The phonoscope (Nov 1896-Dec 1899)

Vol. II. No. 7 THE PHONOSCOPE tl One of the chief joys of a former Township Committee was an ordinance it passed about the licensing of shows and concerts. Weeks were spent in its preparation and it was finally passed in what was believed to be such a perfect form that a trick dog could not work without a license. Then somebody discovered that the ordinance would also make it necessary for church choirs and preachers to have a license, and the law was changed. It is this law which Colonel Price has now discovered applies to talk. Not the plain, hotweather talk of West Orange citizens, but the jokes and gags with which Dan Quinn, Len Spencer, Billy Golden and others have been filling phonograph and graphophone cylinders for years. .Song and music also come under the ban of the all-pervading ordinance when dished up in wax cylinders, and all must pay a duty. So Colonel Price told the Township Committee and there was instant confusion among the keepers of saloons and ice cream parlors. The ordinance, says the Colonel, provides for a license for each phonograph or graphophone run on the "drop-a-nickel-or-cent" plan. The phonograph world has become well acquainted with Miss Estella L. Mann, who sings so successfully for the Lyric Phonograph Co. Not only the fine quality of her voice, which charmed large audiences nightly when she was soloist with the great Sousa, but also her complete mastery of the art of record-making, have served to give her a merited pre-eminence and make her a leader among female record-makers. It is an acknowledged fact that she has no equal in her line. She is not only prominent in America, but her voice is heard with as great pleasure by lovers of good singing away off in Europe and Australia, where thousands of her records have gone. Wonderful thing to think of, this record-making ! Miss Mann sings to* her irresponsive laboratory audience, the horns, and then, away go her songs, securely packed, on fast trains and steamers, to meet with their just appreciation, in remote foreign countries and all over this glorious republic of our own. What a benefit the phonograph has been in the way of entertaining and what a large share of this pleasant form of home entertainment, is due to this sweet voiced singer. Her voice has been welltrained and thoroughly cultivated and her knowledge of music is complete ; extending from the great masters, Schubert, Gunod, Luzzi and the others down to the lesser lights of musical composition, who write the nowaday popular songs. She sings them all with equal charm and grace. Miss Mann is a brilliant entertaining lady and seems not to know, or at least, not to appreciate her own sterling worth to the lovers of good singing. Our {Tattler Complaint was made at Police Headquarters that a certain Raines law hotel of New York Citv, harbored a nickel-in-the-slot gambling machine. That afternoon an elderly stranger, who gazed curiously about, as if he were fascinated by the strange sights of the city, wandered into the saloon. Upon his heels came a younger man, who bought cigars and treated the elderly stranger. The machine was in full operation. They stood and watched it swindle the customers a while. The younger man tried his hand, and as he did the barkeeper whispered to the saloon man that he was a detective. So he was. He was Michael Galvin of Inspector Thompson's staff. He heard the whisper and went out. The elderly chap heard it, too, and looked up from his newspaper. "What's the matter?" he asked, when he saw the saloon folks with their heads together. "Oh, nothing," answered the bartender; "only one of those detectives of Inspector Thompson's nosing around; that's all." The elderly customer took off his spectacles and rubbed his nose in vexation. "Great Scott !" he said, "you don't think they will run me in, do you ? I am a respectable man, and I don't want no trouble. Do you, now?" "Why, no," said the saloon-keeper, "we'll fool them ; you see if we don't. Now watch me do it." And while his respectable customer worked the machine industriously "just to see how it ran," he and the barkeeper fixed a place up for it in the back room. They took it in there and covered it up with feed bags. "Now, let them come," they said, "and see if they can find it." They came with a patrol wagon in about five minutes, and, "strangely, went straight to the back room after eyeing the elderly customer, to his evident discomfort. They found the machine and took it out, while the elderly customer dropped his newspaper