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    PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

    VOL. 98

    January 11, 1890.




UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.

    "Très volontiers," repartit le démon. "Vous aimez les tableaux
    changeans; je veux vous contenter."

    _Le Diable Boiteux._


XVI.

  "Midnight's meridian is supposed to mark
  The bound twixt toil and slumber. Light and dark
    Mete out the lives of mortals
  In happy alternation," said my guide.
  "Six hours must fleet ere Phoebus shall set wide
    His glowing orient portals.

  "The last loud halloo at the tavern-door
  long since has driven the reckless and the poor
    From misery's only haven
  Forth on the chilling night. 'All out! All out!'
  Less sad would fall on bibulous souls, no doubt,
    The refrain of the Raven.

  "London lies shuttered close. Law's measured beat
  Falls echoing down the shadow-chequered street;
    A distant cab-wheel clatters;
  The wastrel's drunken cry, the waif's low moan,
  Reach not the ear of tired Philistia, prone,
    Dreaming of other matters."

  "The Shadow's slow subacid speech, I knew,
  Foreboded more than mirth. Downward we drew,
    Silent, and all un-noted,
  O'er sleeping Shopdom. Sleeping? Closer quest
  Might prove it one vast Valley of Unrest
    O'er which we mutely floated.

  "Post-midnight peace," I said, "must fall like balm,
  After the long day's turmoil, on this calm,
    Close-clustering, lamp-lit city,"
  "Peace?" sighed the Shadow. "She of the white dove
  Is not less partial in her gifts than Love,
    Or Wealth, or Worldly Pity.

  "See yon close-shuttered shop! Peace broodeth there,
  You deem perchance; but look within. A lair
    Of midnight smugglers, stirring
  At the sea's signal, scarce seems more agog.
  And yet each toiler's heart lies like a log,
    Sleep each tired eye is blurring.

  "Feet scuttle, fingers fleet, pens work apace;
  A whipt-up zeal marks every pallid face;
    One voice austere, sonorous,
  Chides, threatens, sometimes curses. How they flush,
  Its victims silent, tame! That voice would hush
    A seraph-choir in chorus.

  "Strident, sardonic, stern; the harrying sound
  Lashes them like a flail the long hours round,
    Till to strained nerves 'twere sweeter
  To silence it with one fierce passionate grip,
  Than into some bland Lotos Land to slip,
    And moon out life to metre.

  "From early morn till midnight these poor slaves
  Have 'served the public;' now, when nature craves
    Rest from the strain and scurry
  Of Shopdom's servitude, they still must wake
  Some weary hours, though hands with fever shake
    And nerves are racked with worry.

  "Though the great streets are still, the shutters up,
  Gas flares within, and ere they sleep or sup
    These serfs of Competition
  Must clean, and sort and sum. There's much to do
  Behind those scenes set fair to public view
    By hucksters of position.

  "The shop-assistant's Sabbath has begun!
  His sixteen hours long Saturday has run
    Its wearing course and weary.
  The last light's out, and many an aching head
  At last, at last, seeks in a lonely bed
    A dreamland dim and dreary.

  "In roseate visions shall racked souls rejoice
  Haunted by echoes of that harrying voice?
    Nay, friend, uncounted numbers
  Of victims to commercial strain and stress,
  Seek nought more sweet than dull forgetfulness
    In the short night's scant slumbers."

  "Too sombre Spirit, hath the opening year
  No scenes of gayer hope and gentler cheer?
    Is all beneath night's curtain
  In this vast city void of promise glad?
  Are all the guests of midnight spectres sad,
    And suffering and uncertain?"

  So I addressed the Shadow. "Friend," he smiled.
  "'Twas 'lurid London' that you wished 'untiled.'
    Most secret things are sinister.
  Innocent mirth needs no Ithuriel spear
  To make its inner entity appear.
    Still, to your mood I'll minister.

  "Not long-drawn Labour only breaks the rest
  Of London's night. Society in quest
    Of Gold's sole rival, Pleasure,
  Makes little of the bounds of dark and day.
  Night's hours lead on a dance as glad and gay
    As the old Horaes' measure.

  "Look!" Such a burst of laughter shook the room
  As might dispel a desert anchorite's gloom.
    Flushed faces keen and clever
  Contorted wildly; such mirth-moving shape
  Was taken by that genial histrion's jape
    As mobs are mute at never.

  A long soft-lighted room, the muffled beat
  On carpets soft of watchful waiters' feet
    In deft attendance gliding;
  A table spread with toothsome morsels, fit
  For the night-feast of genius, wealth and wit,
    Of a skilled _chef's_ providing.

  Goodfellowship, _bonnes bouches_, right pleasant tales
  Of _bonnes fortunes!_ Here a quaint cynic rails,
    There an enthusiast gushes.
  Gay talk flows on, not in a rolling stream,
  But with the brooklet's intermittent gleam
    And brisk irradiant rushes.

  Side-lights from all Society shift here
  Reflected in keen _mot_ and jocund jeer,
    Wild jest, and waggish whimsey.
  Stagedom disrobed and Statecraft in undress,
  Stars of the Art-world, pillars of the Press,
    Sage solid, _flâneur_ flimsy,

  All cross and counter here; they lounge and sup:
  The fragrant smoke-cloud and the foaming cup
    Tickle their eager senses.
  What care these for the clock, whilst banter flows
  And dainty "snacks" and toothsome herring-roes
    The distant cook dispenses?

  "How different these," my calm companion said,
  "From the crowd yonder! These yearn not for bed
    As rest from leaden labour."
  The night may be far spent, the Sabbath dawns,
  But here no dull brain-palsied drowser yawns
    At his half-nodding neighbour.

  "With wit, and wealth, and wine, the hours of night
  In sombre Babylon may dispense delight.
    These revellers, slumber-scorning,
  Radiant and well-arrayed, will stop, and stop,
  Till waiters drowse. But then, yon slaves of Shop
    Must meet a different morning."

