Chapter III: Introduction (2)

_Second S._ Oh, they’re none of ’em at bottom any better than the
rest!
They are only bigger hypocrites, as _I_ know;
They’ve famous opportunities for feathering their nest,
When so many fools are ready with the Rhino!

_Fifth Verse._

_First S._ Our Statesmen are prompted by duty alone.

_Second S._ (_compassionately_). Whoever’s been gammoning _you_ so?

_First S._ They wouldn’t seek office for ends of their own?

_Second S._ What else would induce ’em to do so?

_First S._ But Time, Health, and Money they all sacrifice.

_Second S._ I’d do it myself at a quarter the price.
There’s pickings for all, and they needn’t ask twice,
For they’re able to put on the screw so!

_Refrain_ (_together_).

No, they’re none of ’em at bottom any better than the rest!
They may kid to their constituents--but _I_ know;
Whatever lofty sentiments their speeches may suggest,
They regulate their actions by the Rhino!

[_Here the pair will perform a final step-dance, indicative of
enlightened scepticism, and skip off in an effusion of sisterly
sympathy, amidst enthusiastic applause._

X.--DISINTERESTED PASSION.

When a Music-hall singer does not treat of the tender passion in a rakish and knowing spirit, he is apt to exhibit an unworldliness truly ideal in its noble indifference to all social distinctions. So amiable a tendency deserves encouragement, and _Mr. Punch_ has much pleasure in offering the following little idyl to the notice of any Mammoth Comique who may happen to be in a sentimental mood. It is supposed to be sung by a scion of the nobility, and the _artiste_ will accordingly present himself in a brown “billy-cock” hat, a long grey frock-coat, fawn-coloured trousers, white “spats,” and primrose, or green, gloves--the recognised attire of a Music-hall aristocrat. A powerful,--though not necessarily tuneful,--voice is desirable for the adequate rendering of this ditty; any words it is inconvenient to sing, can always be spoken.

ONLY A LITTLE PLEBEIAN!

_First Verse._

When first I met my Mary Ann, she stood behind a barrow--
A bower of enchantment spread with many a dainty snack!
And, as I gazed, I felt my heart transfixed with Cupid’s arrow,
For she opened all her oysters with so fairylike a knack.

_Refrain_ (_throaty, but tender_).

She’s only a little Plebeian!
And I’m a Patrician swell!
But she’s as sweet as Aurora, and how I adore her,
No eloquence ever can tell!
Only a fried-fish vend-ar!
Selling her saucers of whilks,
[_Almost defiant stress on the word “whilks.”_
But, for me, she’s as slend-ar--far more true and tend-ar,
Than if she wore satins and silks!

[_The grammar of the last two lines is shaky, but the
Lion-Comique must try to put up with that, and, after all, does
sincere emotion ever stop to think about grammar? If it does,
Music-hall audiences don’t--which is the main point._

_Second Verse._

I longed before her little feet to grovel in the gutter:
I vowed, unless I won her as a wife, ’twould drive me mad!
Until at last a shy consent I coaxed her lips to utter,
For she dallied with her Anglo-Dutch, and whispered, “Speak
to Dad!”

_Refrain_--For she’s only a little Plebeian, &c.

_Third Verse._

I called upon her sire, and found him lowly born, but brawny,
A noble type, when sober, of the British artisan;
I grasped his honest hand, and didn’t mind its being horny:
“Behold!” I cried, “a suitor for your daughter, Mary Ann!”

_Refrain_--Though she’s only a little Plebeian, &c.

_Fourth Verse._

“You ask me, gov’nor, to resign,” said he, “my only treasure,
And so a toff her fickle heart away from me has won!”
He turned to mask his manly woe behind a pewter measure--
Then, breathing blessings through the beer, he said; “All
right, my son!

_Refrain_--If she’s only a little Plebeian,
And you’re a Patrician swell,”--&c.

_Fifth Verse._

(_The author flatters himself that, in quiet sentiment and
homely pathos he has seldom done anything finer than the two
succeeding stanzas._)

Next I sought my noble father in his old ancestral castle,
And at his gouty foot my love’s fond offering I laid--
A simple gift of shellfish, in a neat brown-paper parcel!
“Ah, Sir!” I cried, “if you could know, you’d love my little
maid!”

_Refrain_--True, she’s only a little Plebeian, &c.

_Sixth Verse._

Beneath his shaggy eyebrows soon I saw a tear-drop twinkle;
That artless present overcame his stubborn Norman pride!
And when I made him taste a whilk, and try a periwinkle,
His last objections vanished--so she’s soon to be my bride!

_Refrain_--Ah! she’s only a little Plebeian, &c.

_Seventh Verse._

Now heraldry’s a science that I haven’t studied much in,
But I mean to ask the College--if it’s not against their rules--
That three periwinkles proper may be quartered on our ’scutcheon,
With a whilk regardant, rampant, on an oyster-knife, all gules!

_Refrain_--As she’s only a little Plebeian, &c.

This little ditty, which has the true, unmistakable ring about it, and will, _Mr. Punch_ believes, touch the hearts of any Music-hall audience, is entirely at the service of any talented _artiste_ who will undertake to fit it with an appropriate melody, and sing it in a spirit of becoming seriousness.

XI.--THE PANEGYRIC PATTER.

This ditty is designed to give some expression to the passionate enthusiasm for nature which is occasionally observable in the Music-hall songstress. The young lady who sings these verses will of course appear in appropriate costume; viz., a large white hat and feathers, a crimson sunshade, a pink frock, high-heeled sand-shoes, and a liberal extent of black silk stockings. A phonetic spelling has been adopted where necessary to bring out the rhyme, for the convenience of the reader only, as the singer will instinctively give the vowel-sounds the pronunciation intended by the author.

THE JOYS OF THE SEA-SIDE.

_First Verse._

Oh, I love to sit a-gyzing on the boundless blue horizing,
When the scorching sun is blyzing down on sands, and ships, and
sea!
And to watch the busy figgers of the happy little diggers,
Or to listen to the niggers, when they choose to come to me!

_Chorus_ (_to which the singer should sway in waltz-time_).

For I’m offully fond of the _Sea_!-side!
If I’d only my w’y I would _de_-cide
To dwell evermore,
By the murmuring shore,
With the billows a-blustering _be_-side!

_Second Verse._

Then how pleasant of a morning, to be up before the dorning!
And to sally forth a-prorning--e’en if nothing back you bring!
Some young men who like fatigue ’ll go and try to pot a sea-gull,
What’s the odds if it’s illegal, or the bird they only wing?

_Chorus_--For it’s one of the sports of the _Sea_-side! &c.

_Third Verse._

Then what j’y to go a bything--though you’ll swim, if you’re
a sly thing,
Like a mermaid nimbly writhing, with a foot upon the sand!
When you’re tired of old Poseidon, there’s the pier to promenide
on,
Strauss, and Sullivan, and Haydn form the programme of the band.

_Chorus_--For there’s always a band at the _Sea_-side! &c.

