestial circles, “Well, any way," resumed the shade, “she's a singer from Singersville, Sing Sing County, and don’t you forget it. I've heard all the singers in our choir, and she beats them all, I heard her do a cadenza that made me feel almost as though I had real blood in my ghostly veins. One thing bothered me, though; you see, the clothes they all wore were pretty, and everything about the place was nice, but this clever woman was surrounded by a lot of Britishers who talked heavy, foolish, chestnutty talk, which would just please comicbooks.com