and his glasses and looked on, openmouthed. "I thought you said they couldn't find it,'' he said reproachfully to the barkeeper as the door closed after them. The barkeeper looked after them ruefully. "I'm blamed if I see how they did it," he said. "Well, I am off," said the elderly cuetomer : "those fellows know too much. I am afraid to stay in your place. Good day !" and he went out. The elderly customer was Inspector Thompson. He got a summons in the West Side Court for the saloon keeper on the charge that they kept a gambling outfit in their place. Having perpetuated the bogus "Ravings of John McCullough," the inaugural of President McKinley and William Jennings Bryan's views on the silver question, the phonograph people thought it would be a great scheme to have Dorothy Usner talk into the machine. Miss Usner, whose powers of speech border upo,n the phenomenal, cheerfully acquiesced. She is a young lady of quick wit, as well as loquacity, and she began an imaginary conversation between Hazel Guyless, a tough Western soubrette, and a firm of vaudeville agents. It was something as follows : "Good morning. Is these the agents for dramatics? Well, I want to see the manager." "Hurry up, then ; we're busy." "Well, I want a job. You see, I've had a bad history. I lived in an humble village, but one day a handsome traveling man came along, and I eloped with him. But the son of a gun soon deserted me, and I've been doing chamber work at the Mills Hotel till I saw the right kind of employment." "Here, talk to the office boy. He'll attend to you." "I don't talk to no office boy. I want the real thing, and I can see you're it. You look like ready money." "We could use a good-shaped girl for the May Howard show. Go into the next room and put on a pair of tights. How are your legs?" "kegs!!! Why, you're no gent. I ain't bowlegged or knockneed, but I don't put on no tights for no gent. See ?" "For God's sake get out. This is no intelligence office." "Oh, come now. I really need a job. Say, are . you married? No? I thought not. Neither be I, and you and me ought to be real good friends. My brother drives an ice wagon, and I'm naturally a cold proposition myself, but they say the road is real conducive to causing warm friendships. Who's that blonde just come in? I'll bet she's your sweetheart. I never could bear a bleached blonde. What? Real color? I've heard that before, ha ! ha ! ha !" "For heaven's sake come into the next room and sign and get out." "You bet your sweet life I don't go in no inside room. I want you to know I'm a perfect lady, and nobody can't say a word against me. My family has a very high socialistic position, and I don't go into no next room; I'm not that kind of a hairpin." "Well, I'll be damn" "Yes, I guess you will, but I don't go into no room with no bum agent, and I " Just here there was a terrific whirring, rasping sound. The receiving cylinder had broken into a thousand fragments, under the unusual strain, and Miss Usner will not be immortalized by the phonograph. And the "World" Told About It Next Day Words by Jack Simonds Music by Chas. Kohlmau Arranged by Billie Maun A certain gallant Austrian once fought for Cuba's sake, And the World told about it next da)-. He fought so hard on Cuban's soil all records he did break, And the IVorld told about it next day. For Spanish knives and cannon balls he did'nt care a rap, Until he got an awful soak this most unlucky chap, Then came a special bulletin the Journal laid the trap, And the World fell into it next day. Chorus O ! the World ! the naughty, naughty Woi Id. They stole the news; for them a sorry day, They fell into a trap Just like a great big country yap, And now the Journal's laughing Whoop ! Hooray In the bulletin, this Austrian's name was "Reflipe W. Thenuz." Copyrighted by the World next day. It was the only paper that had caught this bit of "news " (?) Told about it in big type next da)-. They told about his deeds upon the battle-field, And how at last his young life this brave "Colonel" he did yield. Their "special" caught his dying breath as by his side he kneeled, And the World told about it next day. Oh there's a moral so this song, that I will now explain. Let the World tell about it next day. If e'er you're tempted to do wrong, from it you must refrain. There's a hint Mr., World to-day.. Let all your fleet of phantom boats and all their ghostly crews, In hunting up their "specials," some honest method choose So that in future, none can say, that you "Pilfer the News," As the Journal says most every day.