Baltimore Evening Sun (18 November 1911): 6.

Only 1,277 days more! And then the greased chute, and the swift, dismayful descent!

The complaint of one who mourns sadly for dollars gone to return no more:

So far this season the theatres of Baltimore have set before us about 16 musical comedies–and all of them rotten. All alike; all rotten. Why do they take the trouble to give them separate names? Why not just number them?

The answer, obviously, is that the business of choosing new names gives the authors of such pieces their only chance to show their originality. As for originality in either book or score, the public simply would not stand for it. A musical comedy, like a vaudeville show, is designed for the entertainment of persons who are thoroughly stupid–either temporarily, as the result of overwork, overeating or the use of alcohol, or permanently, as the result of congenital deficiency or defective education. Whatever the cause of that stupidity, it manifests itself in an impatience with ideas. Ideas on the stage beget ideas in the spectator–and ideation, to a stupid man, is as painful as hanging to a man with tonsilitis.

By ideas, of ourse, I mean new ideas. Old ideas are not painful. On the contrary, they are soothing. Thus it happens that the ideas of vaudeville and of musical comedy, if they would win praise, must be old ideas. All vaudeville acts fall easily into five general classes, each representing an idea as old as the race. There is, to begin with, the idea that a pretty woman is made more pretty by taking off her wraps. There is, in the second place, the idea that it would be pleasant to see an actor break his neck. There is, in the third place, the idea that a musical composition which begins in C major should remain in C major to the end. There is, in the fourth place, the idea that an emotion is an idea. And there is, in the fifth place, the idea that the grotesque business of contorting the legs, swinging the arms, bobbing the head and spinning like a top–in short, dancing—is an art.

These are all the ideas you will ever find in vaudeville. Sometimes an act shows two or more of them in combination, but often it shuffles along with only one. Idea No. 1 is the basis, not only of a full half of all vaudeville acts, but also of 99 per cent. of all musical comedies. Put the women in raincoats and the average musical comedy would go to pieces. Take the women away altogether and it would become impossible.

Comedy in vaudeville (and usually in musical comedy, too) is firmly hooked to idea No. 2. When the comedian in green whiskers sneaks up behind the comedian in red whiskers and clouts him with a slapstick or drenches him with a seltzer siphon—then the crowd laughs. Acrobatic acts, in vaudeville, fall under the head of comedy–at least, of potential comedy. There is always the hope, in the spectator’s breast, that the beetle-browed ruffian at the top of the balancing-pole will loose his hold and dash out his so-called brains. When that happens (which is rarely, of course). the laugh is so hearty that the crowd is willing to wait for it a long while—and sometimes in vain, even then. There are plenty of old vaudeville-goers who have yet to see an acrobat kill himself. But they live in perpetual hope. They believe eternally that tomorrow will give their patience its reward.

More anon upon this fascinating subject–and particularly upon the sub-subject of vaudeville music. For the present, the pressure of politico-economical matter forces a cessation of the discussion.

From the esteemed Sunpaper of yesterday morning:

It looks like the tax rate for 1912 will be $1.95.

Thus we come to the sediment of actual achievement in the seidlitz powder of heroic promise. The Hon. the super-Mahonic Board of Estimates, after six weeks of stupendous sweating, of affecting asseverating, of awe-inspiring puffing and heaving, has cut the tax rate down to $1.95. Cent after cent has been chopped off—three full cents in all! This year the extortionate and caustic rate is $1.98. Next year the humane and soothing rate will be $1.95.

Let us see, fellow-osseocaputs, just what this means. Suppose you own a little 15-foot house worth $1,350 and assessed at $1,500—a little house upon which you have been paying installments for nine years. The city taxes upon that house, at the 1911 rate, are $29.70. The city taxes at the 1912 rate will be $29.25. A difference, a saving, of just 45 cents.

Well, well, 45 cents is 45 cents! Small favors thankfully received! Hurrah for the Old-Fashioned Administration! But halt! While the tax rate is coming down, water rents will be going up. You now pay $6 a year on your 15-foot house. Next year you will pay $7.50. A difference, but not a saving, of $1.50. Let us now recapitulate:

You will lose.......................................$1.50
You will save...................................... .45

And so your net loss will be............... $1.05

Down with the tax rate! Hurrah, hurrah! Up with the water rent! Hurray, hurray!

Suppose, again, you are too poor to own a $1,500 house. Suppose the house you actually inhabit is worth but $800, and is 13 feet wide–a pretty small house, to be sure, but the best you can do with nine children and a net average income of $10.60 a week. Well, your present tax bill, for that house, is $15.84, and your water bill $4. Next year you will pay a tax bill of $15.60 and a water bill of $5. That is to say, you will gain 24 cents and lose $1.

Such are the delights of human existence under an Old-Fashioned administration. Such are the charms and privileges of being governed in a businesslike manner. The total gain to the taxpayer of Baltimorem by the reductiont of 3 cents in the tax rate, will be about $96,000. The total gain to the Old-Fashioned treasury, by the increase in water rents, will be about $400,000. Subtract $96,000 from $400,000 and you have $304,000–the net cost of the whole business. Hooplah! Let the band play!

The dictionary of American synonyms for the dignified and noble paunch:

From the Journalists’ Club, in all its myriad reincarnations, good Lord, deliver us!

The Hon. the super-Mahon to the Conference of Maryland Mayors at Frederick:

I stand before you a Democratic Mayor, and I intend to appoint only Democrats to office.

Quite so. But what Democrats!