_Fourth Verse._

And, with boatmen so beguiling, sev’ral parties go out siling!
Sitting all together smiling, handing sandwiches about,
To the sound of concertiner,--till they’re gradually greener,
And they wish the ham was leaner, as they sip their bottled
stout.

_Chorus_--And they cry, “Put us back on the _Sea_-side!” &c.

_Fifth Verse._

There is pleasure unalloyed in hiring hacks and going roiding!
(If you stick on tight, avoiding any cropper or mishap,)
Or about the rocks you ramble; over boulders slip and scramble;
Or sit down and do a gamble, playing “Loo” or “Penny Nap.”

_Chorus_--“Penny Nap” is the gyme for the _Sea_-side! &c.

_Sixth Verse._

Then it’s lovely to be spewning, all the glamour of the mewn in,
With your love his banjo tewning, ere flirtation can begin!
As along the sands you’re strowling, till the hour of ten is
towling,
And your Ma, severely scowling, asks “Wherever you have bin!”

_Chorus_--Then you answer “I’ve been by the _Sea_-side!” &c.

_Seventh Verse._

Should the sky be dark and frowning, and the restless winds be
mowning,
With the breakers’ thunder drowning all the laughter and the
glee;
And the day should prove a drencher, out of doors you will
not ventcher,
But you’ll read the volumes lent yer by the Local Libraree!

_Chorus_--For there’s sure to be one at the _Sea_-side! &c.

_Eighth Verse._

If the weather gets no calmer, you can patronise the dramer,
Where the leading lady charmer is a chit of forty-four;
And a duty none would skirk is to attend the strolling circus,
For they’d all be in the workhouse, should their antics cease
to dror!

_Chorus_--And they’re part of the joys of the _Sea_-side! &c.

_Encore Verse_ (_to be used only in case of emergency_).

Well, I reelly must be gowing--I’ve just time to make my bow in--
But I thank you for allowing me to patter on so long.
And if, like me, you’re pining for the breezes there’s some brine
in,
Why, I’ll trouble you to jine in with the chorus to my song!

_Chorus_ (_all together_)--Oh, we’re offully fond of the
_Sea_-side! &c.

XII.--THE PLAINTIVELY PATHETIC.

A Music-hall audience will always be exceedingly susceptible to pathos--so long as they clearly understand that the song is not intended to be of a comic nature. However, there is very little danger of any misapprehension in the case of our present example, which is as natural and affecting a little song as any that have been moving the Music Halls of late. The ultra-fastidious may possibly be repelled by what they would term the vulgarity of the title,--“The Night-light Ever Burning by the Bed”--but, although it is true that this humble luminary is now more generally called a “Fairy Lamp,” persons of true taste and refinement will prefer the homely simplicity of its earlier name. The song only contains three verses, which is the regulation allowance for Music-hall pathos, the authors probably feeling that the audience could not stand any more. It should be explained that the “tum-tum” at the end of certain lines is not intended to be sung--it is merely an indication to the orchestra to pinch their violins in a _pizzicato_ manner. The singer should either come on as a serious black man--for burnt cork is a marvellous provocative of pathos--or as his ordinary self. In either case he should wear evening dress, with a large brilliant on each hand.

THE NIGHT-LIGHT EVER BURNING BY THE BED.

_First Verse._

I’ve been thinking of the home where my early years were spent,
’Neath the care of a kind maiden aunt, (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
And to go there once again has been often my intent,
But the railway fare’s expensive, so I can’t! (_Tum_-tum!)
Still I never can forget that night when last we met:
“Oh, promise me--whate’er you do!” she said, (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
“Wear flannel next your chest, and, when you go to rest,
Keep a night-light always burning by your bed!” (_Tum_-tum!)

_Refrain_ (_pianissimo._)

And my eyes are dim and wet;
For I seem to hear them yet--
Those solemn words at parting that she said: (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
“Now, mind you burn a night-light,
--’Twill last until it’s quite light--
In a saucerful of water by your bed!” (_Tum_-tum!)

_Second Verse._

I promised as she wished, and her tears I gently dried,
As she gave me all the halfpence that she had: (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
And through the world e’er since I have wandered far and wide,
And been gradually going to the bad! (_Tum_-tum!)
Many a folly, many a crime I’ve committed in my time,
For a lawless and a chequered life I’ve led! (_Tum_-tum-_tum_.)
Still I’ve kept the promise sworn--flannel next my skin I’ve worn,
And I’ve always burnt a night-light by my bed! (_Tum_-tum!)

_Refrain._

All unhallowed my pursuits,
(Oft to bed I’ve been in boots!)
Still o’er my uneasy slumber has been shed (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
The moderately bright light
Afforded by a night-light,
In a saucerful of water by my bed! (_Tum_-tum!)

_Third Verse._ (_To be sung with increasing solemnity._)

A little while ago, in a dream my aunt I saw;
In her frill-surrounded night-cap there she stood!
(_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
And I sought to hide my head ’neath the counterpane in awe,
And I trembled--for my conscience isn’t good! (_Tum_-tum!)
But her countenance was mild--so indulgently she smiled
That I knew there was no further need for dread!
(_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
She had seen the flannel vest enveloping my chest,
And the night-light in its saucer by my bed! (_Tum_-tum!)

_Refrain_ (_more pianissimo still._)

But ere a word she spoke,
I unhappily awoke!
And away, alas! the beauteous vision fled! (_Tum_-tum-_tum_!)
(_In mournful recitation_)--There was nothing but the slight light
Of the melancholy night-light
That was burning in a saucer by my bed! (_Tum_-tum!)

XIII.--THE MILITARY IMPERSONATOR.

To be a successful Military Impersonator, the principal requisite is a uniform, which may be purchased for a moderate sum, second-hand, in the neighbourhood of almost any barracks. Some slight acquaintance with the sword exercise and elementary drill is useful, though not absolutely essential. Furnished with these, together with a few commanding attitudes, and a song possessing a spirited, martial refrain, the Military Impersonator may be certain of an instant and striking success upon the Music-hall stage,--especially if he will condescend to avail himself of the ballad provided by _Mr. Punch_, as a vehicle for his peculiar talent. And--though we say it ourselves--it is a very nice ballad, to which Mr. McDougall himself would find it difficult to take exception. It is in three verses, too--the limit understood to be formally approved by the London County Council for such productions. It may be, indeed, that (save so far as the last verse illustrates the heroism of our troops in action--a heroism too real and too splendid to be rendered ridiculous, even by Military Impersonators), the song does _not_ convey a particularly accurate notion of the manner and pursuits of an officer in the Guards. But then no Music-hall ditty can ever be accepted as a quite infallible authority upon any social type it may undertake to depict--with the single exception, perhaps, of the Common (or Howling) Cad. So that any lack of actuality here will be rather a merit than a blemish in the eyes of an indulgent audience. Having said so much, we will proceed to our ballad, which is called,--

IN THE GUARDS!

