University of Virginia Library

SQUIBOB AT THE PLAY.

ANOTHER SQUIBOB IN THE FIELD.

The sympathies of the community have been strongly excited
within the last few days in favor of an unfortunate
gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion, on whom the officers
of the Golden Gate perpetrated a most inhuman atrocity,
during her late trip from Panama. I gather from information
of indignant passengers, and by contemplation of an
affecting appeal to the public, posted in the form of a hand-bill
at the corners of the streets, that this gentleman was
forced, by threats and entreaties, to do violence to his feelings
and constitution, by eating his way through a barrel (not
a half barrel, as has been stated by interested individuals,
anxious to palliate the atrocious deed) of clear pork! The
hand-bill alluded to is headed by a graphic and well-exe-cuted
sketch by Solomon Ben David, a distinguished artist
of this city, and represents the unhappy sufferer as he

emerged from the barrel after his oleaginous repast, in the
act of asking, very naturally, for a drink of water. The
offence alleged, I find from a hasty perusal of the resolutions
contained in the hand-bill, was simply that this gentleman,
whose name appears to have been Oliver, was heard
inquiring for Colonel Moore, our well known and respected
Ex-Postmaster. My friend Saul Isaacs, who keeps the “anything
on this table for a quarter” stand, tells me that on
“doffing his cask,” the miserable Oliver was found completely
bunged up, and that he is now engaged in composing
a pathetic ode, describing his sufferings, to be called
“The Barrel,” with a few staves of which he favored me on
the spot. It was truly touching. But it is needless to ring the
chimes farther on this subject. But one side of the story has
yet been heard, and as the officers promise a full and complete
explanation, it is to be hoped that public opinion may
be suspended for a few months, till they can be heard from.

I attended the American Theatre last evening, and had
the pleasure of seeing several admirable pieces capitally performed,
by the largest and finest assemblage of dramatic
talent ever collected on one stage in San Francisco. The
occasion was the benefit of the Hebrew Benevolent Society,
a very worthy and respectable charity, and the house was
absolutely crammed from pit to dome. The aisles and lobbies
were thronged with gentlemen who were unable to obtain
seats, and who could obtain but hasty and imperfect glimpses
of the stage from their uncomfortable positions. Through
the kindness of the box-keeper I was furnished with a chair,

from which, planted in the middle aisle of the parquette, I
had an admirable view of the audience and the drop-curtain.
The dress circle was crowded with the fair daughters of Zion
and other localities, with silken hair darker than the driven
charcoal, “and bright eyes that flashed on eyes that shone
again.” Above the second circle appeared a dense forest of
black whiskers, and curvilinear proboscis; while from the
gallery, that paradise of miners and minors, rang as from a
dragoon stable the never-ceasing cry of hay! The curtain
rose on San Francisco's Pet—the accomplished Caroline
Chapman—who appeared in one of her favorite pieces, a
pretty little burletta, called the “Actress of All Work,” in
which she sustained, it is needless to say, most admirably, five
distinct characters. She was greeted on her first entrance
with tremendous and long-continued applause, which followed
her throughout the piece, at the conclusion of which she was
called before the curtain, when with one of her sweet smiles
she sufficiently rewarded the audience for their just appreciation
of her talent, and her legion of admirers for the beautiful
bouquets which fell around her. To say that she was
the “bright particular star” of the evening's entertainment,
would perhaps appear invidious; but for pure, fresh, natural
acting, ever-graceful, sparkling, and all-pretty as she appeared,
she certainly could not be excelled, in her peculiar line of
character—and she wasn't. The audience admired thee,
Caroline! and the humble hat of Squibob is at thy disposal
for ever! Miss Chapman was assisted by Mr. Hamilton, a
veteran and most worthy actor, who did himself much credit,
as he always does in any part he undertakes. Then came
Miska Hauser, who with his violin “went up higher, and
came down lower,” and performed variations to that extent you
couldn't distinguish the original tune more bewilderingly, and
made it to squeal, and to bray, and to groan, and to whistle,
and to grunt, and looked fiercer at the audience while he was
doing it, than any concentrated number of musicians ever
collected by that regal lover of harmony, the convivial Cole,
could possibly have effected. He was received with roars of
applause by the audience, who made him do it all over again;
but as I am somewhat like a corn-field, with plenty of ears
but no particular idea of music, I was not perhaps as ecstatically
delighted as I ought to have been. Then Madame la
Comtesse de Landsfeldt appeared in the second act of the
pantomime of Yelva, in which she delighted the audience
with her artistic delineations of the character of an artless
and affectionate dumb girl, and was most enthusiastically
received and applauded. After which a comic song was given
and encored by W. B. Chapman, well known as a comic actor
of great celebrity, who enjoys a reputation in his style of performances
only inferior to Burton and Placide. After this
Mr. and Mrs. Baker acted very admirably, a very singular
piece, neither farce or comedy, but rather suggestive of a
school dialogue, which though not deficient in wit, and abounding
in sparkling repartee, lacks adaptation to the stage, and
would perhaps have seemed tiresome, had it not been for the
talent of the performers. Mr. and Mrs. Baker were received
with a tempest of applause, and on being called before the
curtain at the conclusion of the dialogue, a large bouquet, or
small conservatory of flowers, was thrown upon the stage, as
a tribute of admiration and regard. The performance closed
with the dance of “Le Olle” by the bewitching Lola, which
she performed with inimitable grace and elasticity and very
much to the satisfaction of the audience, if I may judge by
the roars that rent the air as she appeared before the curtain
in response to their call.

Thus finished the entertainment of the evening, with
which I, murmuring a kind ajew, retired to my virtuous bed,
perfectly satisfied, as I presume did the Hebrew Benevolent
Society generally, as their receipts must have been between
three and four thousand dollars, with which I hope they will
do as much good as I should, if I had it. As I walked up
the street on my return home, I noticed a lady who passed
me in happy unconsciousness of a small placard adhering to
what a sailor would call the afterpart of her shawl, on which,
in capital letters, appeared the significant word—TAKEN.
As she walked between two gentlemen, holding an arm of
each, the notice was not altogether inappropriate. She had
evidently sat upon one of the little placards so liberally distributed
every night over the front seats at the American,
and it had adhered to her dress.

Who is the witty individual that has adopted my time-honored
signature in the Evening Journal. Funny beggar!
He certainly, he! he! he! does get off, ha! ha! ha! the
drollest things, ho! ho! ho! that I ever, ever heard. I was
taking my dinner at the Oriental when that capital hit at the

Japan Expedition met my eye, and was borne from the room
by two strong waiters, choking with half a glass of water
imbibed the wrong way, kicking violently in the air with convulsions
of laughter and delight, and exclaiming, oh! d—n
it; thus losing my repast, and forfeiting for ever the esteem of
a grave and elderly gentleman with green spectacles, who sits
opposite me, and has made strenuous efforts for my conversion,
with great hope of ultimate success. Adopt another
name, funny man, and do not continue to enhance thus undeservedly,
the literary reputation of
SQUIBOB.