Chapter 1

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PUNCH,

OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 98.

MAY 3, 1890.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. X.--TOMMY AND HIS SISTER JANE.

Once more we draw upon our favourite source of inspiration--the poems of the Misses TAYLOR. The dramatist is serenely confident that the new London County Council Censor of Plays, whenever that much-desired official is appointed, will highly approve of this little piece on account of the multiplicity of its morals. It is intended to teach, amongst other useful lessons, that--as the poem on which it is founded puts it--"Fruit in lanes is seldom good"; also, that it is not always prudent to take a hint; again, that constructive murder is distinctly reprehensible, and should never be indulged in by persons who cannot control their countenances afterwards. Lastly, that suicide may often be averted by the exercise of a little _savoir vivre._

CHARACTERS.

_Tommy and his Sister Jane (Taylorian Twins, and awful examples)._

_Their Wicked Uncle (plagiarised from a forgotten Nursery Story, and slightly altered)._

_Old Farmer Copeer (skilled in the use of horse and cattle medicines)._

SCENE--_A shady lane; on the right, a gate, leading to the farm; left, some bushes, covered with practicable scarlet berries._

_Enter the_ Wicked Uncle, _stealthily_.

_The W. U._ No peace of mind I e'er shall know again Till I have cooked the geese of TOM and JANE! But--though a naughty--I'm a nervous nunky, For downright felonies I feel too funky! I'd hire assassins--but of late the villains Have raised their usual fee to fifteen shillin's! Nor, to reduce their rates, will they engage (_Sympathetically_) For two poor orphans who are under age! So (as I'd give no more than half a guinea) I must myself get rid of TOM and JENNY. Yet, like an old soft-hearted fool, I falter, And can't make up my mind to risk a halter. (_Looking off_). Ha, in the distance, JANE and little TOM I see! These berries--(_meditatingly_)--why, it only needs diplomacy. Ho-ho, a most ingenious experiment!

[_Indulges in silent and sinister mirth, as_ JANE _and_ TOM _trip in, and regard him with innocent wonder_.

_Jane._ Uncle, what is the joke? why all this merriment?

_The W. U. (in guilty confusion)._ Not merriment, my loves--a trifling spasm-- Don't be alarmed--your Uncle often has 'em! I'm feeling better than I did at first-- You're looking flushed, though not, I hope, with thirst? [_Insidiously._

SONG, BY THE WICKED UNCLE.

The sun is scorching overhead: the roads are dry and dusty; And here are berries, ripe and red, refreshing when you're _thusty_! They're hanging just within your reach, inviting you to clutch them! But--as your Uncle--I beseech you won't attempt to touch them?

_Tommy and Jane (dutifully)._ We'll do whatever you beseech, and not attempt to touch them! [_Annoyance of_ W. U.

_The W. U._ Temptation (so I've understood) a child, in order kept, shuns; And fruit in lanes is seldom good (with several exceptions). However freely you partake, it can't--as you are young--kill, But should it cause a stomach-ache--well, don't you blame your Uncle!

_Tommy and Jane._ No, should it cause a stomach-ache, we will not blame our Uncle!

_The W. U. (aside)._ They'll need no further personal assistance, But take the bait when I am at a distance. I could not, were I paid a thousand ducats, (_With sentiment_) Stand by, and see them kick their little buckets, Or look on while their sticks this pretty pair cut! [_Stealing off._

_Tommy._ What, Uncle, going?

_The W. U. (with assumed jauntiness)._ Just to get my hair cut! [_Goes._

_Tommy (looking wistfully at the berries)._ I say, they _do_ look nice, JANE, such a lot too!

_Jane (demurely)._ Well, TOMMY, Uncle never told us _not_ to.

[_Slow music; they gradually approach the berries, which they pick and eat with increasing relish, culminating in a dance of delight._

_Duet_--TOMMY _and_ JANE (_with step-dance._)

_Tommy (dancing, with his mouth full)._ These berries ain't so bad--although they've far too much acidity.

_Jane (ditto)._ To me, their only drawback is a dash of insipidity.

_Tommy (rudely)._ But, all the same, you're wolfing 'em with wonderful avidity!

_Jane (indignantly)._ No, that I'm not, so _there_ now!

_Tommy (calmly)._ But you _are_!

_Jane._ And so are _you_!

[_They retire up, dancing, and eat more berries--after which they gaze thoughtfully at each other._

_Jane._ This fruit is most refreshing--but it's curious how it cloys on you!

_Tommy (with anxiety)._ I wonder why all appetite for dinner it destroys in you!

_Jane._ Oh, TOMMY, you are half afraid you've ate enough to poison you?

_Tommy._ No, _that_ I'm not--so there now! &c., &c.

[_They dance as before._

_Tommy._ JANE, _is_ your palate parching up in horrible aridity?