_First Verse._

I’m a Guardsman, and my manner is perhaps a bit “haw-haw;”
But when you’re in the Guards you’ve got to show _esprit de corps_.
[_Pronounce “a spreedy core.”_
We look such heavy swells, you see, we’re all aristo-cràts,
When on parade we stand arrayed in our ’eavy bearskin ’ats.

_Chorus_ (_during which the Martial Star will march round the stage in military order._)

We’re all “’Ughies,” “Berties,” “Archies,”
In the Guards! Doncher know?
Twisting silky long moustarches,
[_Suit the action to the word here._
Bein’ Guards! Doncher know?
While our band is playing Marches,
For the Guards! Doncher know?
And the ladies stop to gaze upon the Guards,
Bing-_Bang_!

[_Here a member of the orchestra will oblige with the cymbals,
while the Vocalist performs a military salute, as he passes to_--

_Second Verse._

With duchesses I’m ’and in glove, with countesses I’m thick;
From all the nobs I get invites--they say I am “so _chic_!”
[_Pronounce “chick.”_
It often makes me laugh to read, whene’er I go off guard,
“Dear Bertie, come to my At Home!” on a coronetted card!

_Chorus._

For we’re “Berties,” “’Ughies,” “Archies,”
In the Guards! Doncher know?
With our silky long moustarches,
In the Guards! Doncher know?
Where’s a regiment that marches
Like the Guards? Doncher know?
All the darlings--bless ’em!--dote upon the Guards,
Bing-_Bang_!

_Third Verse._

[_Here comes the Singer’s great chance, and by merely taking a
little pains, he may make a tremendously effective thing out of
it. If he can manage to slip away between the verses, and
change his bearskin and scarlet coat for a solar topee and
kharkee tunic at the wings, it will produce an enormous amount
of enthusiasm, only he must not take_ more _than five minutes
over this alteration, or the audience--so curiously are British
audiences constituted--may grow impatient for his return._

But hark! the trumpet sounds!... (_Here a member of the orchestra will oblige upon the trumpet._) What’s this? ... (_The Singer will take a folded paper from his breast and peruse it with attention._) We’re ordered to the front! [_This should be shouted._

We’ll show the foe how “Carpet-Knights” can face the battle’s brunt!
They laugh at us as “Brummels”--but we’ll prove ourselves “Bay-yards!”

[_Now the Martial Star will draw his sword and unfasten his
revolver-case, taking up the exact pose in which he is
represented upon the posters outside._

As you were!... Form Square!... Mark Time!... Slope Arms!... now--’Tention!... (_These military evolutions should all be gone through by the Artist._) Forward, Guards! [_To be yelled through music._

_Chorus._

Onward every ’ero marches,
In the Guards! Doncher know?
All the “’Ughies,” “Berties,” “Archies,”
Of the Guards! Doncher know?
They may twist their long moustarches,
For they’re Guards! Doncher know?
Dandies? yes,--but dandy _lions_ are the Guards!
Bing-_Bang_!

[_Red fire and smoke at wings, as curtain falls upon the
Military Impersonator in the act of changing to a new
attitude._

MODEL MUSIC HALL.

DRAMAS.

I.--THE LITTLE CROSSING-SWEEPER.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_The Little Crossing-Sweeper_
By the unrivalled Variety Artist Miss JENNY JINKS.

_The Duke of Dillwater_ Mr. HENRY IRVING.
[_Specially engaged; Mr. Punch is sure that he will cheerfully
make some slight sacrifice for so good a cause, and he can
easily slip out and get back again between the Acts of “Henry
the 8th.”_

_A Policeman_ Mr. RUTLAND BARRINGTON.
[_Engaged, at enormous expense, during the entire run of this
piece._

_A Butler_ (_his original part_) Mr. ARTHUR CECIL.

_Foot-passengers_, _Flunkeys_, _Burglars_.--By the celebrated
Knockabout Quick-change Troupe.

SCENE I.--_Exterior of the_ Duke’s _Mansion in Euston Square by
night. On the right, a realistic Moon (by kind permission of_
Professor HERKOMER) _is rising slowly behind a lamp-post. On
left centre, a practicable pillar-box, and crossing, with real
mud. Slow Music, as_ Miss JENNY JINKS _enters, in rags, with
broom. Various Characters cross the street, post letters, &c._;
Miss JINKS _follows them, begging piteously for a copper, which
is invariably refused, whereupon she assails them with choice
specimens of street sarcasm--which the Lady may be safely
trusted to improvise for herself_.

_Miss Jenny Jinks_ (_leaning despondently against pillar-box, on which a
ray of limelight falls in the opposite direction to the Moon_).

Ah, this cruel London, so marble-’arted and vast,
Where all who try to act honest are condemned to fast!

_Enter two_ Burglars, _cautiously_.

_First B._ (_to_ Miss J. J.)
We can put you up to a fake as will be worth your while,
For you seem a sharp, ’andy lad, and just our style!

[_They proceed to unfold a scheme to break into the Ducal
abode, and offer_ Miss J. _a share of the spoil, if she will
allow herself to be put through the pantry window_.

_Miss J. J._ (_proudly_). I tell yer I won’t ’ave nothink to do
with it, fur I ain’t been used
To sneak into the house of a Dook to whom I ’aven’t been introdooced!

_Second Burglar_ (_coarsely_). Stow that snivel, yer young
himp, we don’t want none of that bosh!

_Miss J. J._ (_with spirit_). You hold _your_ jaw--for, when you
opens yer mouth, there ain’t much o’ yer face left to wash!

[_The_ Burglars _retire, baffled, and muttering_. Miss J.
_leans against pillar-box again--but more irresolutely_.

I’ve arf a mind to run after ’em, I ’ave, and tell ’em I’m game
to stand in!...
But, ah,--didn’t my poor mother say as Burglary was a _Sin_!

[Duke _crosses stage in a hurry; as he pulls out his latchkey,
a threepenny-bit falls unregarded, except by the little_
Sweeper, _who pounces eagerly upon it_.

What’s this? A bit o’ good luck at last for a starvin’ orfin boy!
What shall I buy? _I_ know--I’ll have a cup of cawfy, and a
prime saveloy!
Ah,--_but it ain’t mine_--and ’ark ... that music up in the air!

[_A harp is heard in the flies._

Can it be mother a-playin’ on the ’arp to warn her boy to beware?
(_Awestruck._) There’s a angel voice that is sayin’ plain
(_solemnly_) “Him as prigs what isn’t his’n,
Is sure to be copped some day--and then--his time he will
do in prison!”

[_Goes resolutely to the door, and knocks--The_ Duke _throws
open the portals_.

_Miss J. J._ If yer please, Sir, was you aware as you’ve
dropped a thruppenny-bit?

_The Duke_ (_after examining the coin._) ’Tis the very piece I
have searched for everywhere! You rascal, you’ve _stolen it_!

_Miss J. J._ (_bitterly_). And _that’s_ ’ow a Dook rewards honesty
in _this_ world!