  (_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

An unsatisfactory christmas present.--We can well understand and
sympathise with you in your disappointment on discovering that you had
been deceived as to the amount of intelligence possessed by the Learned
Pig that you had been induced to purchase as a Christmas present for
your invalid Grandfather. It must have been very annoying, after having
imagined that you had provided your aged relative with a nice long
winter's evening amusement resulting from the creature's advertised
powers of telling fortunes and spelling sentences with a pack of
ordinary playing cards, to receive a letter from the housekeeper
bitterly complaining of its performance, which seems merely to have
consisted of eating all the tea-cake, biting a housemaid, getting
between your Grandfather's legs and upsetting him in his armchair, and,
finally, when pursued, trying to obtain refuge in the grand piano. You
cannot be surprised after this experience, that it has been intimated to
you that if you do not take the creature yourself away at once, it will
be forthwith handed over to the first policeman that passes. Yes, spite
the pig's reputed intellectual gifts, we would advise you to close with
the pork-butcher's offer you mention. When the creature has been cut up,
send your Grandfather some of the sausages. This may possibly appease
the old gentleman, and serve to allay the irritation that your
unfortunate Christmas gift appears to have occasioned.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NORTH WALLS.--The Sporting Correspondent of the _Sunday Times_ tells
us that Colonel NORTH is "having a new ball-room"--(he wouldn't have an
old one built, would he? But no matter)--"the walls of which are
composed of onyx." Of course, a Billionaire pays all the workmen
punctually and regularly; therefore, "Owe-nix" walls are an appropriate
memorial. _Si monumentum quæris, circumspice._

       *       *       *       *       *

DARES AND ENTELLUS.

(_New Non-Virgilian Version told by Punchius to the Shade of Sayerius in
the Elysian Fields. With Intercalary Observations by the Illustrious
ex-Pugilist._)

Illustration: _Mr. Punch._ "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT, TOM?"

_Shade of Sayers._ "THINK!" (_Disgusted._) "WHY, I THINK THE SOONER THE
P. R.'S PUT DOWN, THE BETTER!"

    Then bulky DARES in the ring appears,
    Chucking his "castor" in 'midst husky cheers.
    DARES, the so-called "Champion" of his land,
    Who met the great KILRAINUS hand to hand,
    And at the Pelicanus strove--in vain--
    The Ethiopian's onset to sustain.
    Such DARES was, and such he strode along,
    And drew hoarse homage from the howling throng.
    His brawny breast and bulky arms he shows,  }
    His lifted fists around his head he throws, }
    Huge caveats to the inadvertent nose.       }
    But DARES, who, although a sinewy brute,
    Had not of late increased his old repute,
    Looked scarce like one prepared for gain or loss,
    And scornful of the surreptitious "cross;"
    Rather the kind of cove who tackled fair
    Would think more of the "corner" than "the square."
    (_"Ah! bust him, yes!"_ SAYERIUS _here put in,
    "He meant to tie or wrangle, not to win.
    I'd like to--well, all right, I will not say:
    But 'twasn't so at Farnborough in my day."_)
    Next stout ENTELLUS for the strife prepares,
    Strips off his ulster, and his body bares,
    Composed of mighty bone and brawn he stands.
    A six-foot straight, "fine fellow of his hands."
    ENTELLUS, Champion of the Austral realm,
    Whose sight fat DARES seemed to overwhelm.
    (_"Yah!" cried_ SAYERIUS, _"brave_ HEENANUS _stood
    Well over me; yes, and his grit was good.
    But did I funk the Big 'Un from the fust?
    No, nor when nine times I had bit the dust!"_)
    They both attentive stand with eyes intent,
    Their arms well up, their bodies backward bent.
    One on his clamorous "Corner" most relies;
    The other on his sinews and his size.
    Unequal in success, they ward, they strike,
    Their styles are different, but their aims alike.
    Big blows are dealt; stout DARES hops around,
    His pulpy sides the rattling thumps resound.
    (_"He always was a fleshy 'un, yer know,"
    Said brave_ SAYERIUS. _"But on yer go!"_)
    Steady and straight ENTELLUS stands his ground,
    Although already rowdy rows abound.
    His hand and watchful eyes keep even pace,
    While DARES traverses and shifts his place,
    And, like a cornered rat in a big pit.
    Keeps off, and doesn't like the job a bit.
    (_"No, that I'll bet!" the brave_ SAYERIUS _said.
    "Wish I'd been there to punch his bloomin' 'ed!"_)
    More on his feet than fists the cur relies,
    And on that crowded "Corner" keeps his eyes.
    With straightening shots ENTELLUS threats the foe, }
    But DARES dodges the descending blow,              }
    And back into his Corner's prompt to go.           }
    Where bludgeon, knuckleduster, knotted sticks,
    Foul sickening blows and cruel coward kicks
    Are in his interest on ENTELLUS rained
    At every point that plucky boxer gained.
    (_"Oh!" groaned_ SAYERIUS. _"And this sort of thing
    Wos let go on, with gents around the Ring!"_)
    In vain ENTELLUS gave sly DARES snuff;
    DARES already felt he'd had enough;
    But twenty ruffians, thralls of bets and "booze,"
    Had sworn could he not win he should not lose.
    DARES, you see, was "Champion" of his land,
    And these were "Trojans all" you'll understand.
    (_"Champion be blowed!_" SAYERIUS _said_. _"Wus luck,
    They wasn't Trojans. This is British pluck!"_)
    Then from the Corner fiendish howls arise,
    And oaths and execrations rend the skies.
    ENTELLUS stoutly to the fight returned.
    Kicked, punched and mauled, his eyes with fury burned,
    Disdain and conscious courage fired his breast,
    And with redoubled force his foe he pressed,
    Laid on with either hand like anything,
    And headlong drove his rival round the Ring;
    Nor stops nor stays, nor rest, nor breath allows.
    Thereon the Corner raised redoubled rows,
    Yelled false alarms of "Rescue!" heaved half-bricks,
    And murderous missiles and unmanly kicks
    Poured on ENTELLUS, whilst fat DARES slunk
    Between his bullies, like a shabby skunk.
    (_"Bah!" growled_ SAYERIUS. _"Fancy_ CRIBBS _or_ GULLIES
    _Backing down under guard of blackguard bullies!"_)
    But now the Ref., who saw the row increase,
    Declared a "draw," and bade the combat cease.
    (_"A draw?"_ SAYERIUS _shouted_. _"Was he drunk?
    Or had he, like the rest, a fit of funk?"_)
    "This," PUNCHIUS said, "ended the precious game.
    In which all, save ENTELLUS, suffered shame.
    SAYERIUS mine, I trust you take delight
    In this description of a Champion Fight!"

