Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1886-12-15
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BILL NYE AT THE PLAY.

think. The play of Hamlet" is not
catchy, and there is noticeable lack of
local gags in it. There is considerable dis
cussiOn among critics as to whether Ham,
let WAS really insane or not, but l think
that he assumed it in order TO throw the
prosecution off the track, for he was a
very smart man, and when his uncle tried
to work off some of his Danish prevari-
cations on him fully expected him to
pull card out Of his pocket and present
it to his royal tallness, on which might be
seen the legend,
II AM SOMETHING OF A LIAR MYSELF:
But I am glad he did not, for it would
have seemed out Of character in play
like that.
Mr.. Booth wore dark waterproof cloak
all the evening, and sword with which
he frequently killed people: He was dress.
ed in black throughout, with hair of the
in Hamlet" that he did twenty years
ago though he uses less of it. He wears
black knickerbockeIs and long, black,
clockless stockings.
Mr.. Booth is doing we'll in the acting
business, frequently getting as high as 81
apiece for tickets to his performances. He
was encored by the audience several times
last night, but refrained from repeating
the play, fearing that it would make it
late for those who had to 60 back to Bella
donna, o., after the close of the entertain
ment.
Toward the end of the play little rough
on rats gets into the elderberry wine and
the royal family drink it, after which
there is considerable excitement, and a
man with a good, reliable stomach pump,
would have all he could do. Several of
the royal family curl up and perish.
They do not die in the house.
During an interview between Hamlet
and his mother an old gentleman who has
the honor to be Ophelia's father hides
behind a picket fence, so as to overhear
the conversation. He gets excited and
says something in low, cultural tone of
voice, whereupon Hamlet runs his sword
through the picket fence in such way
as to bore large hole into the old man,
who then dies.
have heard great many people speak
the piece beginning:
TO be or not to be,
but Mr.. Booth does it better than any one
I have ever heard. I once heard an elo-
cutiOnist-kind of smart Alickutionist,
as my friend the HOOsier Poet would say.
This man recited "TO be or not to be-"
in manner which, he said, had frequent
Iy brought tears to eyes unused to weep.
FIe recited it with his right hand socked
into his bosom up to the elbow and his
fair hair tossed about over his brow. His
teeming brain, which claimed to be kind
of a four-hOrse teaming brain as it were,
seemed to be on fire, and to all appear
ances he was indeed mad. So were the
people who listened to him. He hissed
it through his clinched teeth and snorted
it through his ripe, red nose, walled it
up into the ceiling, and bleated it down
the aises, rolled it over against the rafters
of his reverberating mouth, handed it out
in big capsules, or hissed it through his
puckered atomizer of a mouth, walled and
beloved like a wild and maddened tail
less steer in fly time, darted across the
stage like a headless hen, ripped the gen.
tie atmosphere into shreds with his guinea
hen voluntary, and bowed to US and teet-
cred off the stage.
Mr. Booth does not hoist his shoulders
and settle back on his "pastern jints" like
a man who is about to set refractory
brake on coal car, neither does he i'm
merse his right arm in his bosom up to
the second joint. He seems to have the
idea that Hamlet spoke these lines mostly
because he felt like saying something, in
stead of doing it to introduces a setof health
lift gestures and hoarse, baritone snort.
A head of dank hair, a low, mellow,
union depot tone of voice, and a dark
blue, three-sheet poster will not make a
successful Hamlet, and blessed be the man
who knows this without experimenting
on the people till he has bunions on his
immortal soul.