_Jane._ It is, and in my throat's a lump of singular solidity.

_Tommy._ Then that is why you're dancing with such pokerlike rigidity.

[_Refrain as before: they dance with decreasing spirit, and finally stop, and fan one another with their hats._

_Jane._ I'm better now that on my brow there is a little breeziness.

_Tommy._ My passing qualm is growing calm, and tightness turns to easiness.

_Jane._ You seem to me tormented by a tendency to queasiness?

[_Refrain; they attempt to continue the dance--but suddenly sit down side by side._

_Jane (with a gasp)._ I don't know what it is--but, oh, I _do_ feel so peculiar!

_Tommy (with a gulp)._ I've tumults taking place within that I may say unruly are.

_Jane._ Why, TOMMY, you are turning green--you really and you _truly_ are!

_Tommy._ No, _that_ I'm not, so _there_ now!

_Jane._ But you _are_!

_Tommy._ And so are _you_!

[_Melancholy music; to which_ TOMMY _and_ JANE, _after a few convulsive movements, gradually become inanimate. Enter old Farmer_ COPEER _from gate, carrying a large bottle labelled "Cattle Medicine."_

_Farmer C._ It's time I gave the old bay mare her drench. [_Stumbles over the children._ What's here? A lifeless lad!--and little wench! Been eatin' berries--where did they get _them_ idees? For cows, when took so, I've the reg'lar remedies. I'll try 'em here--and if their state the worse is, Why, they shall have them balls I give my 'erses!

[_Carries the bodies off just before the W. U. re-enters._

_W. U._ The children--gone? yon bush of berries less full! Hooray, my little stratagem's successful!

[_Dances a triumphant pas seul. Re-enter Farmer C._

_Farmer C._ Been looking for your little niece and nephew?

_The W. U._ Yes, searching for them everywhere--

_Farmer C. (ironically)._ Oh, _hev'_ you? Then let me tell you, from all pain they're free, Sir.

_The W. U. (falling on his knees)._ _I_ didn't poison them--it wasn't _me_, Sir!

_Farmer C._ I thought as much--a constable I'll run for. [_Exit._

_The W. U._ My wretched nerves again! _this_ time I'm done for! Well, though I'm trapped and useless all disguise is, My case shall ne'er come on at the Assizes! [_Rushes desperately to tree and crams himself with the remaining berries, which produce an almost instantaneous effect. Re-enter_ TOM _and_ JANE _from gate, looking pale and limp. Terror of the_ Wicked Uncle _as he turns and recognises them._

_The W. U. (with tremulous politeness)._ The shades of JANE and TOMMY, I presume? [_Re-enter Farmer C._

_Jane and Tommy (pointing to Farmer C.)_ His Cattle Mixtures snatched us from the Tomb!

_The W. U. (with a flicker of hope)._ Why, then the selfsame drugs will ease my torments!

_Farmer C. (chuckling.)_ Too late! they've drunk the lot, the little vormints!

_The W. U. (bitterly)._ So out of life I must inglorious wriggle, Pursued by TOMMY'S grin, and JENNY'S giggle!

[_Dies in great agony, while_ TOMMY, JANE, _and_ Farmer COPEER _look on with mixed emotions as the Curtain falls_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE NEW DANCE OF DEATH.

"Starving to make a British holiday"-- And plump his pockets with the _gobemouches'_ pay! A pretty picture, full of fine humanity And creditable to the public sanity! "Sensation" is a most despotic master. First HIGGINS and then SUCCI! Fast and faster The flood of morbid sentiment rolls on. Lion-kings die, and the Sword-swallower's gone The way of all such horrors, slowly slain By efforts to please curious brutes, for gain. What next, and next? Stretch some one on the rack And let him suffer publicly. 'Twill pack The show with prurient pryers, and draw out The ready shillings from the rabble rout Of well-dressed quidnuncs, frivolous and fickle Who'll pay for aught that their dull sense will tickle. Look on, crass crowd; your money freely give To see Sensation's victims die to live; For Science knows, and says beneath her breath, That this "Fast Life" (like other sorts) means Death!

* * * * *

RESOLUTIONS FOR THE COSMOPOLITAN LABOUR MEETING.

(_Compiled with due regard to the International Idiosyncrasies._)

_French._--That France contains the World, and Paris France.

_Belgium._--That on the whole, the Slave Trade should be discouraged, as it cannot be made to yield more than a safe 7 per cent.

_Germany._--That the best way of showing love for the Fatherland is to live in every other part of the universe.

_Spain._--That it will be for the benefit of mankind to exterminate the Portuguese.

_Portugal._--That the interests of civilisation will be advanced by the annihilation of the Spanish.

_Russian._--That dynamite literally raises not only the mansions of the nobles, but betters the homes of those who have been serfs.