[_This line is sure of a round of applause._

_The Duke_ (_calling off_). Policeman, I give this lad in
charge for a shameless attempt to rob,

_Enter_ Policeman.

Unless he confesses instantly who put him up to the job!

_Miss J. J._ (_earnestly_). I’ve told yer the bloomin’ truth,
I ’ave--or send I may die!
I’m on’y a Crossing-sweeper, Sir, but I’d scorn to tell yer a lie!
Give me a quarter of a hour--no more--just time to kneel down and
pray,
As I used to at mother’s knee long ago--then the Copper kin
lead me away.

[_Kneels in lime-light. The_ Policeman _turns away, and uses
his handkerchief violently; the_ Duke _rubs his eyes_.

_The Duke._ No, blow me if I can do it, for I feel my eyes are
all twitching!
(_With conviction._) If he’s good enough to kneel by his
mother’s side, he’s good enough to be in my kitching!

[Duke _dismisses_ Constable, _and, after disappearing into the
Mansion for a moment, returns with a neat Page’s livery, which
he presents to the little_ Crossing-sweeper.

_Miss J. J._ (_naïvely_). ’Ow much shall I ask for on this,
Sir? What! Yer don’t mean to say they’re for _me_!
Am I really to be a Page to one of England’s proud aristocra-cee?

[_Does some steps._

_Mechanical change to_ SCENE II.--_State Apartment at the_
Duke’s. _Magnificent furniture, gilding, chandeliers. Suits of
genuine old armour. Statuary (lent by British and Kensington
Museums)._

_Enter_ Miss J., _with her face washed, and looking particularly plump in her Page’s livery. She wanders about stage_, _making any humorous comments that may occur to her on the armour and statuary. She might also play tricks on the Butler, and kiss the maids--all of which will serve to relieve the piece by delicate touches of comedy, and delight a discriminating audience._

_Enter the_ Duke.

I hope, my lad, that we are making you comfortable here? [_Kindly._

_Miss J. J._ Never was in such slap-up quarters in my life,
Sir, _I’ll_ stick to yer, no fear!

[_In the course of conversation the_ Duke _learns with
aristocratic surprise, that the_ Page’s _Mother was a Singer at
the Music Halls_.

_Miss J. J._ What, don’t know what a Music-’all’s like? and you a Dook! Well, you _are_ a jolly old juggins! ’Ere, you sit down on this gilded cheer--that’s the ticket--I’ll bring you your champagne and your cigars--want a light? (_Strikes match on her pantaloons._) Now you’re all comfortable.

_The_ Duke _sits down, smiling indulgently, out of her way, while she introduces her popular Vocal Character Sketch, of which space only permits us to give a few specimen verses_.

First the Champion Comic
Steps upon the stage;
With his latest “Grand Success.”
Sure to be the rage!
Sixty pounds a week he
Easily can earn;
Round the Music Halls he goes,
And does at each a “turn.”

_Illustration._

Undah the stors in a sweet shady dairl,
I strolled with me awm round a deah little gairl,
And whethaw I kissed har yaw’d like me to tairl--
Well, I’d rawthah you didn’t inquiah!

All golden her hair is,
She’s Queen of the Fairies,
And known by the name of the lovely Mariah,
She’s a regular Venus,
But what passed between us,
I’d very much rawthah you didn’t inquiah!

Next the Lady Serio,
Mincing as she walks;
If a note’s too high for her,
She doesn’t sing--she talks,
What she thinks about the men
You’re pretty sure to learn,
She always has a hit at them,
Before she’s done her “turn!”

_Illustration._

You notty young men, ow! you notty young men!
You tell us you’re toffs, and the real Upper Ten,
But behind all your ears is the mark of a pen!
So don’t you deceive us, you notty young men!

_Miss J. J._ (_concluding_).
And such, Sir, are these entertainments grand,
In which Mirth and Refinement go ’and-in-’and!

[_As the_ Duke _is expressing his appreciation of the elevating
effect of such performances, the_ Butler _rushes in, followed
by two flurried_ Footmen.

_Butler._ Pardon this interruption, my Lord, but I come to
announce the fact
That by armed house-breakers the pantry has just been attacked!

_Duke._ Then we’ll repel them--each to his weapons look!
I know how to defend my property, although I _am_ a Dook!

_Miss J._ (_snatching sword from one of the men-in-armour_).
With such a weapon I their hash will settle!
_You’ll_ lend it, won’t yer, old Britannia Metal?

[_Shouts and firing without; the_ Footmen _hide under sofa_.

Let flunkeys flee--though danger may encircle us,
A British Buttons ain’t afeard of Burgulars!

[_Tremendous firing, during which the_ Burglars _are supposed
to be repulsed with heavy loss by the_ Duke, Butler, _and_
Page.

_Miss J._ ’Ere--I say, Dook, I saved yer life, didn’t yer _know_?

(_A parting shot, upon which she staggers back with a ringing scream_.)

The Brutes! they’ve been and shot me!... Mother!... Oh!

[_Dies in lime-light and great agony; the_ Footmen _come out
from under sofa and regard with sorrowing admiration the
lifeless form of the_ Little Crossing-sweeper, _which the_
Duke, _as curtain falls, covers reverently with the best
table-cloth_.

II.--JOE, THE JAM-EATER.

_A MUSICAL SPECTACULAR AND SENSATIONAL INTERLUDE._

(_Dedicated respectfully to Mr. McDougall and the L. C. C._)

The Music-hall Dramatist, like Shakspeare and Molière, has a right to take his material from any source that may seem good to him. _Mr. Punch_, therefore, makes no secret of the fact, that he has based the following piece upon the well-known poem of “The Purloiner,” by the Sisters Jane and Ann Taylor, who were _not_, as might be too hastily concluded, “Song and Dance Duettists,” but two estimable ladies, who composed “cautionary” verses for the young, and whose works are a perfect mine of wealth for Moral Dramatists. In this dramatic version the Author has tried to infuse something of the old Greek sense of an overruling destiny, without detriment to prevailing ideas of moral responsibility. Those who have the misfortune to be born with a propensity for illicit jam, may learn from our Drama the terrible results of failing to overcome it early in life.

JOE, THE JAM-EATER.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Jam-Loving Joe._ By that renowned Melodramatic Serio-Comic,
Miss CONNIE CURDLER.

_Joe’s Mother_ (_the very part for Mrs. BANCROFT if she can
only be induced to make her reappearance_).

_John, a Gardener._ By the great Pink-eyed Unmusical Zulu.

_Jim-Jam, the Fermentation Fiend._ By Mr. BEERBOHM TREE (_who
has kindly consented to undertake the part_).

_Chorus of Plum and Pear Gatherers, from the Savoy_ (_by kind
permission of_ Mr. D’OYLY CARTE).

SCENE--_The Store-room at sunset with view of exterior of Jam
Cupboard, and orchard in distance._

_Enter_ JOE.

“As Joe was at play, Near the cupboard one day, When he thought
no one saw but himself.”--_Vide Poem._

_Joe_ (_dreamily_.) ’Tis passing strange that I so partial am
To playing in the neighbourhood of Jam!

