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Updated: June 19, 2025
For a sonnet on Stevenson he managed to wring two dollars out of a Boston editor who was running a magazine with a Matthew Arnold taste and a penny- dreadful purse. "The Peri and the Pearl," a clever skit of a poem of two hundred lines, just finished, white hot from his brain, won the heart of the editor of a San Francisco magazine published in the interest of a great railroad.
He ordered in an unusually large basket of eggs from the farm and managed to find a complicated arrangement of rope and pulleys, the manipulation of which for an hour or more daily was warranted to add to or detract from the stature of man or woman, according to the desire of the dissatisfied individual. His note with the instrument was a scintillating skit and was answered in kind.
The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal could be made of such a part, given to the right actress, but now, since it had been doled out to Carrie, he would as leave have had it cut out. "Don't kick, old man," remarked the manager. "If it don't go the first week we will cut it out." Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention.
And I was, too. But I didn't know it would be like this. I'm going crazy. The men in the company are good kids, but I can't go trailing around after them all day. Besides, it wouldn't be right. They're all married, except Billy, who plays the kid, and he's busy writing a vawdeville skit that he thinks the New York managers are going to fight for when he gets back home.
When I got back to college, I found a group of men in the quad reading the skit in The New Oxonian. Suddenly Radowitz came in upon us. I confess I lost my head. Oh, yes, I could have stopped it easily. On the contrary, I led it. But I must ask you because I have so much at stake! was I alone to blame? Was there not some excuse? had you no part in it?"
Then he strutted around us in a "silly walk" which I recognized from a Monty Python skit. "Cheeriao." "Cheeriao," we echoed, waddling down the driveway, imitating his imitation.
"But I've never changed a single doctrine: I've stuck like a plaster to the old faith I was born in. Yes; there's this to be said for the Church, a man can belong to the Church and bide in his cheerful old inn, and never trouble or worry his mind about doctrines at all. But to be a meetinger, you must go to chapel in all winds and weathers, and make yerself as frantic as a skit.
The play was little more than a skit, and the plot if the thin, sketchy incident that stood in its place may be called one served only as an excuse for a continuous fusillade of local hits, often of a personal character. These not only kept the audience in a fever of merriment, but long afterward furnished Mexican official and social circles with topics for more or less friendly discussion.
Miss Sternberger rose languidly to her feet. "Well," she said, "I guess I'll take a stroll and go up to bed." "Don't be so fidgety, Miss Sternberger; sit down by me and talk." Miss Sternberger smiled. "I'll see you later, Mrs. Blondheim; and don't forget that preparation I was tellin' you about Sloand's Mosquito Skit. Just rub the bottle stopper over your pillow and see if it don't work."
He has filled them with a wonderful irresponsible wisdom, condensing into single phrases the ridiculousness of generations: 'Nous avons changé tout cela. 'Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère? 'Vous êtes orfèvre, Monsieur Josse. So effectually has he contrived to embalm in the spice of his humour even the momentary affectations of his own time that they have come down to us fresh as when they first appeared, and the Précieuses Ridicules a skit upon the manners and modes of speech affected by the fops of 1650 still raises to-day our inextinguishable laughter.
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