    "A _Fight_," SAYERIUS shouted. "Oh, get out!
    It was a 'barney.' If this ruffian rout
    Of cheats and 'bashers' now surround the Ring,
    You'd better stop it as a shameful thing.
    In JACKSON'S time, and even in my day,
    It did want courage, and did mean fair play--
    Most times, at least. But don't mix up _this_ muck
    With tales of rough-and-tumble British pluck.
    I'd like to shake ENTELLUS by the hand,
    And give that DARES--wot he'd understand
    Better, you bet, than being fair or "game,"
    Or trying to keep up the Old Country's name!
    But anyhow, if Boxing's sunk so low
    As _this_, why, hang it, PUNCHIUS, _let it go!"_
    Said _Punch_, as from the Elysian Fields he strode,
    "If you're not right, SAYERIUS mine, I'm blowed!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: STUDIES IN REPARTEE.

_Algy (patronizingly)._ "ULLO, JIM!--WHAT--YOU PLAY THE BANJO? YOU LUCKY
DOG, YOU POSSESS ALL THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS I LACK!"

_Jim, (modestly)._ "OH, NONSENSE! WHY, YOU'RE MAKING ME OUT A REGULAR
_CRICHTON!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

WORK FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

    DEAR MR. PUNCH,   _New Year's Day_ (_or thereabouts_), 1890.

Every fellow says you are such a good chap, and what every fellow says
must be true. Now we want you to do us a good turn. We wish you would
write down "holiday tasks." It is such a beastly shame that fellows home
for "the Yule-Tide Vacation" (as our Head Master calls it), should have
to be stewing away at all sorts of beastly things. No--if we are to do
anything in the working line, let us have a paper like the subjoined,
which, at any rate, will test our knowledge of what we have been doing
during the holidays. You will see I have added the answers in
the manner I think they should be given to secure full marks.
    Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_,

    Yours sincerely, SMITH MINIMUS.

    1. Give a short account of your Christmas dinner, distinguishing
between the sustenance for the body, and the food for the mind.

    _Answer._ Whole affair stunning. Turkey and mince-pies first-rate.
Champagne might have been drier--but, tol lol! Uncle BOB rather prosy,
but his girls capital fun. Tips satisfactory.

    2. What do you know of (1) the Pantomime at the Crystal Palace, (2) the
World's Fair at the Agricultural Hall, and (3) the Panorama of Waterloo
at Ashley Place?

    _Answer._ (1.) _Aladdin_ is the subject of the Palace Pantomime, which
is not half bad. Mr. DAUBAN, as usual, capital, and the dresses quite
Drury Lane form. Scenery, too, (especially Willow-pattern Plate) up to
the mark, if not more so. (2.) World's Fair, at Agricultural Hall,
rather mixed. Excellent menagerie--good old BLONDIN--but side-shows
second-rate. Shakspearian Pantaloon in one of the latter seemed to be
enjoying Christmas in the old-fashioned manner. (3.) Panorama of
Waterloo, not only patriotic, but artistic. Regular good set-to between
the Highlanders and French Cuirassiers. Skull in the Relics
Department--pretty ornament for the Annual Banquet at the Surgeons'
Hall.

    3. Given a traveller from Charing Cross to St. Clement's Danes,
describe the places of interest he would pass during the journey.

    _Answer._ I think the best way of flooring this question is to say what
I should do if I made the voyage. Take a cup of chocolate at Aërated
Bread Company, with two pennyworth of butter and cake; then to the
Lowther Arcade, to get some toys for the young 'uns. Next to GATTI'S
Restaurant for Lunch. Being a good day for _Matinées_, look in at
TERRY'S for First Act of _Sweet Lavender_, then to the Opéra Comique for
Second Act of _Real Little Lord Fauntleroy_; lastly, wind up with a bit
of _Our Flat_ at the Strand. Dine quietly at the Gaiety before
seeing the _Dead Heart_ at the Lyceum, which will produce an appetite,
to be appeased only at RULE'S, where you can take a light supper--then
to bed.

    4. Do you think that the Head Master of your school would derive any
benefit from a closer association with the Metropolis? If you do, give
your reason for such an opinion.

    _Answer._ I decidedly think old SWISHTALE would be better for a week
(under supervision) in London. Might take him to the Empire, the Pav.,
and to see _Ruy Blas, or the Blasé Roué_. If it did him no other good,
it would afford him a topic for conversation at lesson time.

       *       *       *       *       *

JUSTICE AT HIGH-PRESSURE.

(_Or what it has nearly come to in Judges' Chambers._)

SCENE--_Room in Royal Courts divided by railing into two parts. First
part occupied by_ Chief Clerk _seated in front of table covered with
papers. Second part filled with_ Solicitors' Clerks _hustling one
another in the endeavour to attract attention. List for the day's causes
about six yards long._

_Chief Clerk_ (_after three hours' hard work_). Now, Gentlemen, one at a
time. SMITH _versus_ BROWN!

_Six Solicitors' Representatives_ (_speaking together_). Won't take a
minute in--only an order to----

_Chief Clerk._ One at a time, Gentlemen! Who has the conduct of this
matter?

_First Solicitor's Representative._ I have, Sir. It's an order to sell
some freehold land. We have half a dozen valuations, and we want you to
decide the conditions of sale.

_Chief Clerk._ Hand in the documents, and let the matter be submitted to
the conveyancing counsel for a draft. Adjourned for a week. Next,
please! JONES _versus_ ROBINSON!

_Second Solicitor's Representative_ (_forcing his way to the front_). This
suit has been going on for six years, and we have got to second further
consideration. By the recent statute, Sir, you now have to tax the
costs.

_Chief Clerk._ Very well; hand them in, and when I have looked through
them I will give you an appointment to proceed. Next, please! SNOOKS
_versus_ TOMPKINS!

_Third Solicitor's Representative._ Settlement of certificate. There are
eighteen parties to this suit, and we have seventeen present--the
eighteenth would be here, but I fancy the gentleman in charge of the
matter has the influenza, and----

_Chief Clerk_ (_relieved_). Oh, very well, then; as we can't proceed
behind his back, we must adjourn it. SHRIMP _versus_ LAMBKIN!