[_HERE_ Miss CURDLER _will introduce her great humorous
Satirical Medley illustrative of the Sports of Childhood, and
entitled,_ “Some little Gymes we all of us ’ave Plied;” _after
which, Enter_ JOE’S _Mother, followed by JOHN and the Chorus,
with baskets, ladders, &c., for gathering fruit_.

“His Mother and John, To the garden had gone, To gather ripe
pears and ripe plums.”--_Poem._

_Joe’s Mother_ (_with forced cheerfulness_)--

Let’s hope, my friends, to find our pears and plums,
Unharmed by wopses, and untouched by wums.

[_Chorus signify assent in the usual manner by holding up the
right hand._

_Solo_--JOHN.

Fruit, when gathered ripe, is wholesome--
Otherwise if eaten green.
Once I know a boy who stole some--

[_With a glance at JOE, who turns aside to conceal his
confusion._

His internal pangs were keen!

_Chorus_ (_virtuously_). ’Tis the doom of all who’re mean,
Their internal pangs are keen!

_Joe’s Mother_ (_aside_). By what misgivings is a mother tortured!
I’ll keep my eye on Joseph in the orchard.

[_She invites him with a gesture to follow._

_Joe_ (_earnestly_). Nay, Mother, here I’ll stay till you have done.
Temptation it is ever best to shun!

_Joe’s M_. So laudable his wish, I would not cross it--
(_Mysteriously._) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon closet!

_Chorus._ Away we go tripping,
From boughs to be stripping
Each pear, plum, and pippin
Pomona supplies!
When homeward we’ve brought ’em,
Those products of Autumn,
We’ll carefully sort ’em
(_One of our old Music-hall rhymes_),
According to size! [_Repeat as they caper out._

[JOE’S Mother, _after one fond, lingering look behind, follows:
the voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance.
Stage darkens: the last ray of sunset illumines key of
jam-cupboard door._

_Joe._ At last I am alone! Suppose I tried
That cupboard--just to see what’s kept inside?

[_Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination._

There _might_ be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake,
For such a prize I’d laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!

[_Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn._

And yet (_hesitating_) who knows?--a pill ... perchance--a powder!
(_Desperately._) What then? To scorn I’ll laugh them--even louder!

[_Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud
clang, revealing Interior of Jam Closet (painted by_ HAWES
CRAVEN). JOE _mounts chair to explore shelves._

“How sorry I am, He ate raspberry jam, And currants that stood
on the shelf!”--_Vide Poem._

_Joe_ (_speaking with mouth full and back to audience_).
’Tis raspberry--of all the jams my favourite;
I’ll clear the pot, whate’er I have to pay for it!
And finish up with currants from this shelf ...
Who’ll ever see me?

_The_ Demon _of the Jam Closet (rising slowly from an immense
pot of preserves_). No one--but Myself!

[_The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare (courteously lent
by the Lyceum Management from “Faust” properties); weird
music_; JOE _turns slowly and confronts the_ Demon _with
awestruck eyes._ N.B.--_Great opportunity for powerful acting
here._

_The Demon (with a bland sneer_). Pray don’t mind _me_--I
will await your leisure.

_Joe_ (_automatically_). Of your acquaintance, Sir, I’ve not
the pleasure.
Who are you? Wherefore have you intervened?

_The Demon_ (_quietly_). My name is “Jim-Jam;” occupation--fiend.

_Joe,_ (_cowering limply on his chair_). O Mr. Fiend, I
_know_ it’s very wrong of me!

_Demon_ (_politely_). Don’t mention it--but please to come “along of” me?

_Joe_ (_imploringly_). Do let me off this once,--ha! you’re relenting,
You smile----

_Demon_ (_grimly_). ’Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!

[_Catches_ JOE’s _ankle, and assists him to descend._

_Joe_. You’ll drive me mad!

_Demon_ (_carelessly_). I _may_--before I’ve done with you!

_Joe_. What do you want?

_Demon_ (_darkly_). To have a little fun with you!
Of fiendish humour now I’ll give a specimen.

[_Chases him round and round stage, and proceeds to smear him
hideously with jam._

_Joe_ (_piteously_). Oh, don’t! I feel _so_ sticky. _What_ a mess I’m in!

_Demon_ (_with affected sympathy_). That _is_ the worst of
jam--it’s apt to stain you.

[_To_ JOE, _as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces
of his crime._

I see you’re busy--so I’ll not detain you!

[_Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh.
Cupboard-doors close with a clang; all lights down._ JOE
_stands gazing blankly for some moments, and then drags himself
off stage. His Mother and_ JOHN, _with Pear-and-Plum-gatherers
bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back of Scene, in
faint light of torches._

_Re-enter_ JOE _bearing a candle and wringing his hands._

_Joe._ Out, jammed spot! What--will these hands _never_ be clean? Here’s the smell of the raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this little hand ... (_Moaning._) Oh, oh, oh!

[_This passage has been accused of bearing too close a
resemblance to one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the
coincidence is purely accidental, as the Dramatist is not in
the habit of reading such profane literature._

_Joe’s Mother._ Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!
See--stains on all his fingers, and his thumbs!

“What Joe was about, His mother found out, When she look’d at
his fingers and thumbs.”--_Poem again._

Nay, Joseph--’tis your mother ... speak to her!

_Joe_ (_tonelessly, as before_). Lady, I know you not (_touches lower part of waistcoat_); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have jam in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone, lay me in a plain white jelly-pot, with a parchment cover, and on the label write--but come nearer, I have a secret for your ear alone ... there are strange things in _some_ cupboards! Demons should keep in the dust-bin. (_With a ghastly smile._) I know not what ails me, but I am not feeling at all well.

[JOE’S Mother _stands a few steps from him, with her hands
twisted in her hair, and stares at him in speechless terror._

_Joe_ (_to the Chorus_). I would shake hands with you all, were not my fingers so sticky. We eat marmalade, but we know not what it is made of. Hush! if Jim-Jam comes again, tell him that I am not at home. Loo-loo-loo!

_All_ (_with conviction_). Some shock has turned his brine!

_Joe_ (_sitting down on floor, and weaving straws in his hair._) My
curse upon him that invented jam. Let us all play Tibbits.

[_Laughs vacantly; all gather round him, shaking their heads,
his_ Mother _falls fainting at his feet as curtain falls upon a
strong and moral, though undeniably gloomy dénoûment._

III.--THE MAN-TRAP.

This Drama, which, like our last, has been suggested by a poem of the Misses Taylor, will be found most striking and impressive in representation upon the Music-hall stage. The dramatist has ventured to depart somewhat from the letter, though not the spirit, of the original text, in his desire to enforce the moral to the fullest possible extent. Our present piece is intended to teach the great lesson that an inevitable Nemesis attends apple-stealing in this world, and that Doom cannot be disarmed by the intercession of the evil-doer’s friends, however well-meaning.

THE MAN-TRAP!

