The sun., 1902-03-06
The Last OF a Great Race

BILLY WEST, BILLY EMERSON, BILLY
RIoE-the stars fall fast. Yet these
artists had all but survived their art,
for negro minstrelsy seems doomed, nor
oan even the witty Mr. DoCKsTADER
give it long roprieve. The public
taste changed; the minstrels relied too
much on their old laurels and wore out
their welcome. We know the weak
ness of the praisers Of past time, and we
will not say that the theatre at present
seems to be intended mainly for the
benefit or detriment OF girls too young
TO appreciate il or as means of passing
an evening to well-dressed, well-fed,
mostly unimaginative folks TO whom
1t represents few hours rest, the in
terval between dinner and a supper at
one Of the lobster palaces Of which New
York will soon principally consist.
1t seems, though, as though tastes
and times were simpler once. Perhaps
people laughed more easily. The gen.
Grafton that felt tho death Of DICKENS
as a personal loss had the gift of hearty
laughter. During the Civil War and
after, there was q natural reaction
toward sayety. The great gods OF
ennui, the IBsENs and the ToLsTo1s,
were not droning as yet. People were
willing to enjoy themselves in their
own way; and manager couldn't
boost a stick into a star, and play
wright was not a cheap pathologist.
BURTON had not long been dead WAL
LACK was still in his prime. The name
| Of JOHN BRoUGHAM will recall to many
not yet decrepit something Of the gayety
Of temper, the high spirits of those not
altogether remote days. Mr.. JOSEPH
JEFFERSON is the one eminent survivor
| Of the eminent actors on whom the pa
| irons Of negro minstrelsy in its best
estate we're brought up. Why, the boys
who waited with beating hearts for the
curtain to rise, who wouldn't have
missed sound Of the orchestra, who
yelled 80 ferociously at the appearance
Of a supe,' had heard EDDIE BooTH
offer his kingdom for horse, especially
OF Saturday night and felt their hair
stand up as NED FORREST cursed
GoNERIL and REoAN with all the wind
| OI tUOSt tIcinCbiOuo
Negro minstresly was no foolish whim.
! II was a legitimate art in its good time,
and Mr.. DocKsTADER and Mr.. PRIM-
ROSE have not forgotten the traditions.
A long beadroll Of names and COM
panies comes to the mind. The rattle
| of the bones tickles the ear agreeably.
The eye of memory sees those prepos-
terously black faces, impossible red
lips, abysmal mouths. world-shadow-
ing feet. Where did those monumental
shoes come from? The banjo has fallen
into the hands of the girls-lucky banjol
and they play it as if they were petting
a canary bird or toying with a caramel.
The old minstrels used to whack it,
thump it, take it by violence. They
were robustious with it, and yet they
dragged sweet tones out OF IL. The
dialogues between the interlocutor and
Mr.. BONES we're meatier if less artistic
than PLATo's. The songs, comic or
sentimental, we're given with an ire
sistible heartiness, often with a clever
art. We can see BILLY EMERSON as
Policeman MoRIARITY threatening the
truckman: "Ill have you of that dray
for ogling the ladies'
The girls all cry.
As 90 by;
Are you there, Mo-M-ARiJrEBr"
Good Old BILLY He used to make
everybody feel just as happy as a big
sunflower. He sang that, and Love
Among the Roses" and Moriarity :"
around the world. And he was only one
OF jovial crew, high livers, honest
and thirsty souls, most of them. Like
every honest good fellow, they spent
their money free. Rich again and again.
and paupers at the end.
BILLY RICE with his stump speechl
How many ludicrous monologues, tenn
perance lectures and what-not, pune
tuated by the thumps from an impos-
sible cotton umbrella, have the minstrels
givenl The MORRIS brothers; NELsE
SEYMOUR, one of the mightiest minstrels
Of all; Mr.. BIRCH, Mr.. BACKUs, Mr..
BERNARD, Mr.. WAMBoLD all fresh in
properly regulated and grateful men,
ories; LUKE SCHooLCRAFT, the Water
million Man, and HARRY BLooDooop-
cldudite jam ripos: turn of the REM
iniscencesl
They say NEIL BRYANT is lying stricken
over in Brooklyn at a hospital, and they
say he is more than seventy. LORD,
LORD, what foolish thing Time is! 1t
must be nearly twenty years since NEIL
BRYANT stripped off the cork and he is
forgotten already. He was in the
twenties when he and his brothers
} opened theatre on Broadway, some
where in the four hundreds, three or
four years before the war. BRYANTs
Minstrels had their home in Fourteenth
street afterward, say, from 1867 or
thereabouts, and moved to West Twenty
third street in 1870. perhaps, but we are
not swearing TO any statistics. Bryant S
Minstrels were as well known as the
Custom House, and they have chased
the blues away from thousands. GEORGE
Fox, too soon to become the melan-
choly figure which used to be led about
the streets Of Cambridge in the early
seven,ie',was at the Olympia. Mr.. BIRCH
and his facetious halo were at fve hum