_Fourth Solicitor's Representative_ (_promptly_). Rather a hard case, Sir.
One of the beneficiaries, who presumably is entitled to the interest on
£20,000 for six years, is in urgent need of five pounds, and----

_Chief Clerk_ (_looking at summons_). Are you opposed?

_Fifth Solicitor's Representative._ Certainly, Sir; although my client
instructs me to say that he too considers it a hard case, and----

_Chief Clerk_ (_interrupting_). I have no power, then, to make an order;
but, of course, if you like, I will put it in the Judges' list.
Application refused. BUNKUM _versus_ TINSEL!

_Sixth Solicitor's Representative._ Remuneration of Receiver, Sir. You
have the papers.

_Chief Clerk_ (_glancing at documents_). I think the Receiver had some
special trouble in the matter.

_Sixth Solicitor's Representative._ Yes, Sir. I appear for him, and he
tells me he has employed six clerks.

_Chief Clerk._ Quite so--commission at seven per cent. PEACE _versus_
GOODWILL!

_Seventh Solicitor's Representative._ Proceed with accounts. We object
to item 29--grave-stone to testator. Will said that the funeral was to
be of the simplest character, and----

_Chief Clerk._ I see. Disallowed. What other items are objected to?

_Seventh Solicitor's Representative._ Nos. 33, 44, 87, 136, 150 to 506
inclusive: but, Sir, as some of these may take some time, and we are not
quite prepared----

_Chief Clerk._ Very well. Adjourned for three months. WYLD _versus_
SHEPHERD and Others!

_Eighth Solicitor's Representative._ We wish to suspend the Manager of
the Restaurant in this matter. It is alleged that he----

_Chief Clerk_ (_who has glanced at the papers_). I shall not deal myself
with this matter, but put it in the Judges' list. And now, Gentlemen, as
I have to attend his Lordship in his own Chambers, I am afraid the other
matters must be adjourned to another occasion.

    [_Exit into inner Apartment hurriedly._

_Ninth Solicitor's Representative._ And he has only got to number
seventeen on the 11:30 list! Too bad!

_Chorus of Solicitors' Representatives._ Another morning wasted! But
it's not _his_ fault; _he_ works hard enough! But, why don't they get
enough men to do the business?

    [_Exeunt to appease their clients, who are impatiently waiting to hear
    the result of their various applications. Forcible language, and
    Curtain._

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

REMINGTON'S _Annual_ is a Remington which should go off well. This is
the report of it--from the Baron--who says, get it, and read it. _A
Fleety Show_, by W. H. POLLOCK. Those who remember _The Green Lady and
other Stories_, will be delighted with this. A very quaint idea, which
would have borne further elaboration.

I came across a story, new to me, but not new, I dare say, to many of my
readers--I mean _Cashel Byron's Profession_, by G. BERNARD SHAW. To
those who have yet the pleasure to come of reading this one-volume
novel, I say, emphatically, get it. The notion is original. The
stage-mechanism of the plot is antiquated; but, for all that, it serves
its purpose. It is thoroughly interesting. Only one shilling, in the
Novocastrian Series. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT ON GOOD OLD KRISMUS.

Of course I don't kno how jolly Old Krismus affecks other peepel, but I
do kno how it affecks me, and that is, that I allus feels pertickler
kind to pore ragged littel children, such as we sees in sum of our
back-streets and sitch places, and eweryboddy can therefore understand
without werry much trubble how werry pleased I was at what append the
other day, and how jolly prowd I was at being alloud to have my little
share in it.

I offishyated the other day at a werry werry nice party of about twenty,
at one of our best Tavverns, and they was about as nice and brite and
jowial a set of Gents as I have had the honner of waiting on for sum
time parst. They larfed and they chatted away as I likes to see 'em, cos
I nos from my long experience that them's the sort of Gents as is allus
werry libberal to the pore Waiters. Well, one of the werry britest and
wittyest of 'em all, jest about the time as the sperrits is the highest,
wiz., about a hower after dinner, when the wine is a having its werry
best effect, pulls a paper out of his pocket that was ruled all over,
and had a lot of names on it, and he says, says he, with his werry
britest smile, "We've all had a jolly nice dinner, and plenty of good
honnest fun, and I now want you all to join me in a reel good lark;" and
they all looks at him quite hegerly. Then he says, "If you will every
one of you give me a shilling, I will let you have a chance in my
lottery, where they is all prizes and no blanks, and the prizes will
give as much plezzur and appyness," says he, "as the jolly good dinner
we has all just had."

So they all larfed at the funny idear, and they past the paper round,
and ewery one on 'em sined his name and cashed up a shilling.

"I now garrantees," I think he sed, "that for ewery shilling you have
given me no less than twenty-four pore little children shall have a good
dinner; and so, as there is jest twenty of us, we shall have purwided a
good dinner for no less than fore hunderd and hayty pore little hungry
children!"

I was that estonished at this wunderfull rewelashun that I was struck
dum for a minnet, while the jolly party rapped the table and cried,
"Bravo!" But I soon pulled myself together, and, going up quietly behind
the kind-arted Gent, I says, in a whisper, "Please, Sir, will you kindly
let me be a subscriber?" And he did, and I paid my shilling, and sined
my name, amid the cheers of the cumpny, and then retired, as prowd as a
Alderman. But what a fact for an Hed Waiter to ponder hover! A dinner
for a hapenny! and the dinner as this jolly party had bin a eating cost,
I dessay, quite thirty shillings a head, which I makes out to be, not
being a werry grand skoller, about enuff for some seven hunderd pore
children's dinners! I leaves to stronger heds than mine to calkerlate
how many pore children the bill for the hole twenty wood have paid for;
BROWN says ewer so many thousands; but BROWN does always xagerate so.
    ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"HER MAJESTY'S OPPOSITION."

AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS IMPERATOR, of course, represents "the Government,"
and Messrs. H. J. LESLIE and HARRIS (CHARLES of that ilk) are "Her
Majesty's Opposition," who are to be congratulated on their Pantomime of
_Cinderella_ at Her Majesty's Theatre. Having purchased the book,--which
must be classed among the "good books" of the season,--I can say
decidedly that there is a considerable, though not a material,
difference between the Pantomime _Cinderella_ "as she is wrote" by the
two pretty men "Messrs. RICHARD and HENRY,"--whose surnames, I am
informed, are synonymous with those of a great English theologian and a
still greater English astronomer,--and "the Pantomime _Cinderella_" as
she is now performed at Her Majesty's. "Cut and run" must ever be the
motto of the Playright's and the theatrical Manager's action; but what
astonished me, before I consulted the book, was the omission on the
stage of the striking dramatic climax,--especially striking, because a
clock is involved in it,--of _Cinderella's_ story.