_A THRILLING MORAL MUSICAL SENSATION SKETCH IN ONE SCENE._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_William_ (_a Good Boy_) Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS.
_Thomas_ (_a Bad Boy_) Mr. HERBERT CAMPBELL.
(_Who have kindly offered their services._)
_Benjamin_ (_neither one thing nor the other_) Mr. SAMUEL SUPER.
_The Monster Man-Trap_ Mr. GEORGE CONQUEST.

SCENE.--_An elaborate set, representing, on extreme left, a
portion of the high road, and wall dividing it from an orchard;
realistic apple- and pear-trees laden with fruit. Time, about
four o’clock on a hot afternoon. Enter_ WILLIAM _and_ THOMAS,
_hand-in-hand, along road; they ignore the dividing wall, and
advance to front of stage._

_Duet._--WILLIAM _and_ THOMAS.

_Wm._ I’m a reg’lar model boy, I am; so please make no mistake.
It’s Thomas who’s the bad ’un--_I’m_ the good!

_Thos._ Yes, I delight in naughtiness for naughtiness’s sake,
And I wouldn’t be like William if I could!

_Chorus._

_Wm._ Ever since I could toddle, my conduct’s been model,
There’s, oh, such a difference between me and him!

_Thos._ While still in the cradle, I orders obeyed ill,
And now I’ve grown into a awful young limb!

{ he’s }
_Together._ Yes, now { I’ve } grown into a awful young limb.
I’ve made up my mind not to imitate _him_!

[_Here they dance._

_Second Verse._

_Wm._ If someone hits him in the eye, he always hits them back!
When _I_ am struck, my Ma I merely tell!
On passing fat pigs in a lane, he’ll give ’em each a whack!

_Thos._ (_impenitently_). And jolly fun it is to hear ’em yell!

[_Chorus._

_Third Verse._

_Wm._ He’s always cribbing coppers--which he spends on lollipops.

_Thos._ (A share of which _you_’ve never yet refused!)

_Wm._ A stone he’ll shy at frogs and toads, and anything that hops!

_Thos._ (While you look on, and seem to be amused!)

[_Chorus._

_Fourth Verse._

_Wm._ As soon as school is over, Thomas goes a hunting squirr’ls,
Or butterflies he’ll capture in his hat!

_Thos._ _You_ play at Kissing in the Ring with all the little girls!

_Wm._ (_demurely_). Well, Thomas, I can see no harm in _that_!

[_Chorus._

_Fifth Verse._

_Wm._ Ah, Thomas, if you don’t reform, you’ll come to some bad end!

_Thos._ Oh, William, put your head inside a bag!

_Wm._ No, Thomas, that I cannot--till you promise to amend!

_Thos._ Why, William, what a chap you are to nag!

[_Chorus and dance._ THOMAS _returns to road, and regards the
apple-trees longingly over top of wall._

_Thos._ Hi, William, look ... what apples! there--don’t _you_ see?
And pears--my eye! just _ain’t_ they looking juicy!

_Wm._ Nay, Thomas, since you’re bent upon a sin,
_I_ will walk on, and visit Benjamin!

[_Exit_ WILLIAM (L. 2 E.), _while THOMAS proceeds to scale the
wall and climb the boughs of the nearest pear-tree.
Melodramatic Music._ The Monster Man-trap _stealthily emerges
from long grass below, and fixes a baleful eye on the
unconscious_ THOMAS.

_Thos._ I’ll fill my pockets, and on pears I’ll feast!

[_Sees_ Man-trap, _and staggers._

Oh, lor--whatever is that hugly beast!
Hi, help, here! call him off!...

_The Monster._ ’Tis vain to holler--
My horders are--all trespassers to swoller!
You just come down--I’m waiting ’ere to ketch you.
(_Indignantly._) You _don’t_ expect I’m coming up to fetch you!

_Thos._ (_politely._) Oh, not if it would inconvenience _you_, Sir!
(_In agonised aside._) I feel my grip grow every moment looser!

[_The_ Monster, _in a slow, uncouth manner, proceeds to
scramble up the tree._

Oh, here’s a go! The horrid thing can _climb_!
Too late I do repent me of my crime!

[_Terrific sensation chase!_ The Monster Man-trap _leaps from
bough to bough with horrible agility, and eventually secures
his prey, and leaps with it to the ground._

_Thos._ (_in the_ Monster’s _jaws_). I’m sure you seem a kind,
good-natured creature--
You will not harm me?

_Monster._ No--I’ll only eat yer!

[THOMAS _slowly vanishes down its cavernous jaws; faint yells
are heard at intervals--then nothing but a dull champing sound;
after which, dead silence. The_ Monster _smiles, with an air of
repletion._

_Re-enter_ WILLIAM, _from_ R., _with_ BENJAMIN.

_Benjamin._ I’m very glad you came--but where is Thomas?

_Wm._ (_severely_). Tom is a wicked boy, and better from us,
For on the road he stopped to scale a wall!...

[_Sees_ Man-trap, _and starts._

What’s _that_?

_Benj._ It will not hurt _good_ boys at all--
It’s only Father’s Man-trap--why so pale?

_Wm._ The self-same tree! ... the wall that Tom _would_ scale!
Where’s Thomas _now_? Ah, Tom, the wilful pride of you.

[_The_ Man-trap _affects an elaborate unconsciousness._

_Benj._ (_with sudden enlightenment_). Man-trap, I do believe
poor Tom’s inside of you!
That sort of smile’s exceedingly suspicious.

[_The_ Man-trap _endeavours to hide in the grass._

_Wm._ Ah, Monster, give him back--’tis true he’s vicious,
And had no business to go making free with you!
But think, so bad a boy will disagree with you!

[WILLIAM _and_ BENJAMIN _kneel in attitudes of entreaty on
either side of the_ Man-trap, _which shows signs of increasing
emotion as the song proceeds._

_Benjamin_ (_sings_).

Man-trap, bitter our distress is
That you have unkindly penned
In your innermost recesses
One who used to be our friend!

_William_ (_sings_).

In his downward course arrest him!
(He may take a virtuous tack);
Pause awhile, ere you digest him,
Make an effort--bring him back!

[_The_ Man-trap _is convulsed by a violent heave_; WILLIAM and
BENJAMIN _bend forward in an agony of expectation, until a
small shoe and the leg of_ THOMAS’S _pantaloons are finally
emitted from the_ Monster’s _jaws._

_Benj._ (_exultantly_). See, William, now he’s coming ... here’s
his shoe for you!

_The Man-trap_ (_with an accent of genuine regret). I’m sorry--but
that’s all that I can do for you!_

_Wm._ (_raising the shoe and the leg of pantaloons, and holding
them sorrowfully at arm’s length_).
He’s met the fate which moralists all promise is
The end of such depraved careers as Thomas’s!
Oh, Benjamin, take warning by it _be_-time!
(_More brightly_). But now to wash our hands--’tis nearly tea-time!

