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PUNCH,

OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 98.

MARCH 15, 1890.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. VIII. - JACK PARKER;

_Or, The Bull who knew his Business._

CHARACTERS.

_Jack Parker ("was a cruel boy, For mischief was his sole employ." Vide_
Miss JANE TAYLOR.)

_Miss Lydia Banks ("though very young, Will never do what's rude or
wrong." - Ditto.)_

_Farmer Banks_ } By the Brothers GRIFFITHS.
_Farmer Banks's Bull_ }

_Chorus of Farm Hands._

SCENE - _A Farmyard._ R. _a stall, from which the head of the Bull is
visible above the half-door. Enter_ Farmer BANKS _with a cudgel_.

[Illustration]

_Farmer B. (moodily)._

When roots are quiet, and cereals are dull,
I vent my irritation on the Bull.

[_We have_ Miss TAYLOR'S _own authority for this rhyme_.

Come hup, you beast! (_Opens stall and flourishes cudgel - the Bull comes
forward with an air of deliberate defiance._)

Oh, turning narsty, is he?

(_Apologetically, to Bull._)

Another time will do! I see you're busy!

[_The Bull, after some consideration, decides to accept this
retractation, and retreats with dignity to his stall, the door of which
he carefully fastens after him. Exit_ Farmer BANKS, L., _as_ LYDIA
BANKS _enters_ R., _accompanied by Chorus. The Bull exhibits the
liveliest interest in her proceedings, as he looks on, with his
forelegs folded easily upon the top of the door._

_Song_ - LYDIA BANKS (_in Polka time._)

I'm the child by Miss JANE TAYLOR sung;
Unnaturally good for one so young -
A pattern for the people that I go among,
With my moral little tags on the tip of my tongue,
And I often feel afraid that I shan't live long,
For I never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

_Chorus (to which the Bull beats time)._

As a general rule, one _doesn't_ live long,
If you never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

_Second Verse._

My words are all with wisdom fraught,
To make polite replies I've sought;
And learned by independent thought,
That a pinafore, inked, is good for nought.
So wonderfully well have I been taught,
That I turn my toes as children ought!

_Chorus (to which the Bull dances)._
This moral lesson she's been taught -
She turns her toes as children ought!

_Lydia (sweetly)._ Yes, I'm the Farmer's daughter - LYDIA BANKS;
No person ever caught me playing pranks!
I'm loved by all the live-stock on the farm,

[_Ironical applause from the Bull._

Pigeons I've plucked will perch upon my arm,
And pigs at my approach sit up and beg,

[_Business by Bull._

For me the partial Peacock saves his egg,
No sheep e'er snaps if I attempt to touch her,
Lambs like it when I lead them to the butcher!
Each morn I milk my rams beneath the shed,
While rabbits flutter twittering round my head,
And, as befits a dairy-farmer's daughter,
What milk I get I supplement with water,

[_A huge Shadow is thrown on the road outside_; LYDIA _starts_.

Whose shadow is it makes the highway darker?
That bullet head! those ears! it is - - JACK PARKER!

[_Chord. The Chorus flee in dismay, as_ JACK _enters with a reckless
swagger_.

_Song_ - JACK PARKER.

I'm loafing about, and I very much doubt if my excellent Ma is aware
that I'm out;
My time I employ in attempts to annoy, and I'm not what
you'd call an agreeable boy!
I shoe the cats with walnut-shells;
Tin cans to curs I tie;
Ring furious knells at front-door bells -
Then round the corner fly!
'Neath donkeys' tails I fasten furze,
Or timid horsemen scare;
If chance occurs,
I stock with burrs
My little Sister's hair!

[_The Bull shakes his head reprovingly._

Such tricks give me joy without any alloy, -
but they do not denote an agreeable boy!

[_As_ JACK PARKER _concludes, the Bull ducks cautiously below the
half-door, while_ LYDIA _conceals herself behind the pump_, L.C.

_Jack (wandering about Stage, discontentedly)._

I thought at least there'd be some beasts to badger here!
Call this a farm - there ain't a blooming spadger here!

[_Approaches stall - Bull raises head suddenly._

A bull! This is a lark I've long awaited!
He's in a stable, so he should be baited.

[_The Bull shows symptoms of acute depression at this jeu de
mot_; LYDIA _comes forward indignantly_.

_Lydia._ I _can't_ stand by and see that poor bull suffer!
Excitement's sure to make his beef taste tougher!

