University of Virginia Library

EAST SIDE THEATRICALS.

The Broadway houses have given the public immense
quantities of Central Park, Seven Sisters,
Nancy Sykes and J. Cade. I suppose the Broadway
houses have done this chiefly because it has
paid them, and so I mean no disrespect when I
state that to me the thing became rather stale. I
sighed for novelty. A man may stand stewed veal
for several years, but banquets consisting exclusively
of stewed veal would become uninteresting after a
century or so. A man would want something else.
The least particular man, it seems to me, would desire
to have his veal “biled,” by way of a change.
So I, tired of the thread-bare pieces at the Broadway
houses, went to the East Side for something
fresh. I wanted to see some libertines and brigands.
I wanted to see some cheerful persons identified

with the blacksmith and sewing-machine interests
triumph over those libertines and brigands, in
the most signal manner. I wanted, in short, to see
the Downfall of Vice and Triumph of Virtue.
That was what ailed me. And so I went to the East
Side.

Poor Jack Scott is gone, and Jo. Kirby dies no
more on the East Side. They've got the blood and
things over there, but alas! they're deficient in
lungs. The tragedians in the Bowery and Chatham
street of to-day dont start the shingles on the roof
as their predecessors, now cold and stiff in death,
used to when they threw themselves upon their
knees at the footlights and roared a redhot curse after
the lord who had carried Susan away, swearing
to never more eat nor drink until the lord's vile
heart was torn from his body, and ther-rown to the
dorgs — rattling their knives against the tin lamps
and glaring upon the third tier most fearfully the
while.

Glancing at the spot where it is said Senator
Benjamin used to vend second-hand clothes, and regretting

that he had not continued in that comparasively
honorable vocation instead of sinking to his
present position; — wondering if Jo. Kirby would
ever consent, if he were alive, to die wrapped up in
a Secession flag! — gazing admiringly upon the unostentatious
sign-board which is suspended in front
of the Hon. Izzy Lazarus's tavern; — glancing,
wondering and gazing thus, I enter the Old Chatham
theatre. The pit is full, but people fight shy
of the boxes.

The play is about a servant-girl, who comes to
the metropolis from the agricultural districts, in
short skirts, speckled hose, and a dashing little
white hat, gaily decked with pretty pink ribbons —
that being the style of dress invariably worn by servant-girls
from the interior. She is accompanied by
a chaste young man in a short-tailed red coat, who,
being very desirous of protecting her from the temptations
of a large city, naturally leaves her in the
street and goes off somewhere. Servant-girl encounters
an elderly female, who seems to be a very
nice sort of person indeed, but the young man in a

short-tailed coat comes in and thrusts the elderly female
aside, calling her “a vile hag.” This pleases
the pit, which is ever true to virtue, and it accordingly
cries “Hi! hi! hi!”

A robber appears. The idea of a robber in times
like these, is rather absurd. The most adroit robber
would eke out a miserable subsistence if he attempted
to follow his profession now-a-days. I should
prefer to publish a daily paper in Chelsea. Nevertheless,
here is a robber. He has been playing poker
with his “dupe,” but singularly enough the dupe
has won all the money. This displeases the robber,
and it occurs to him that he will kill the dupe. He
accordingly sticks him. The dupe staggers, falls,
says “Dearest Eliza!” and dies. Cries of hi! hi!
hi!” in the pit, while a gentleman with a weed on
his hat, in the boxes, states that the price of green
smelts is five cents a quart. This announcement is
not favorably received by the pit, several members
of which come back at the weeded individual with
some advice in regard to liquidating a long-standing
account for beans and other refreshments at an adjacent
restaurant.

The robber is seized with remorse, and says the
money which he has taken from the dupe's pockets,
“scorches” him. Robber seeks refuge in a miser's
drawing-room, where he stays for “seven days.”
There is a long chest, full of money and diamonds
in the room. The chest is unlocked, but misers
very frequently go off and leave long chests full of
money unlocked in their drawing rooms, for seven
days; and this robber was too much of a gentleman
to take advantage of this particular miser's absence.
By-and-by the miser returns, when the robber
quietly kills him and chucks him in the chest.
“Sleep with your gold, old man!” says the bold
robber, as he melodramatically retreats—retreats to
a cellar, where the servant girl resides. Finds that
she was formerly his gal, when he resided in the rural
districts, and regrets having killed so many persons,
for if so be he hadn't he might marry her and
settle down, whereas now he can't do it, as he says
he is “unhappy.” But he gives her a ring—a
ring he had stolen from the dupe—and flies. Presently
the dupe, who has come to life in a singular

but eminently theatrical manner, is brought into the
cellar. He discovers the ring upon the servant
girl's finger — servant girl states that she is innocent,
and the dupe, with the remark that he sees his
mother, dies, this time positively without reserve.
Servant girl is taken to Newgate, whither goes the
robber and gains admission by informing the turnkey
that he is her uncle. Throws off his disguise,
and like a robber bold and gay, says he is the guilty
party and will save the servant girl. He drinks a
vial of poison, says he sees his mother, and dies to
slow fiddling. Servant girl throws herself upon
him wildly, and the virtuous young party in a short-tailed
coat comes in and assists in the tableau. Robber
tells the servant girl to take the party in the
short-tailed coat and be happy — repeats that he
sees his mother (they always do). and dies again.
Cries of “Hi! hi! hi!” and the weeded gentleman
reiterates the price of green smelts.

Not a remarkably heavy plot, but quite as bulky
as the plots of the Broadway sensation pieces.