[_Exeunt_ WILLIAM and BENJAMIN, _to wash their hands, as
Curtain falls. N.B. This finale is more truly artistic, and in
accordance with modern dramatic ideas, than the conventional
“picture.”_

IV.--THE FATAL PIN.

Our present example is pure tragedy of the most ambitious kind, and is, perhaps, a little in advance of the taste of a Music-hall audience of the present day. When the fusion between the Theatres and the Music Halls is complete--when Miss Bessie Bellwood sings “_What Cheer, ’Ria?_” at the Lyceum, and Mr. Henry Irving gives his compressed version of _Hamlet_ at the Trocadero; when there is a general levelling-up of culture, and removal of prejudice--then, and not till then, will this powerful little play meet with the appreciation which is its due. The main idea is suggested by the Misses Taylor’s well-known poem, _The Pin_, though the dramatist has gone further than the poetess in working out the notion of Nemesis.

THE FATAL PIN.

_A TRAGEDY._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Emily Heedless._ By either Miss VESTA TILLEY or Mrs. BERNARD BEERE.

_Peter Paragon._ Mr. FORBES ROBERTSON or Mr. ARTHUR ROBERTS
(only he mustn’t sing “_The Good Young Man who Died_”).

_First and Second Bridesmaids._ Miss MAUDE MILLETT and Miss
ANNIE HUGHES.

SCENE.--EMILY’S _Boudoir, sumptuously furnished with a screen
and sofa,_ C. _Door_, R., _leading to_ EMILY’S _Bed-chamber.
Door,_ L. EMILY _discovered in loose wrapper, and reclining in
uncomfortable position on sofa._

_Emily_ (_dreamily_). This day do I become the envied bride
Of Peter, justly surnamed Paragon;
And much I wonder what in me he found
(He, who Perfection so personifies)
That he could condescend an eye to cast
On faulty feather-headed Emily!
How solemn is the stillness all around me!

[_A loud bang is heard behind screen._

Methought I heard the dropping of a pin!--
Perhaps I should arise and search for it....
Yet why, on second thoughts, disturb myself,
Since I am, by my settlements, to have
A handsome sum allowed for pin-money?
Nay, since thou claim’st thy freedom, little pin,
I lack the heart to keep thee prisoner.
Go, then, and join the great majority
Of fallen, vagrant, unregarded pinhood--
My bliss is too supreme at such an hour
To heed such infidelities as thine.

[_Falls into a happy reverie._

_Enter_ First and Second Bridesmaids.

_First and Second Bridesmaids._ What, how now, Emily--not yet attired?
Nay, haste, for Peter will be here anon!

[_They hurry her off by_ R. _door, just as_ PETER PARAGON
_enters_ L. _in bridal array. N.B.--The exigencies of the Drama
are responsible for his making his appearance here, instead of
waiting, as is more usual, at the church._

_Peter_ (_meditatively_). The golden sands of my celibacy
Are running low--soon falls the final grain!
Yet, even now, the glass I would not turn.
My Emily is not without her faults
“_Was_ not without them,” I should rather say,
For during ten idyllic years of courtship,

By precept and example I have striven
To mould her to a helpmate fit for me.
Now, thank the Gods, my labours are complete.
She stands redeemed from all her giddiness!

[_Here he steps upon the pin, and utters an exclamation._

Ha! What is this? I’m wounded ... agony!
With what a darting pain my foot’s transfixed!
I’ll summon help (_with calm courage_)--yet, stay, I would not dim
This nuptial day by any sombre cloud.
I’ll bear this stroke alone--and now to probe
The full extent of my calamity.

[_Seats himself on sofa in such a position as to be concealed
by the screen from all but the audience, and proceeds to remove
his boot._

Ye powers of Perfidy, it is a pin!
I must know more of this--for it is meet
Such criminal neglect should be exposed.
Severe shall be that house-maid’s punishment
Who’s proved to be responsible for this!--
But soft, I hear a step.

[_Enter_ First _and_ Second Bridesmaids, _who hunt diligently
upon the carpet without observing_ Peter’s _presence._

_Emily’s Voice_ (_within_). Oh, search, I pray you.
It _must_ be there--my own ears heard it fall!

[PETER _betrays growing uneasiness._

_The Bridesmaids._ Indeed, we fail to see it anywhere!

_Emily_ (_entering distractedly in bridal costume, with a large rent in
her train_).

You have no eyes, I tell you, let me help.
It must be found, or I am all undone!
In vain my cushion I have cut in two
’Twas void of all but stuffing ... Gracious Heavens,
To think that all my future bliss depends
On the evasive malice of a pin!

[PETER _behind screen, starts violently._

_Peter_ (_aside_). A pin! what dire misgivings wring my heart!

[Hops forward with a cold dignity, holding one foot in his
hand.

You seem in some excitement, Emily?

_Emily_ (_wildly_). _You_, Peter!... tell me--have you found a pin?

_Peter_ (_with deadly calm_). Unhappy girl--I _have_!
(_To_ Bridesmaids.) Withdraw awhile,
And should we need you, we will summon you.

[_Exeunt_ Bridesmaids; EMILY _and_ PETER _stand facing each
other for some moments in dead silence._

The pin is found--for I have trodden on it,
And may, for aught I know, be lamed for life.
Speak, Emily, what is that maid’s desert
Whose carelessness has led to this mishap?

_Emily_ (_in the desperate hope of shielding herself_).
Why, should the fault he traced to any maid,
Instant dismissal shall be her reward,
With a month’s wages paid in lieu of notice!

_Peter_ (_with a passionless severity_).
From your own lips I judge you, Emily.
Did they not own just now that you had heard
The falling of a pin--yet heeded not?
Behold the outcome of your negligence!

[_Extends his injured foot._

_Emily_. Oh, let me kiss the place and make it well!

_Peter_ (_coldly withdrawing foot_). Keep your caresses till
I ask for them.
My wound goes deeper than you wot of yet,
And by that disregarded pin is pricked
The iridescent bubble of Illusion!

_Emily_ (_slowly_). Indeed, I do not wholly comprehend.

_Peter._ Have patience and I will be plainer yet.
Mine is a complex nature, Emily;
Magnanimous, but still methodical.
An injury I freely can forgive,
Forget it (_striking his chest_), never! She who leaves about
Pins on the floor to pierce a lover’s foot,
Will surely plant a thorn within the side
Of him whose fate it is to be her husband!

_Emily_ (_dragging herself towards him on her knees_).
Have pity on me, Peter; I was mad!

_Peter_ (_with emotion_). How can I choose but pity thee, poor soul,
Who, for the sake of temporary ease,
Hast forfeited the bliss that had been thine!
You could not stoop to pick a pin up. Why?
Because, forsooth, ’twas but a paltry pin!
Yet, duly husbanded, that self-same pin
Had served you to secure your gaping train,
Your self-respect--and Me.

_Emily_ (_wailing_). What have I done?