[_The Bull emphatically corroborates this statement._

Be warned by Miss JANE TAYLOR; fractured skulls
Invariably come from teasing bulls!
So let that door alone, nor lift the latchet;
For if the bull gets out - why, then you'll catch it!

_Jack._ A fractured skull? Yah, don't believe a word of it!

[_Raises latchet: chord; Bull comes slowly out, and crouches
ominously._ JACK _retreats and takes refuge on top of pump; the Bull,
after scratching his back with his off foreleg, makes a sudden dash
at_ LYDIA.

_Lydia (as she evades it)_, Here, help! - it's chasing.
Me! - it's too absurd of it.

[_The Bull intimates that he is acting from a deep sense of duty._

_Lydia (impatiently)._ You stupid thing, you're ruining the moral!

[_The Bull persists obstinately in his pursuit._

_Jack (from top of pump)._ Well dodged, Miss BANKS! although the Bull
I'll back!

[_Enter Farm-hands_.

_Lydia._ Come quick - this Bull's mistaking me for JACK!

_Jack._ He knows his business best, I shouldn't wonder.

_Farm-hands (philosophically)._ He ain't the sort o' Bull to make a
blunder.

[_They look on._

_Lydia (panting)._ Such violent exercise will soon exhaust me!

[_The Bull comes behind her._

Oh, Bull, it is unkind of you ... you've _tossed_ me!

[_Falls on ground, while the Bull stands over her, in
readiness to give the coup de grace_; LYDIA _calls for help_.

_A Farm-hand (encouragingly)._ Nay, Miss, he seems moor sensible nor
surly -
He knows as how good children perish early!

[_The Bull nods in acknowledgment that he is at last understood, and
slaps his chest with his forelegs._

_Lydia._ Bull, I'll turn naughty, if you'll but be lenient!
Goodness, I see, is sometimes inconvenient.
I promise you henceforth I'll _try_, at any rate,
To act like children who are unregenerate!

[_The Bull, after turning this over, decides to accept a compromise._

_Jack._ And, LYDIA, when you ready for a lark are,
Just give a chyhike to your friend - JACK PARKER!

[_They shake hands warmly._

FINALE.

_Lydia._ I thought to slowly fade away so calm and beautiful.
(Though I didn't mean to go just yet);
But you get no chance for pathos when you're chivied by a bull!
(So I thought I wouldn't go just yet.)
For I did feel so upset, when I found that all you get
By the exercise of virtue, is that bulls will come and hurt you!
That I thought I wouldn't go just yet!

_Chorus._ We hear, with some regret,
That she doesn't mean to go just yet.
But a Bull with horns that hurt you is a poor return for virtue,
And she's wiser not to go just yet!

[_The Bull rises on his hindlegs, and gives a forehoof each to_ LYDIA
_and_ JACK, _who dance wildly round and round as the Curtain falls_.

[N.B. - Music-hall Managers are warned that the morality of this
particular Drama may possibly be called in question by some members of
the L. C. C.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: A RETIRING YOUNG MAN.

(_Positively his Last Appearance._)]

I linger on the same old stage
Which I have graced so long,
Though oft, when sick, or in a rage,
I've sworn to give up song,
Still somehow, like mellifluous REEVES,
I flow, and flow, and flow.
Stage-stars, though fond of taking leaves
Are very loth to go.

Teutons, once again,
Greet me once again!
Old songs I'm singing,
Shall I sing in vain?

Once more I front the same old House,
And hear the same "_Encore!_"
My rivals slink as slinks the mouse
When Leo lifts his roar.
I'll take my turn with potent voice,
In solo or in glee.
At my _rentrée_ my friends rejoice
They only wanted ME!

Teutons, once again!
Greet me once again!
Old strength is waking,
Shall it wake in vain?

* * * * *

THE CRY OF THE CITY CHILDREN.

(_For Playing Fields._)

[A conference of delegates of various Athletic Clubs was held on
March 4, in the Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, for the purpose of
considering the necessity for the further provision of Playing
fields for the people of the Metropolis.]

Would you see Town Children playing, O my brothers,
With their bats and leathern spheres?
They are herding where the slum-reek fumes and smothers,
And _that_ isn't play, one fears.
The young rustics bat in verdant meadows,
The young swells are "scrummaging" out west;
_They_ are forming future GRACES, STODDARTS, HADOWS;
They are having larks, which, after all, is best.
But the young Town Children, O my brothers,
They are mooning all the day;
They are idling in the play-time of the others,
For they have no place to play!

