Volume 107, October 13, 1894

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

MAKING THE RUNNING WITH "THE DERBY WINNER."

DRURIOLANUS has scored another success. And why not? Surely he deserves it, for, with the assistance of his two collaborators, CECIL RALEIGH and HENRY HAMILTON, Sir AUGUSTUS HARRIS has trained a Derby winner that will carry all before him over the Drury Lane course until the place is required for the pantomime. And the training has been most judicious. The problem the three stable companions (for the piece is nothing if not horsey) set themselves was to produce a drama that would fill the Grand National Theatre both before and behind the curtain. This problem they have solved to the satisfaction of all parties.

The method adopted is simple enough. Take, for instance, the First Act. One of the authors no doubt suggested the interior of a country house. "Quite so," says DRURIOLANUS, "a nobleman's country house. I will show you how to do it." And he does. "O _Todgers's_ can do it when it likes!" Gorgeous hall with a billiard table thrown in at the back to give an idea of the luxury and magnitude. And then the company! Earls and Countesses and Lords and Ladies and a Duchess! Why, even the villain is a major in a crack cavalry regiment, and the low comedian a surgeon who has worn the Queen's uniform. Apparently to give the latter additional aristocratic gloss, the Duchess is made to be in love with him. And the plot? Why, of course. Let Miss ALMA STANLEY arrive direct from India to sow discord between my Lord the hero and my Lady the heroine. This she does, looking charming in her villainy, and wearing a striking costume. My Lord tells her "to begone" (a most unreasonable request, by the way, as she has arrived at the Hall in the middle of the night, with evidently any number of boxes), but she won't. Miss ALMA STANLEY prefers to faint in my Lord's arms, to the great indignation of my Lady. Tableau and curtain.

Next, please. The Downs, and a trial of the 'osses. Then we have a meet of horses, saddle and otherwise. The "otherwise" are harnessed to a pony-chaise that looks as if it had come from the Lowther Arcade. Miss ALMA STANLEY rides in on a steed of her own. My Lord, the hero, objects to the gracious presence of this fair equestrian, and gets a horse-whipping for his trouble. Then the trial comes off. The noble animals canter across the stage. The _dramatis personæ_ describe their progress to one another as they make the running behind the scenes. All first-rate and life-like. Haven't we seen it ourselves in the early morn? Then they reappear (amidst immense enthusiasm) as cardboard profile in the distance, to make a final entry in the horseflesh from the O. P. wings. Capitally done, and a great success. Stalls, Circle, Pit, Boxes, and Gallery, all delighted. So are they with the military ball at York. Nearly everybody in uniform. Hussars, Gunners, Highlanders, Fusileers, and Yeomen. My Lord the hero appears as Colonel of his county Yeomanry. Quite right, he has left the service, and taken to the reserve. Then there is the cotillion, and my Lord finds himself, to his surprise, dancing with Miss ALMA STANLEY. He is again caught by my Lady, the heroine (the poor chap is always compromising himself at the wrong moment), and there is of course only one solution to this embarrassing situation, and that is,--curtain. No better ball scene been on the stage for years. DRURIOLANUS has all the details at his fingertips, and the ball at his feet. Keep it rolling!

In the next Act we find that the Countess, in full ball costume, has eloped with the Villainous Major to a hotel. My Lady has allowed her companion to describe themselves as Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So in the porter's book. But thus far and no farther. When the Major politely begs the loan of her heart, the Countess bids him go, and treats him really with absolute rudeness. The Major, after a terrible struggle with my Lady, in which he gets the worst of it, is completely crushed, and probably inwardly laments the very considerable expense to which he must have been put by the elopement. At this crisis enter my Lord the hero. Row and tableau. After this, the audience feels that the correct prescription is to cut the dialogue and come to the "'osses." And to a great extent this prescription is adopted. There is a first-class scene of a sale at Tattersall's, and a very realistic view of the finish at the Derby. The throng cheer behind the curtain, and so does the throng in front of it. The task is complete: both sides of the green baize are crowded with excited people.

It is exceptionally good. Scenery, music, general stage management, and incidental music all excellent. Mrs. JOHN WOOD first-rate, as good as ever, and Miss ALMA STANLEY greatly distinguishes herself. So does Mr. CARTWRIGHT as the most matter-of-fact villain that "in this distressful country has ever yet been seen." When he murders, or ruins, or seriously inconveniences anyone, he observes _sotto voce_ to himself, in a tone that would be equally appropriate were he thanking an omnibus conductor for giving him change for sixpence, "I thought I should do it." Then Mr. ARTHUR BOURCHIER and Miss BEATRICE LAMB as My Lord and My Lady could not be better. And Miss PATTIE BROWNE, Miss L. MOODIE, and Miss HETTIE DENE, all the right people in the right places, as are both Mr. GEORGE GIDDENS and Mr. LIONEL RIGNOLD. To sum up, _The Derby Winner_ has won, and Sir DRURIOLANUS has more than satisfied his enthusiastic backers the public, and he and they will have a real good run for their money.