Illustration: Portrait of Cinderella "Palmer quæ meruit." A Minnie-ture.

Could I believe my eyes, when, after a magnificent ball-room scene,
where the colours are grouped with consummate skill and taste, I saw the
handsome prince Miss ROBINA _remplaçante_ of Miss VIOLET CAMERON, lead
to her place in the centre of that glittering throng the _petite et
pétillante Cinderella_ in her Court dress, wearing her little glass
slippers (very little slippers, and very little glass), and then,
nothing happened, except that the next Scene descended, and hid them
from view.

But, Heavens! had the Clock in the Palace Yard stopped? Had its works
got out of order? Had it followed the example of the Dock and Gasmen,
and "struck," by refusing to strike? Ah! "Inventor and Producer," Ah!
Mr. H. J. LESLIE, "Ah!" to everyone who had a hand in this sacrilege;
"Ah!" on behalf of Messrs. RICHARD and HENRY, who could not have yielded
this point except under a strong protest,--please restore this. We would
all of us from eight years old (permitted by home licence to go to
theatres at night during Christmas holidays), and up to over fifty
(compelled to go to look after the others, and delighted to do so)--we
would all of us rather hear the clock strike twelve, see _Cinderella_ in
rags, running for bare life, see the Prince in despair at the flight of
his partner, on whose card his name was down for sixteen more valses and
galops, than witness a black-and-white dance, with fans, pretty in
itself, and set to very pretty Solomonesque music, but meaningless as
regards plot.

Here is the stage-direction--"_At the end of song_"--which should have
been a national song, by Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT, but wasn't--in fact, there
was no song at all, as well as I can remember, though I rather think the
crowd were always more or less singing a chorus,--"_clock strikes_." If
it did, I didn't hear it. If it did, why didn't the characters behave as
sich, and on _Cinderella's_ saying what the authors have written, and
which I am positive I didn't hear,

    "What shall I do? the hour has struck at last!
    I hope to goodness that that clock's too fast!"

why didn't they execute a "_Hurried Gallop_," and why wasn't the
stage-direction, "_The Ball breaks up_,"--the printer prefers "breakes
up,"--"_in wild confusion_" carried out? No one knows better than this
present scribe what changes are necessitated at the last moment, and
after the book is published. But an alteration which omits the point of
the story is scarcely an improvement. It does not affect me that the
demon _Scroogins_ was reduced comparatively to a dummy, for poor Mr.
SHIEL BARRY was suffering from dreadful hoarseness, and could hardly
speak, much less sing. There were originally too many plums in the
pudding. The knock-about scene by two ARMSTRONGS, in imitation of our
old friends the Two MACS, very ingeniously introduced as _Jeames the
First_ and _Jeames the Second_, Royal Footmen, is immensely funny.
_Cinderella's_ jödelling lullaby is pretty. All the music is bright and
lively, and I fancy that though there are the names of four or five
Composers to the bill, Conductor SOLOMON,--who keeps them all going, and
sticks to his beat with the tenacity of a policeman,--has done the major
part of it, and the minor too. Bravo, Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON! "What's a hat
without a head?" and what's a Norchestra without a NED? Mr. ALFRED
CELLIER is responsible for a charming minuet.

Extraordinary Omission from the Shakspeare Tableaux at Her
Majesty's, when they had the materials at hand--

Illustration: "THE TWO MACS."

One more question--Where were "the Lyrics by Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT?" Is Mr.
LESLIE satisfied with one Lyric in Shaftesbury Avenue? And is he keeping
back Mr. SCOTT'S for his next Opera? Perhaps though, as Miss VIOLET
CAMERON now appears as the Prince, the lyrics are sweetly sung, which is
an inducement to revisit _Cinderella chez elle_.

The Transformation Scene is very effective. Will the Public ever regain
their taste for the short Pantomime, with one Big Show in it, and an
hour's Harlequinade.    JACK IN THE PRIVATE BOX.


       *       *       *       *       *

A JAPANESE BELLE.

    "This tiny Japanese lady, whom you left, as you thought, on the lid
    of the glove-box at home."--_Sir Edwin Arnold, in Daily Telegraph._

  EDWIN ARNOLD, Knight and Poet, vividly descriptive man,
  I'm in love, and you must know it, with your _belle_ in far Japan.

  Her _kimono_ looks so telling with sleeve swaying in the wind,
  And the amber _obi_ swelling into satin bows behind.

  Though her charming little nose is, you confess, a trifle flat,
  When the lips are red as roses, who would stop to think of that?

  Sunny smiles so sweet and simple, scornful cynic soul might win,
  While a most bewitching dimple guards the fascinating chin.

  Teeth the purest pearl outshining, shell-pink nails, and she will wear
  Just one red camellia twining in her ebon wealth of hair.

  Jet looks grey beside her tresses blacker than the murk midnight,
  While the little hand that presses each coquettish curl shines white.

  She is quite an _avis rara_, but her lips for me were dumb,
  Though she murmured, "_Sayonara_," and again should bid me come.

  If her fairy ears I frighten with the wild words of the West,
  Surely love will come to lighten all the burden of my breast.

  I will learn her awful lingo, if by any chance I can;
  I'll despoil the gay flamingo to provide her with a fan.

  She will note my admiration, smiling in a sweet surprise,
  And there _can_ be conversation lovers learn 'twixt eyes and eyes.

  Come what will, methinks I'll chance it, and for pretty things to say,
  I will read up, during transit, all _The Light of Asia_.

  Since, Sir EDWIN, dainty dreamer, thine the pen that bids me go,
  By the fastest train and steamer, straightway off to Tokio.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LION'S DIARY.