Do you recollect they used to play at cricket
In the bye-streets years ago,
With a broomstick for a bat, a coat for wicket?
Now the Bobbies hunt them so!
The old ladies grumble at their skipping;
The old gents object to their tip-cat;
So they squat midst slums that shine like dirty dripping,
Not knowing what the dickens to be at.
And the young Town Children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Making mud-pies, to the horror of their mothers,
In their dirty Fatherland?

They look up with their pale and grubby faces,
And they answer - "Cricket? Us?
Only wish we _could_, but then there ain't no places;
Wot's the good to make a fuss?
Yes, you're right, Guv, this _is_ dirty fun and dreary;
But 'Rounders' might just bring us 'fore the Beak,
And if we dropped our peg-top down a airey,
They would hurry up and spank us for our cheek.
Arsk the swell 'uns to play cricket, not us nippers;
We must sit here damp and dull,
'Midst the smell of stale fried fish and oily kippers,
'Cos the Town's so blooming full."

True, true O children! I of old have seen you
Playing peg-top, aye, like mad.
In the side-streets, and upon a village green you
Could scarce have looked more glad.
I have seen you fly the kite, and eke "the garter",
Send your "Rounders'" ball a rattling down the street.
If you tried such cantrips now you'd catch a tartar
In the vigilant big Bobby on his beat.
If you tossed the shuttle-cook or bowled the hoop now,
A-1's pounce would be your doom.
In the streets at Prisoner's Base you must not troop now,
There's no longer any room!

So you sit and smoke the surreptitious 'baccy,
And deal in scurril chaff;
Vulgar JENNY boldly flirts with vicious Jacky,
You're too knowing now by half.
They're unchildish imps, these Children of the City,
Bold and _blasé_, though their life has scarce begun,
Growing callous little ruffians - ah, the pity! -
For the lack of open space, and youthful fun.
Bedford's Bishop says the Cricket pitch is driven
Further, further, every day;
And the crowded City grows - well not a heaven,
Where there is no room for play.

So, if Cricketers and Footballers, who gather,
Find Town Children space for sport,
_Punch_ will be extremely pleased with them; so, rather,
Will the thralls of lane and court.
ALFRED LYTTLETON, so keen behind the wicket;
Lord KINNAIRD, who once was hot upon the ball,
Give our Arabs chance of football and of cricket.
And you'll fairly earn the hearty thanks of all;
For the young City Children, doomed to rummage
In dim alleys foul as Styx,
Never else may know the rapture of a "scrummage,"
Or "a slashing drive for Six!"

* * * * *

A DESIRABLE "RAIKES'" PROGRESS. - In the direction of concession to the
overworked and underpaid Post-Office _employés_.

* * * * *

[Illustration: APPRECIATIVE.

_Amateur Tenor._ "I SHALL JUST SING ONE MORE SONG, AND THEN I SHALL GO."

_Sarcastic Friend._ "COULDN'T YOU GO FIRST!"]

* * * * *

A JUBALEE PERFORMANCE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH, - After _The Cotter's Saturday Night_, which is a fine
broad Scotch setting of Rantin' Roarin' Robbie's poem, came _The Dream
of Jubal_. This, as I take it, was a work produced in the Jubalee Year.
I don't know who JUBAL was, at least I've only a vague idea.
Rather think he was a partner of TUBAL. TUBAL, JUBAL & CO., Instrument
Makers. From this Oratorio I gather that JUBAL was an enthusiastic
amateur, but that the only musical instrument he possessed was a
tortoise-shell, - whether comb or simple shell I couldn't quite make out.
However, comb or shell, he worked hard at it, until one morning, when he
was practising outside the house (I expect TUBAL & CO. wouldn't stand
much of it indoors), the birds started a concert in opposition to his
solo. This quite drowned his feeble notes, and drove him half frantic.
In despair he lay down under the shade of a tree and fell asleep, and in
his dreams he saw the instrument which he had invented gradually
developed into a "Strad", and from that into the most glorious
instrument of our time; namely, the banjo. This so soothed and pleased
him, that, waking up, he adorned his tortoise-shell with flowers, and
sang aloud to all his descendants in all time and tune, and out of all
time and tune, if necessary, to join him in praising the invention of
Music generally, and of this Jubalee instrument in particular.

