Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-09-28
SCHELLING ON THE STAGE.
DIXEY MAKES A HIT GARCIA
TURING THE COACHMAN.

in Reality-Some Specimens of the
Male Bird of the Same Species.
OSrrespondepce oftAe Morning Heass.
NEW YORK, Sept. 26.-Hsrry Dixey,
the comedian, who is making so big a
hit in "Adonis'' at the Bijou Theatre, has
just had funny experience. Harry
came out as the front legs of the heifer in
"EVangeline'' decade or so ago, and i'm
mediately proved that there was some
talent in his pedal extremities. Then he
did "Bunthorne" for Rice, and also made
a success of it, his Interpretation being
the most original on the road. Now
Dixey has become a prime favorite be-
fore the metropolitan footlights. He
made a daring break the other night at
the Bijou, by treading on the crust of
social crater, which, had it broken,
would have plunged him head over heels
into the pitiless volcano Of unpopularity.
Three or four days ago he received a let
ter containing a photograph of Schelling,
the cOachman, whose name has of late
been on the tip of everybody's tongue.
The writer, who failed to sign a name,
but who, from the femininity of the
chirography, is believed to be a
woman, sent with the picture an offer
''AdOnis, }" would personate Schelling. The
more DiXey thought the matter over and
looked at the photograph the more he be-
came impressed that the idea was good
one. The $500 part of the question he
gave no thought to whatever, regarding it
as meaningless absurdity. He hurried
down to one of the wig-makers, and in
half an hour had pair of whiskers,
close web coachman's wig, put together,
| and a little later took them up to his
dressing room at the BijOu. During the
second act DiXey suddenly made his APP
pearance dressed as the coachman Schell-
ing. Immediately he was received with
a roar of applause, which lasted several
minutes, during which DiXey stood on the
stage speeches.. He was himself sur
| prised at the ovation. Three or four bou-
| quets were handed up to him, and he took
| them smiling and somewhat disconnected.
1t was an utter surprise to him that the
| whole audience appeared to recognize the
! caricature of the servant of the MOrOsini
| family. Every word he said, and he made
several illusions to the recent family
| trouble, all of them discreet and in good
| taste, provoked r0arS of laughter, and,
| best Of all, the house was crowded with
| tickets at 81 80 a piece. The Schelling
! episode in the play only lasted few MN
utes, but the audience remained in good
! humOr until the end of the play. Next
morning, When Mr.. DiXey called for his
mail at the Bijou Theatre, he found a
! letter written in delicate female hand,
on tinted paper, asking where the $500
should be sent which were promised the
| day before. Mr.. DiXey has since been
| playing in the makeup of a coachman,
and it has been going successfully, but
not with the eXuberance which marked it
on the first night he did it. He has not
been able to send an indignant refusal of
the offer of the $500, because he does not
| know where it comes from. But under no
circumstances would he accept such a
| bride. He has not since heard from the
mysterious stranger, nor has the $500 been
sent. IT it comes, Mr.. DiXey says,
he will turn it over to the actors fund.
| The affair has intrigued and interested
the people about the BijOu Opera House,
and they wonder as to who can be so
deeply interested in having the fortunate
coachman held up to ridicule. Some Of
the actors about the square, and they are
not the only ones who share the belief, say
that old MorOsini himself concOcted the
scheme with the idea that the reception
which the public accorded the satire on
| her husband might be instrumental in
disgusting his daughter with the original.
| However, none Of the actors have been
able to solve the mystery, and the public
also dreams on in blissful ignorance of
for Dixey so many plaudits.
Most of the stories aflOat, apropOs Of
| Victoria's appearance on the stage,
are so full of absurdities as to be almost
unworthy of consideration. Stories which
credit her with offers of $500 or $1,000 a
night are manifestly false. No manager
in the metropolis could get his money
back on so foolish an investment. People
| would not pay any more to see her than
they would any other nine days wonder.
1t is doubtful, to put it in the most char
liable manner possible, whether she could
| be made a successful magnet to draw So
ciety people at a reasonable figure of adj
mission.
THE REAL SOCIETY GIRL.
MorOsini tried to develop his daughter
into real society queen of the most typi-
| cal sort, but evidently was not success
| full, else so ScaHdalOus a marriage never
would have resulted. The true society
girl is never the heroine of a scandal
Whether in London, Newport, or New
York, she is always as carefully guarded
as princess. She never goes out with
out chaperon, and her mothers eve is
ever upon her. The visitor to New York
and the average citizen who works for
| living seldom or never sees the real So
ciety girl unless he catches a glimpse of
her in her box at the opera or sees her roll
by in her carriage. Anyone more
thoroughly guarded than the girl in ques-
ton it would be difficult to imagine. To
begin with, the season has been so much
shortened of late that she is only in New
York few months in the year. six
years ago social festivities began
thought of leaving town before
July. Nowadays fashionable people
never come home before November, and
the season is not fairly started before De-
! cember. 1t lasts for about five months,
and officially closes with the Coaching
! Clubs parade in May. The society girl
| then leaves for England, and catches the
London season at its height. About the
middle of August she returns for the
| season at Newport, and remains till quite
late in September. She then JOURNEYS to
| her fathers country residence to 'build
| up" in preparation for the winters sea-
| son in New York. She is called a debu-
| tante in her first season, society girl in
| her second, and is pronounced passe in
| her third. Her life is constant series of
entertainments. She rises late in the
| morning, has a cup of coffee in bed and
| goes to a 2 O'Clock breakfast or luncheon
| in her mothers brougham, returning in
time to make an elaborate toilet for din
ner and be driven through the park at 6,
whence she is brought back to dress for
dinner and the subsequent opera, recep-
ton or ball, or perhaps all three.
At an early hour in the morning she steps
out of the carriage wrapped to the chin
in furs and falls YEARLY into the arms of
her waiting maid. Her manner is very
"English." 1t is fashionable Just now to
be brisk, wide-awake and jolly. The girl
of the period is very bright, trifle horsey,
and uncOmmonly attractive. Eventually
she marries in her own set, becomes one
Oi the ''married women beauties" rides
to hounds, goes yachting with her hus-
band, and brings up family of well-bred
boys ond girls.
There is another girl who may be found
in goOdly numbers in New York as in
other towns in America. She is the lady
whom we occasionally meet in fiction and
rarely in busy life. Her charming man.
ners, gentle accomplishments, and low
able disposition make her popularity en-
during. She it is whom old ladies in
stinctively call 'My Dear" whom chill
dren love, and who catches the best hus-
band that the market affords. She is fond
of outdoor sports, has a rudy color,
bright eye and hearty laugh. She car
ries herself well, does not affect the Eng
lish, and is, withal, the purest and best
specimen New York has to offer of that
much discussed being, the American girl.
THEMALE BIRDS OF SOCIETY.