_British._--That the equality of man is proved by the fact that one Englishman is worth a dozen foreigners.

_American._--That everybody (except citizens of the U.S.A.) pay half a dollar to the Treasurer right off the reel slick away, and that the sum so collected be equally divided amongst those present.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.

SOCIAL.

"_Yes; it is a sovereign you owe me--but any time will do_;" _i.e._, "If he has the least spark of honour he'll pay me now."

"_Never saw you looking better! Magnificent colour!_" _i.e._, "Evidently ripening for apoplectic fit."

"_Pray bring your friend_;" _i.e._, "Doesn't he know how overcrowded my rooms are already?"

"_To be perfectly candid_;" _i.e._, "Not sorry to rub it in."

JOURNALISTIC.

"_As yet nothing has transpired_;" _i.e._, The reporter was too late to obtain any information.

"_Detective Inspector Muggins is actively pursuing his inquiries_;" _i.e._, Reporter thinks it as well to keep in with MUGGINS, who may be useful in future.

EPISTOLATORY.

"_In great haste_;" _i.e._, "Must make some excuse for scrappiness."

"_We were all so shocked at hearing of your sad bereavement_;" _i.e._, "None of us knew her but myself, and _I_ thought her a Cat!"

AT A DANCE.

"_Let me get you a partner, Mr.--'er--'er Smith_;" _i.e._, "He'll do for dowdy Miss JONES, who has only danced once the whole night."

"_Shall we take a turn round now?_" _i.e._, "She can't waltz any more than a crane, and parading is better than hopping."

"_Not dancing to-night, Mr. Sprawle? Now, that's very naughty of you, with so many nice girls here_;" _i.e._, "What an escape for the nice girls!"

A LITTLE MUSIC.

"_I_ hope _you brought your Music with you, dear_;" _i.e._, "If _only_ she had left it in the cab!"

"_I would with pleasure, but I've such a shocking cold that really, &c._;" _i.e._, "I want a little more pressing, and then I'll come out strong, and astonish them, I fancy."

"_Oh do! We have been looking forward to your Banjo-solo all the evening_;" _i.e._, "With horror!"

CURIOMANIA, ETC.

"_How delightful it must be to have such a hobby!_" _i.e._, "Thank heavens, I am not so afflicted!"

"_It must have cost you a heap of money_;" _i.e._, "How he's been 'done'!"

"_What a wonderful collection of pictures you have here!_" _i.e._, "Must say something. Wouldn't give ten pounds for the lot."

RAILROAD AMENITIES.

"_So glad you got into the same carriage. A little of your conversation so lightens a long journey_;" _i.e._, "He'll talk my head off, and render a nap impossible."

"_Would you like to look at the papers?_" _i.e._, "May keep her tongue still for a few minutes."

* * * * *

The Busy "B."

[Mr. BANCROFT has just settled one theatrical difference, and now he is engaged on a "far more delicate matter"; i.e., a dispute between a Manager and an Actor.]

How doth the little busy "B" Employ each leisure hour?

By arbitrating all the day With great dramatic power.

* * * * *

EXTREMES MEET.--"_The Darkies' Africa_" is an Eastern entertainment at Weston's Music Hall.

* * * * *

Couldn't Slander and Libel causes be appropriately heard in Sir JAMES HANNEN'S Admiralty Court, as "Running Down Cases?"

* * * * *

* * * * *

"THE PROMISE OF MAY."

(_As the Proletariat paints it._)

"Since it is incredible that the economic balance can be universally disturbed by local changes, and always in one direction, we must assume a kind of moral contagion as an efficient agent in the wide-spread demand for a revision, of wages and hours of labour. Identical theories and demands, preferred simultaneously in Austria, Germany, France, England, and America, must be largely due to the force of example operating through the modern facility of communication. A universal movement in favour of shorter hours would seem best fitted to secure the amelioration of the labourer's lot."--_The Times._

_Enthusiastic Operative to his Bench-Mate, loquitur:--_

We must wake and turn out early, bright and early, comrade dear; To-morrow'll be the biggest day of all the sad New Year; Of all the sad New Year, mate, the biggest, brightest day; For to-morrow's the First of May, chummy, to-morrow's _our_ First of May.

There'll be many a dark, dark eye, chummy, by Thames, and Seine, and Rhine, There'll be SALISBURY, and CARNOT, and _Caprivi_ to peak and pine. For there'll be a stir of the Labourer in every land, they say, And Toil's to be Queen o' this May, chummy, Toil's to be Queen o' _this_ May.

I do sleep sound at night, chummy, but to-morrow morn I'll wake; The Cry of the Crowd will sound aloud in my ear ere dawn shall break. 'Twill muster with its booming bands and with its banners gay; For to-morrow's the Feast of May, brother, to-morrow's our Feast of May.