Mr. JOSEPH BENNETT has given a most effective description of the dream;
the accompanied recitation being very fine indeed, and splendidly
performed by Miss JULIA NEILSON, who, like JUBAL, has been in the Tree's
Shadow at the Haymarket. Fine triumphal march and chorus. Your own
MAGGIE MCINTYRE, and your Mr. BARTON McGUCKIN, were in excellent form,
and everybody was delighted, with the exception of one person, - who is
always _à peu près_, never quite satisfied, and therefore rightly named,

"ALL-BUT HALL, S.W."

* * * * *

"HARLOWE THERE!" - This now familiar exclamation might be appropriately
adopted as the motto of the Vaudeville Theatre during the run of
_Clarissa_. She does run, too, poor dear - first from home, then from
_Lovelace's_, and then "anywhere, anywhere, out of the world!" By the
way, is it quite fair of Mr. THOMAS THORNE, in the absence of a friend
and brother comedian, to speak of himself, as he does in this piece, as
"a mere Toole"? How can such a metamorphosis have taken place? We trust
that Mr. THOMAS THORNE, Temporary Tragedian, will amend his sentiments.

* * * * *

SIR W. V. HARCOURT, on the night when he was so huffy, "left the House."
True: he certainly did not "carry the House with him."

* * * * *

MODERN TYPES.

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

No. IV. - THE GIDDY SOCIETY LADY.

[Illustration]

The Giddy Lady is one who, having been plunged at an early age into
smart society, is whirled perpetually round in a vortex of pleasures and
excitements. In the effort to keep her head above water, she is as
likely as not to lose it. This condition she naturally describes as
"being in the swim." In the unceasing struggle to maintain herself
there, she may perhaps shorten her life, but she will apparently find a
compensation in the increased length of her dressmaker's bills. She is
ordinarily the daughter of aristocratic parents, who carefully allowed
her to run wild from the moment she could run at all. By their example
she has been taught to hold as articles of her very limited faith, that
the serious concerns of life are of interest only to fools, and should,
therefore (though the inference is not obvious), be entirely neglected
by herself, and that frivolity and fashion are the twin deities before
whom every self-respecting woman must bow down.

Having left the Seminary at which she acquired an elementary ignorance
of spelling, a smattering of French phrases as used by English lady
novelists, and a taste for music which leads her in after-life to prefer
Miss BESSIE BELLWOOD to BEETHOVEN, she is soon afterwards brought out at
a smart dance in London. From this point her progress is rapid. Balls
and concerts, luncheons and receptions, dinners and theatres, race
meetings and cricket matches, at both of which more attention is paid to
fashion than to the field, follow one another in a dizzy succession. She
has naturally no time for thought, but in order to avoid the least
suspicion of it, she learns to chatter the slang of the youthful
Guardsmen and others who are her companions. A certain flashing style of
beauty ensures to her the devotion of numerous admirers, to whom she
babbles of "chappies" and "Johnnies," and "real jam" and "stony broke,"
and "two to one bar one," as if her life depended upon the correct
pronunciation of as many of these phrases as possible in the shortest
time on record. She thus comes to be considered a cheerful companion,
and at the end of her third season, marries a jaded man of pleasure,
whose wealth is more considerable than his personal attractions, and
who, for some inscrutable reason, has been approved by her parents as a
suitable husband.

She treats matrimony as an emancipation from rules which she has rarely
seen any one else observe, and has never honoured herself, and after a
few years, she becomes one of that gaudy band of Society ladies who
follow with respectful imitation the giddy vagaries of the Corinthians
of a lower grade. She dines often without her husband at smart
restaurants, where she has constant opportunities of studying the
manners of her models. She adores the burlesques at the Gaiety and the
Avenue, and talks, with a complete absence of reserve and a disregard of
pedantic accuracy, about the lives and adventures of the actresses who
figure there. She can tell you, and does, who presented LOTTIE A. with a
diamond star, and who was present at the last supper-party in honour of
TOTTIE B. Nor is she averse to being seen and talked about in a box at a
Music-Hall, or at one of the pleasure-palaces in Leicester Square. She
allows the young men who cluster round her to suppose that she knows all
about their lapses from strict propriety, and that she commends rather
than condemns them. _Causes célèbres_ are to her a staple of
conversation, her interest in them varying directly as the number of
co-respondents.