Bother being caged up in this wooden box along with a boar-hound. Why a
boar-hound? Is he supposed to look after me? I rather like that, if he
is. "Look after _me_?" Why just with one touch of one of my forepaws I
could smash him in half a minute like two-twos. And for the matter of
that, that fellow with the whip, who imagines he keeps me in order, by
fixing his eye on me. Yes, and the horse too; the whole three of them.
But there's that bit of meat at the end of the performance, so I suppose
I may as well appear "to come the docile highly trained beast," and go
through with the tomfoolery and collar it. "Snarl?" _Do_ I? Of course I
do. It's the one outlet I have for my feelings. Who wouldn't snarl under
the circumstances? Fancy, me, the "King of Beasts" (it sounds like
chaff), dropping off a platform, at a given signal, on to the back of an
idiotic circus-horse, stared at through a lot of bars by a house packed
full of applauding fools! And we finish up by a scamper all round
together that seems vastly to amuse them! What a come-down for a Lion!
Learned pigs and educated bears are well enough, but they should know
where to draw the line and stop at the "Monarch." I keep pretty quiet at
present because it pays, but that snarl of mine may end in a roar. By
Jove! if it does, the horse, boar-hound, and fellow with the whip, had
better look out for themselves, and that's all I have got to say about
it at present.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: ETYMOLOGY.

"HOW DO YOU DO, MY LITTLE MAN? I'M YOUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR, YOU KNOW!"

"WHAT'S A _NEIGHBOUR_?"

"WELL--_NEIGH_ MEANS _NIGH_; THAT IS, _NEAR_, AND----"

"OH, THANK YOU. I KNOW WHAT _BORE_ MEANS!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE DIVORCE SHOP.

PRIVATE INQUIRY AGENT. "WANT A DIVORCE, SIR?--CERTAINLY! ANY EVIDENCE
YOU MAY REQUIRE READY AT THE SHORTEST POSSIBLE NOTICE!!"

THE DIVORCE SHOP.

  "A NATION of Shopkeepers!" Well, that old jeer
  May fall with small sting on an Englishman's ear,
    For 'tis Commerce that keeps the world going.
  But _this_ kind of Shop? By his _bâton_ and hunch,
  The thought of it sickens the spirit of _Punch_,
    And sets his cheek angrily glowing.

  The Philistines, Puritans, Podsnaps, and Prigs
  Of Britain play up some preposterous rigs,
    And tax e'en cosmopolite charity.
  But here is a business that's not to be borne;
  Its mead is the flail and the vial of scorn,
    Not chaffing or Christmas hilarity.

  The Skunk _not_ indigenous, Sirs, to our Isle?
  The assertion might well bring a cynical smile
    To the lips of a critical Yankee.
  The vermin is here; he has set up a shop,
  And seems doing a prosperous trade, which to stop
    Demands more than mere law's hanky-panky.

  Poor Law's tangled up in long coils of Red Tape,
  She's the butt for each Jeremy Diddler's coarse jape,
    Every filthy Paul Pry's ghoulish giggle.
  JOHN BULL, my fine fellow, wake up, and determine
  To stamp out the lives of the venomous vermin
    Who round your home-hearth writhe and wriggle.

  'Ware Snakes! No, _Punch_ begs the ophidian's pardon!
  The slimiest slug in the filthiest garden
    Is not so revolting as these are,
  These ultra-reptilian rascals, who spy
  Round our homes, and, for pay, would, with treacherous eye,
    Find flaws in the wife e'en of CÆSAR.

  Find? Well, if unable to _find_ they will _make_.
  No, the loathliest asp that e'er lurked in the brake
    To spring on the passer unwary,
  Was not such an _anguis in herbâ_ as this is,
  Mean worm, which of all warning rattles and hisses
    Is so calculatingly chary.

  The Spy sets up Shop! And what has he for sale?
  False evidence meant to weight Justice's scale,
    Eavesdroppings, astute fabrications,
  The figments of vile keyhole varlets, the fudge
  Of venal vindictiveness. Faugh! the foul sludge
    Reeks rank as the swamp's exhalations.

  Paul Pry, with a poison-fang, ready to bite
  In the pay of home-hate or political spite,
    Is a portent as mean as malignant.
  The villain is vermin scarce worthy of steel,
  His head should lie crushed 'neath the merciless heel
    Of honesty hotly indignant.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTHING NEW.--"Every Schoolboy" knows that scent was familiar to the
Romans, and what scent it was. Will he not at once quote the line,
_"Tityre tu patchouli recubans," &c_.

       *       *       *       *       *

WINTER AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.

It is emphatically pleasant. From a Fine-Art point of view, it is "the
winter of our great content." Only a few weeks ago we had an Exhibition
of the Young Masters, and very-much-alive English Artists--to wit, the
students of the Royal Academy--at Burlington House, and now Sir
FREDERICK LEIGHTON has waved his wand, and has given us a transformation
scene in the way of a collection of works by the Old Masters and
Deceased Painters of the British School. And a very good show it is, and
very grateful we feel to those who have for a time stripped their rooms
in order that we may enjoy a sight of their treasures. Very restful to
the eye and soothing to the spirit are these grand contributions by the
Old Boys. They may say what they please about the progress of modern
Art, but _Mr. Punch_ is of opinion that many of these fine specimens of
CROME, GAINSBOROUGH, JANSEN, MURILLO, MULREADY, &c., are bad to beat.
How time slips away! It only seems the other day that these Winter
Exhibitions were started by the Royal Academy, and yet the present one
is the twenty-first.

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSICAL NOTES.--When the Oratorio of _Nineveh_ is performed again,
with incidents in the life of JONAH, one of the features will be a
magnificent wail in a minor key.--There is to be a banquet given to
musical Dr. TURPIN. It was graceful on the part of the Archbishop of
CANTERBURY to make this excellent musician a Doctor--the name of
TURPIN being more closely associated with York than Canterbury.

       *       *       *       *       *

STATESMEN AT HOME.

Illustration: DCXLI. EARL GRANVILLE, K.G., AT WALMER CASTLE.

As you step out of the railway carriage that has brought you at
leisurely speed to Deal, you cannot help thinking of another arrival
that, at the time, created even more attention on the part of the
inhabitants. You, bent on a visit to the genial Lord Warden of the
Cinque Ports, arrive from landward. JULIUS CÆSAR came by sea; And yet,
so narrow is the world, and so recurrent its movements, you both arrive
at the same town!