_Peter_. I will not now reproach you, Emily,
Nor would I dwell upon my wounded sole,
The pain of which increases momently.
I part from you in friendship, and in proof,
That fated instrument I leave with you

[_Presenting her with the pin, which she accepts mechanically._

Which the frail link between us twain has severed.
I can dispense with it, for in my cuff

[_Shows her his coat-cuff, in which a row of pins’-heads is
perceptible._

I carry others ’gainst a time of need.
My poor success in life I trace to this
That never yet I passed a pin unheeded.

_Emily._ And is that all you have to say to me?

_Peter._ I think so--save that I shall wish you well,
And pray that henceforth you may bear in mind
What vast importance lies in seeming trifles.

_Emily_ (_with a pale smile_). Peter, your lesson is already learned,
For precious has this pin become for me,
Since by its aid I gain oblivion--thus! [_Stabs herself._

_Peter_ (_coldly._) Nay, these are histrionics, Emily.

[_Assists her to sofa._

_Emily._ I’d skill enough to find a vital spot.
Do not withdraw it yet--my time is short,
And I have much to say before I die.
(_Faintly._) Be gentle with my rabbits when I’m gone;
Give my canary chickweed now and then.
... I think there is no more--ah, one last word--
(_Earnestly_)--Warn them they must not cut our wedding-cake,
And then the pastrycook may take it back!

_Peter_ (_deeply moved_). Would you had shown this
thoughtfulness before! [_Kneels by the sofa._

_Emily._ ’Tis now too late, and clearly do I see
That I was never worthy of you, Peter.

_Peter_ (_gently_). ’Tis not for me to contradict you now.
You did your best to be so, Emily!

_Emily._ A blessing on you for those generous words!
Now tell me, Peter, how is your poor foot?

_Peter._ The agony decidedly abates,
And I can almost bear a boot again.

_Emily._ Then I die happy!... Kiss me, Peter ... ah!

[_Dies_.

_Peter._ In peace she passed away. I’m glad of that,
Although that peace was purchased by a lie.
I shall not bear a boot for many days!
Thus ends our wedding morn, and she, poor child,
Has paid the penalty of heedlessness!

[_Curtain falls, whereupon, unless Mr. Punch is greatly
mistaken, there will not be a dry eye in the house._

V.--BRUNETTE AND BLANCHIDINE.

_A MELODRAMATIC DIDACTIC VAUDEVILLE._

_Suggested by “The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll,” by the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Blanchidine,_ } By the celebrated Sisters STILTON, the Champion
_Brunette._ } Duettists and Clog-Dancers.

_Fanny Furbelow._ By Miss SYLVIA SEALSKIN (_by kind permission of
the Gaiety Management_).

_Frank Manly._ By Mr. HENRY NEVILLE.

SCENE--_A sunny Glade in Kensington Gardens, between the
Serpentine and Round Pond._

_Enter_ BLANCHIDINE _and_ BRUNETTE, _with their arms thrown affectionately around one another._ BLANCHIDINE _is carrying a large and expressionless wooden doll._

_Duet and Step-dance._

_Bl._ Oh, I do adore BRUNETTE! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity,
tappity-tippity, tippity-tappity, tip-tap!

_Br._ BLANCHIDINE’S the sweetest pet! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Together._ When the sun is high,
We come out to ply,
Nobody is nigh,
All is mirth and j’y!
With a pairosol,
We’ll protect our doll,
Make a mossy bed
For her wooden head!

[_Combination step-dance during which both watch their feet
with an air of detached and slightly amused interest, as if
they belonged to some other persons._

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity, clickity, clickity-clack;
clackity-clickity, clickity-clackity, clackity-clickity-_clack_!

[_Repeat ad. lib._

_Bl._ (_apologetically to Audience_). Her taste in dress is rather plain!
(_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Br._ (_in pitying aside_). It _is_ a pity she’s so vain!
(_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Bl._ ’Tis a shime to smoile,
But she’s shocking stoyle,
It is quite a troyal,
Still--she mikes a foil!

_Br._ Often I’ve a job
To suppress a sob,
She is such a snob,
When she meets a nob!

[_Step-dance as before._

[N.B.--_In consideration of the well-known difficulty that most
popular Variety-Artists experience in the metrical delivery of
decasyllabic couplets, the lines which follow have been written
as they will most probably be spoken._

_Bl._ (_looking off with alarm_). Why, here comes Fanny
Furbelow, a new frock from Paris in!
She’ll find me with Brunette--it’s _too_ embarrassing!

[_Aside._

(_To Brunette._) Brunette, my love, I know _such_ a pretty
game we’ll play at--
Poor Timburina’s ill, and the seaside she ought to stay at.
(The Serpentine’s the seaside, let’s pretend.)
And _you_ shall take her there--(_hypocritically_)--you’re
such a friend!

_Br._ (_with simplicity_). Oh, yes, that _will_ be splendid,
Blanchidine, And then we can go and have a dip in a bathing-machine!

[BLAN. _resigns the wooden doll to_ BRUN., _who skips off with
it_, L., _as_ FANNY FURBELOW _enters_ R., _carrying a
magnificent wax doll_.

_Fanny_ (_languidly_). Ah, howdy do--_isn’t_ this heat too
frightful? And so you’re quite alone?

_Bl._ (_nervously._) Oh, _quite_--oh yes, I always am alone,
when there’s nobody with me.

[_This is a little specimen of the Lady’s humorous “gag,” at
which she is justly considered a proficient._

_Fanny_ (_drawling_). Delightful!
When I was wondering, only a little while ago,
If I should meet a creature that I know;
Allow me--my new doll, the Lady Minnie!

[_Introducing doll._

_Bl._ (_rapturously_). Oh, what a perfect love!

_Fanny._ She ought to be--for a guinea!
Here, you may nurse her for a little while.
Be careful, for her frock’s the latest style.

[_Gives_ BLAN. _the wax doll_.

She’s the best wax, and has three changes of clothing--
For those cheap wooden dolls I’ve quite a loathing.

_Bl._ (_hastily_). Oh, so have _I_--they’re not to be endured!

_Re-enter_ BRUNETTE _with the wooden doll, which she tries to press upon_ BLANCHIDINE, _much to the latter’s confusion_.

_Br._ I’ve brought poor Timburina back, completely cured!
Why, aren’t you pleased? Your face is looking _so_ cloudy!

_F._ (_haughtily_). Is she a friend of _yours_--this little
dowdy? [_Slow music._

_Bl._ (_after an internal struggle_). Oh, no, what an idea!
Why, I don’t even know her by name!
Some vulgar child ...

[_Lets the wax doll fall unregarded on the gravel._

_Br._ (_indignantly_). Oh, what a horrid shame!
I see _now_ why you sent us to the Serpentine!

_Bl._ (_heartlessly_). There’s no occasion to flare up like turpentine.

_Br._ (_ungrammatically_). I’m _not_! Disown your doll, and
thrust me, too, aside!
The one thing left for both of us is--suicide!
Yes, Timburina, us no more she cherishes--
(_Bitterly._) Well, the Round Pond a handy place to perish is!

[_Rushes off stage with wooden doll._