They've kept us scattered till now, comrade; but that no more may be: Our shout goes up in unison by Thames, Seine, Rhine and Spree. We are not the crushed-down crowd, chummy, we were but yesterday. We're full of the Promise o' May, brother, mad with the Promise of May!

They thought us wandering ghosts, brother. Divided strength is slight; But what will they say when our myriads assemble in banded might? They call us craven-hearted, but what matter what they say? They'll know on the First o' May, brother; they'll learn on the First o' May.

They say ours is a dying cause, but that can never be: There's many a heart as bold as TELL'S in the New Democracy. There's many a million of stalwart lads who toil for poorish pay; And they'll meet on the First o' May, brother, they'll speak on the First o' May.

The tramp of a myriad feet shall sound where the young Spring grass is green, Yon Emperor young shall hear, brother, and so shall our gracious QUEEN, For Labour's hosts to all civic centres shall gather from far away; The Champs de Mars shall greet Hyde Park on this glorious First o' May.

The lime is budding forth, brother, lilac our cot embowers, And the meadows soon shall be a-scent with the snowy hawthorn flowers; But a bonnier sight shall be the tramping crowds in fustian grey, Flushed with the Promise o' May, brother, the new-born Promise o' May.

A wind is with their march, brother, that threatens old claims of Class, And the grey Spring skies above them seem to brighten as they pass. Pray heaven there'll be no drop o' rain the whole of the live-long day, To sadden our First o' May, brother, to sadden our First o' May!

The labourers of Paris, and the toilers of Berlin, Will throng to shout for shorter hours, homes happier, and more "tin." Why even the chilly Times, chummy, is almost constrained to say There is sense in our First o' May, chummy, hope from our First o' May.

The Governments are a-gog, brother, _Figaro_ owns as much; Property quakes when the countless hands of Labour are in touch. And from Bermondsey to Budapest they are in touch to-day, Linked for the Feast of May, brother, linked for the Feast of May!

So we must wake and turn out early, bright and early, comrade, dear; To-morrow'll be the grandest day of all the green New Year; To-morrow'll be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For Toil's to be Queen o' the May, brother. Labour is Queen 'o _this_ May!

* * * * *

MODERN TYPES.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-writer._)

No. X.--THE MARTYR _INCOMPRISE_.

The Martyr _Incomprise_ is one who, having in her home erected a stake, ties to it her husband, and then having set alight the faggots which her own hands have piled round him, calls the world to witness the saint-like fortitude with which she bears up under the sufferings inflicted upon her by her lord and master. She will have been married to a man who, though he does not pretend to be above the ordinary frailties and failings of human nature, tries honestly, for many years, to make her happy. Time after time does this domestic Sisyphus roll the stone of contentment up the hill of his wife's temper, and time after time does it slip from his hands, and go clattering down into the plain of despair. The Martyr is a very virtuous lady, yet she is not satisfied with the calm and acknowledged possession of her virtues. She adds them to her armoury of aggravation, and uses them with a deadly effect. Her morality is irreproachable. She studies to make it a reproach to her husband, and, inasmuch as her temper is equally compounded of the most persistent obstinacy, and the most perverse and unaccountable caprices, it is unnecessary to say that she succeeds marvellously in her undertaking.

As a girl, the Martyr will have been distinguished by a keen sense of wrong, and a total lack of all sense of humour. Having been rebuked by her mother for some trifling fault, she will persuade herself that her parents detest her, and desire her death. She will spend the next few days with her breast luxuriously against the thorn of her fancied sufferings. She will weave romances, in order to enjoy the delicious sensation of looking on as she withers under injustice into a premature coffin, and of watching her cruel parents as they water the grave of their victim with unavailing tears. A somewhat lax method of bringing up will have enabled her to read many trashy novels. Out of these she constructs an imaginary hero, all gushing tenderness and a tawny moustache. Having met a young man who fully realises her ideal in the latter particular, she promptly assumes his possession of the former, and accepts his proposal of marriage. After having all but thrown him over on three or four occasions for an insufficient display of romantic devotion at dances and tennis parties, she eventually marries him. Soon afterwards she discovers that he is not a chivalrous wind-bag, but a Man, whereupon she shatters his pedestal, and abandons herself to misery amidst the ruins.

And now the full joys of her married martyrdom begin. She withdraws even from the affectation of interest in her partner, his friends and his pursuits. She spends her mornings in the keeping of a diary, or the writing of a novel, in which she appoints herself to the post of heroine, and endows her creation with a superhuman combination of unappreciated qualities. From the fact that her husband spends a large part of each day away from her, either in attending to his business or in following a sport, she infers that he has ceased to love her. When he returns in the evening, she locks herself into her room, and, having thus assured to herself solitude, she converts it, by an easy process, into the studied neglect of an unfeeling husband.