It is impossible, therefore, that the men who are her friends should
treat her with that chivalrous respect which an obsolete tradition would
seem to require, but they suffer no loss of her esteem in consequence.
Such being her behaviour in the society of men, the tone of her daily
conversation with friends of her own sex may be readily imagined, though
it might not be pleasant to describe. Suffice it to say, that she sees
no shame in addressing them, or in allowing herself to be addressed by a
name which a Court of law has held to be libellous when applied to a
burlesque actress. She is always at Hurlingham or the Ranelagh, and has
seen pigeons killed without a qualm. She never misses a Sandown or a
Kempton meeting; she dazzles the eyes of the throng at Ascot every year,
and never fails at Goodwood.

Twice a year the Giddy Lady is compelled by the traditions of her caste
to visit Paris, in order to replenish her exhausted wardrobe. On these
occasions she patronises only the best hotel, and the most expensive and
celebrated of men-dressmakers, and she is "fitted" by a son of the
house, of whom she talks constantly and familiarly by his Christian name
as JEAN, or PIERRE, or PHILIPPE. During the shooting season she goes
from country-house to country-house. She has been seen sometimes with a
gun in her hands, often with a lighted cigarette between her lips.
Indeed she is too frequent a visitor at shooting-luncheons and in
smoking-rooms, where a woman, however much she may attempt to disguise
her sex, is never cordially welcomed by men. The conventions of the
society in which she moves seem to require that she should be attended
during her visits by a _cavaliere servente_, who is therefore always
invited with her. Their pastime is to imitate a flirtation, and to
burlesque love, but neither of them is ever deceived into attributing
the least reality to this occupation, which is often as harmless as it
is always absurd.

These and similar occupations, of course, leave her no time to attend to
her children, who are left to grow up as best they may under the
fostering care of nursery-maids and of such relations as may choose,
from time to time, to burden themselves with the olive-branches of
others. Her husband has long since retired from all competition with
her, and leaves her free to follow her own devices, whilst he himself
follows the odds. She is often supposed to be riding for a fall. It is
certain that her pace is fast. Yet, though many whisper, it is quite
possible that she will ride to the end without open damage.

Of her dress and her jewels it need only be said that she affects
tailor-made costumes and cat's-eye bangles by day, and that at night she
escapes by the skin of her teeth from that censure which the scantiness
of her coverings would seem to warrant, and which Mr. HORSLEY, R.A., if
he saw her, would be certain to pronounce.

In middle age she loses her brilliant complexion. Yet, for reasons best
known to herself, her colour continues to be bright, though her spirits
and her temper seem to suffer in the effort to keep it so. As old age
advances, she is as likely as not to become a gorgon of immaculate
propriety, and will be heard lamenting over the laxity of manners which
permits girls to do what was never dreamt of when she was a girl
herself.

* * * * *

THE PINT OF IT.

How curious that our youngest boy, aged fifteen months, should have
already become partially paralysed, and be afflicted, besides, with
anæmia, rickets, and growing inability to digest the smallest particle
of food!

If it were not that we procure our milk from the "Hygienic Unskimmed
Lacteal Fluid and Food for Babes Company, Limited," I should begin to
believe that there might be something wrong with the beverage which
forms the staple of his infantile dietary.

The Company professes to sell milk "pure from the cow." From the quality
of this morning's supply, I should be inclined to fancy that that cow is
suffering from an advanced stage of atrophy.

As our eldest child, aged two-and-a-half, is still totally unable to
walk, and its legs have become mere shrivelled sticks, I really must
call in an Analyst to test our milk.

Heavens! The Analyst reports that more than half the cream has been
"separated" - which seems to mean removed - and that its place has been
supplied by "65 per cent. of impure water."

Under these circumstances, I hardly think that the fine of five
shillings, and half-a-crown costs, which the Magistrate has inflicted on
the Company, quite meets the justice of the case, or will be sufficient
to stop such adulteration in the future.

* * * * *

Buffalo Bill and Leo Pope.

Went BUFFALO BILL to see the Pope pass by.
Then were the Cow-boys cowed by the POPE'S eye,
With which, like many an English-speaking glutton,
They'd often met, and fastened on, in mutton.
The difference vast at once they did espy,
Betwixt a sheep's eye and a Leo's eye.
Says Shiney WILLIAM to himself, "I'm blest!"
And so he was, and so were all the rest.

* * * * *

FROM A NAUTICAL INQUIRER. - "Please, Sir, what's the uniform of an
Admiral of the 'Bouillon Fleet'? I see this Fleet advertised, but have
been unable to obtain any information about it at the Admiralty, where I
have called repeatedly to make inquiries." [Consult "The First Lord!"
The first lord you meet will do. - ED.]

* * * * *


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Online LibraryVariousPunch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890 → online text (page 1 of 3)