As you walk down Beach Street, reading the _Commentaries_, which you
have brought down in your coat-tail pocket, you recognise the "plain and
open shore" which CÆSAR describes as being reached after passing the
cliffs of Dover. Here he landed, now many years ago, and your host who,
eager for your coming, even now stands on the top of the great round
tower that dominates his castle-home, can look upon the very spot on
which the Conqueror stepped ashore. Presently he takes you to see the
marks of the intrenchment, plainly visible to this day. With heightened
colour and dramatic gesture the belted Earl tells how, on the fourth
night after the arrival of the Roman fleet, that great storm which ever
comes to Britain's aid in such emergencies, arose, wrecking J. CÆSAR'S
galleys, and driving them far up the shingly beach.

"What's to be done now?" CÆSAR'S quartermaster asked.

"Done?" said J. CÆSAR in the colloquial Latin of the day. "Why, haul the
fleet up on to the beach."

So they brought the ships ashore; CÆSAR intrenched them within a camp,
and remained there till the weather improved. Your host presses upon
your acceptance a handful of soil from the _tumuli_.

"CÆSAR'S foot may have pressed it," he says, as you, with a perhaps
exaggerated appearance of pleasurable interest, pocket the dust, being
careful to turn your pocket inside out as soon as you are beyond sight
of the castle on your homeward way.

As your hansom pulls up abruptly under the shadow of the ancient castle,
you find your further progress stopped by a _fosse_, across which is
haughtily flung a sixteenth-century drawbridge. HENRY THE EIGHTH, in a
rare moment of leisure from domestic affairs, built Walmer Castle for
the defence of the coast. You are much struck with the architectural
design, which resembles in some degree a mass of _blancmange_ turned out
of a mould. Four round lunettes of stone, wearily worked by hands now
cold, stand four-square to all the winds that blow. In the middle is a
great round tower, with a cistern on the top, and underneath an arched
cavern which you are pleased to learn is bomb-proof. As you cross the
drawbridge, you feel bound to admit that the prospect is not inviting.
It seems as if you were going to prison instead of to visit, at his
marine residence, one of the most courtly and (peradventure) the most
hospitable noblemen of his age. The severe stonework frowns upon you;
the portholes stare, and you almost wish that, regardless of expense,
you had kept your hansom waiting.

But all uneasiness vanishes as you cross the reverberating stone floor,
and pass into the apartments fronting the sea. You feel as if you had
journeyed into a new world, a sunnier clime. Your host, with
outstretched hand, welcomes you to Walmer, and makes kindly inquiries as
to the incidents of your journey.

"It is, I expect, very cold in London," he says, with his genial smile;
"you will find it Walmer here."

You protest that varieties of temperature are of very inconsiderable
concern to you, and, throwing yourself on the walnut couch by the recess
window, daintily draped with orange-and-blue chintz, you gaze forth on
the varied scene without. The stately ships go on to their haven under
the hill; the ever-changing procession presses on, homeward or outward
bound; and, beyond, the unbroken, treacherous barrier of the Goodwin
Sands.

"It's strange you should choose that place," your host says, in his
soft, liquid tones; "that was the favourite corner of a former
predecessor in the honourable office I now hold. In the first year of
this century, as you know, WILLIAM PITT was Lord Warden of the Cinque
Ports, and, tradition says, used, when he came down here, to sit at that
very window by the hour, gazing across the Downs towards the coast of
France, where his great enemy was preparing for a descent on the British
coast."

Naturally pleased by this coincidence, you endeavour to make your eyes
flash as you look across the sea (you remember to have read somewhere
that PITT had "an eagle eye;" perhaps two, but only one is mentioned);
try and think what PITT looked like generally, and what he did with his
arms, which you finally decide to fold across your chest, though
conscious that you more resemble NAPOLEON crossing the Alps than the
Great Commoner sitting at his drawing-room window in Walmer Castle.

Your host is pardonably proud of his Arboretum, which he has set out on
the roof where, in Tudor times, the cistern flaunted the breeze. Here,
bared to the winter sun, droop the long fronds of the _Fucus spungiosus
nodosus_. Close by is a specimen of that rare plant the _Fucus Dealensis
pedicularis rubrifolio_. Here, too, is the _Rhamnoides fructifera foliis
satiris_, rarely seen so far north. Here, coyly hang the narrow leaves
of the _Silene conoidea_; and here, slowly rocking in the S.S.W. wind,
is the sand willow (_Salix arenaria_). You fancy that somewhere you have
seen a finer _Hippophae rhamnoides_, but the _Dianthus cariophyllus_,
with its pleasant smell of cloves, well deserves the look of
appreciation which your host bends upon it. Here, too, are the _Geranium
maritinum_, and the wallflower-scented _Hottonia palustris_ and even the
humble _Brassica oleracea_.

"I have gathered them all in this district myself," your host says,
opening the violet velvet smoking-jacket (for which he has exchanged the
warlike garb he usually wears at Walmer) and casually displaying the
belt that marks his earldom.

You would like to ask whether a belted Earl ever wears braces, but
whilst you are thinking of how so delicate a question may be framed,
GRANVILLE, GEORGE, LEVESON-GOWER, Earl GRANVILLE, Knight of the Garter
and Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, relates, with that never failing
flow of natural humour which so greatly endears him to Lord SALISBURY,
the story of his chequered career, since he left Christchurch, Oxford,
now more than half a century ago and became Attaché to the Embassy at
Paris. The narrative which is full of point, agreeably occupies the time
up to half-past one, when the beating of a huge drum announces luncheon.
You make a feint of at once leaving, and Lord GRANVILLe, with that
almost excessive politeness which distinguishes him, hesitates to oppose
your apparent inclination.

As you pass out, skirting the piece of old ordnance dragged from the sea
in 1775, near the Goodwin Sands, by some fishermen who were sweeping for
anchors in the Gull-stream, you reach the conclusion, that politeness
may sometimes be carried too far. "Deale," notes LELAND, in his
interesting _Itinerary_, "is half a myle fro the shore of the sea, a
Finssheher village iii myles or more above Sandwich." That is all very
well for Deal; but a gentleman of healthy habits, who left London at ten
o'clock this morning would, as the afternoon advances, certainly not be
so much as three miles above a sandwich if it were offered.

Pleased with this quaint conceit, in which there is peradventure some
little humour, you drop in at a confectioner's, and fortify yourself
with a nineteenth-century bun, with which you trifle whilst the train
tarries.