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IF NOT, WHY NOT?

["SARAH GRAND has contributed an article on 'Should irascible Old Gentlemen be taught to Knit?' to the forthcoming issue of '_Phil May's Winter Annual_.'"--_Evening paper_, October 2.]

This will shortly be followed by a series of papers on the following subjects:--"Shall hysterical Old Ladies be encouraged to smoke?"

"Should elderly, short-tempered Dowagers be permitted to use bad language?"

"Shall Octogenarian Barmaids be obliged to flirt?"

"May decayed Duchesses play pitch-and-toss?"

"Shall Professional Beauties of a certain age be compulsorily retired?"

"Are Burlesque Actresses of over forty years' standing to attend Sunday-school?"

"May Ballet-girls teach their grand-children to knit?"

"Should cross-eyed Viscountesses catch flies?"

"Ought Old Girls generally to make use of slang?"

"Should _Prima donnas_ in their dotage wear blue pinafores?"

"Can the 'Shirt-front Brigade' be taught 'good form'?"

"May Lady Novelists dispense with the historic present?"

"Should much-married Adventuresses read _The Family Herald_?

"May timid Gentlewomen join the Pioneer Club?"

And "Is not the New Woman played out?"

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"I'M GETTING A BIG GIRL NOW!"

(SONG FOR MISS UNIFIED LONDON.)

AIR--"_I'm Getting a Big Girl Now!_"

I've had all the pleasures belonging to youth, Its sweetmeats, its larks, and its toys. But I find, with regret, what is really the truth, That girls will grow old, just like boys. I'd like still to play in the jolly old way, But the world will not let me somehow. I know what it means; I am now in my teens. Yes; I'm getting a big girl now!

_Chorus._

I'm getting a big girl now, And they tell me it's time I knew how To behave more _like_ one, And in toys find less fun; For I'm getting a big girl now!

I've had a good time for a number of years, And I'm sure I'm not anxious to change, But the very best swim there is _somebody_ queers. They _won't_ let me alone--it's so strange! It does give one a shock; but I've outgrown my frock, My girdle won't meet anyhow; They're beginning to quiz. Ah! I see how it is; I'm getting a big girl now

_Chorus._

I'm getting a big girl now, If I romp someone kicks up a row They tell me I chuck Too much money on "tuck"!-- Ah! I'm getting a big girl now!

I know there's a party who's anxious to spoil My nice little games at Guildhall. He growls "turn up turtle and toys, Miss, and _toil_, Gog and Magog are no good at all. Your coaches, and horses, and tin-armoured forces, Are babyish bosh, and bow-wow! You must scorn grub and ease--like those _good_ L.C.C.'s-- For you're getting a big girl now!

_Chorus._

"You are getting a big girl now; You must turn up the tuck-shop I vow. A cut of cold mutton Go take--with good HUTTON! For you're getting a big girl now!"

I own that I _hate_ to be talked to like this; And as to those L.C.C. prigs They always hold up as a "Model for Miss," I'll give 'em beans yet--please the pigs! _Me_ fussy and frugal like dowdy MCDOUGALL?-- Well--well; no use raising a row Like all girls and boys I _must_ give up my toys. For I'm getting a big girl now!

_Chorus._

Yes, I'm getting a big girl now; My dollies must go anyhow; And as to the tuck I must cut it--worse luck! For I'm getting a big girl now.

Good-bye, _dear_ old toys! I am getting too big For dolls, dressing up, and--_bohoo_! Gog! Magog!! Alas!!! Is it quite _infra dig_. To drop a few tears over _you_? I _am_ such a whopper, it _may_ be improper, But--there, I _am_ blubbing--_wow-wow_! Good-bye, rose and myrtle! Farewell toys and turtle! I'm getting a big girl now.

_Chorus._

Yes, I'm getting a big girl now, (And feel doocedly sorry somehow,) In Unification They think there's salvation For one, who's a big girl now!

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MUDDY MILAN.

Once I thought that you could boast Such a perfect southern sky, Flecked with summer clouds at most; Always sunny, always dry, Warm enough, perhaps, to grill an Englishman, O muddy Milan!

Now I find you soaking wet, Underneath an English sky; Pavements, mediæval yet, Whence mud splashes ever fly; And, to make one damp and ill, an Endless downpour, muddy Milan!

Though you boast such works of art, Where is that unclouded sky? Muddy Milan, we must part, I shall gladly say good-bye, Pack, and pay my little bill--an Artless thing--and leave you, Milan.

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A REALLY "INDEPENDENT OF LABOUR PARTY."--MR. KEIR HARDIE, M.P.

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LYRE AND LANCET.

(_A Story in Scenes._)