       *       *       *       *       *

A SPORTING CORRESPONDENT, who says "he isn't in the know," asks "what we
think of _Garter_ for the Derby?" A word to the wise is sufficient.
"Garter" rhymes to "Starter." The Motto of the Garter is, _Honi soit qui
mal y pense_. We have spoken.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE POOR CHILDREN'S PANTOMIME; OR SAVED BY A MAGISTRATE'S
  ORDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MYSTIC LETTERS.

  Through the vast hall he stepped alone.
    Books, books were everywhere,
  In all the world he had not known
    A library so fair.

  Through pictured windows sunshine fell
    On carven cedar old,
  On velvet hangings, shading well
    Fair bindings manifold.

  Right joyfully he wandered on,
    Yet marvelled much to see--
  Gold letters on each volume shone,
    D. W. and T.

  "Some happy publisher," he mused,
    "Is designated thus--
  Perchance, who yet has not perused
    _My_ homeless genius."

  That publisher if I could view,
    I'd fall down at his feet.
  "Rise," he would cry. "For need of you
    The whole is incomplete!"

  His heart stood still. What wondrous sight
    Struck him with joyful awe?
  Inscribed in letters large and bright,
    'Twas his own name he saw.

  His own great works! All, all were there,
    Each title that he knew,
  In vellum, in morocco rare
    Of deep æsthetic blue.

  The Sonnets that his youth engrossed,
    The Novel of his prime,
  The Epic that he loved the most,
    The Tragedy sublime.

  He took the Epic from the shelf,
    Engravings rare surveyed--
  The Artist seemed a higher self,
    Who knew and who portrayed.

  "Notices of the Press"--His eyes
    Grew dim as he descried
  "True Genius we recognise"--
    Ah, who was at his side?

  He turned; but could it be, in truth,
    The Publisher he scanned?
  No austere presence, but a youth
    With poppies in his hand,

  Who smiled. Whereat the Author's mien
    Grew slowly blank, as on
  The mystic letters he had seen
    A fatal meaning shone.

  It seemed a melancholy wind
    Swept by him as he spoke.
  "D. W. and T. 'Declined
    With Thanks!'" he said, and woke.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: TANGIBLE.

_Second Groom (waiting at Tea for the nonce, and handing thin
Bread-and-butter--sotto voce_).

"CLAP TWO OR THREE BITS TOGETHER, MISS, THEN YOU'LL GET A BITE!"

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FOR THE NEW YEAR.

_The Emperor of Germany._--To make a couple of public speeches without
making use ten times of the first personal pronoun.

_Mr. Stanley._--To escape an overwhelming and universal ovation on his
return.

_The Czar._--To increase the Naval and Military Estimates of his country
with one hand, and at the same time succeed in controlling so-called
"legitimate National aspirations" with the other.

_The Sultan._--To pay his way, and yet preserve a smiling countenance.

_The Gas-Stokers' Union._--To learn the lesson taught them by the course
of recent events, and grow wise in time, without making further
mischievous efforts to alienate public sympathy.

_Mr. Barnum._--To prove to the grumblers, who write to the Papers to
complain of the "Booking" arrangements in connection with "The Greatest
Show on Earth," that the management is perfect, and could not be better.

_The Emperor of Brazil._--To make ends meet on an income of nothing
a-year.

_The Covent Garden Lion._--To find that his quite sedate, leisurely, and
altogether proper performance is watched every night in breathless
suspense by an excited audience.

_Mr. Augustus Harris._--To think already how he can manage to make his
next year's Christmas Pantomime outdo even his,--this season's,--latest
triumphant effort.

_Mr. Gladstone._--How to fit the items of his new Radical programme
nicely in with his Home-Rule Scheme, with a view to making some sort of
stir with both in the approaching Parliamentary Session.

_The Recently Unrolled Mummy._--To discover how he came to be so long
neglected in a back room in Gower Street, and to find out, now that they
have pounced on him, who the dickens he was when "up and doing" in Old
Egypt thirty centuries back.

_The Authorities at the War Office._--How to satisfy an inquisitive
public that 18,000 troopers can be comfortably and efficiently mounted
on the 12,000 horses, the total number provided for them for that
purpose by those who are responsible for their supply.

_The London Omnibus Horse._--How to get supplied with a proper shoe,
that will enable him to keep on his legs with equal facility on granite,
Macadam, wood, or asphalte.

_The First Lord of the Admiralty._--How to satisfy the country, from his
place in Parliament, that the "Department" is turning out big guns in
any number, and that, when they are turned out, he'll pledge his word
that they won't burst--unreasonably.

       *       *       *       *       *

"KILLALOE DAM GONE."--Under this heading, boldly displayed, the
_Scottish Leader_ announces that the inundation of the Shannon has
caused further serious damage to the new drainage works at Killaloe. The
way of putting it is undoubtedly terse and emphatic. It sets forth in
three words the consternation that fell upon Killaloe when the Shannon
rose, and the ruthless ruin that whelmed the town when the waters
retired. At the same time it is not quite the language we would have
expected from an able and responsible journal which has bearded the
_Scotsman_ in its den, and shown that, after all, it is possible to
establish a prosperous Liberal newspaper in the Lowlands.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. III.--THE MAN-TRAP.

Illustration: THE MAN-TRAP.

This Drama, which, like our last, has been suggested by a poem of the
Misses TAYLORS', 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.   } _who have kindly_
  _Thomas (a Bad Boy)_   Mr. HERBERT CAMPBELL. } _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_ am 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!

    _Together._ Yes, now; {he's} grown into a awful young limb.
                          {I've}
                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._

    _Thomas_ (_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_).                 | WILLIAM (_sings_).
                                      |
    Man-trap, bitter our distress is  |  In his downward course arrest him!
      That you have unkindly penned   |    (He may take a virtuous tack);
    In your innermost recesses        |  Pause awhile, ere you digest him.
    One who used to be our friend!    |    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."_

       *       *       *       *       *

"A MONTAGU! A MONTAGU!"--Our common-sense Magistrate, Mr. Montagu
WILLIAMS, heavily fined a steam-rolling demon, which comes in our
streets as anything but a boon and a blessing to men and horses. _À
propos_ of this "worthy beak," when are his "Reminiscences" to appear?
The book is bound,--no, not yet, or it would have been published,--but,
when it is ready, it is bound to be amusing.

       *       *       *       *       *

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