purpose? I answer, fearlessly, No! Could we spend it better at home? I
reply most emphatically, No! True, it may be said that there are
thousands of our own people who at this moment are wandering about the
streets of this great metropolis without food to eat or rags to cover
them. But what have we to do with them? Our thoughts, our feelings,
and our sympathies, are all wafted on the wings of charity to the dear
and interesting cannibals in the far-off islands of the green Pacific
Ocean. (Hear, hear.) Besides, have not our own poor the workhouses to
go to; the luxurious straw of the casual wards to repose upon, if they
please; the mutton broth to bathe in; and the ever toothsome, although
somewhat scanty, allowance of 'toke' provided for them? And let it
ever be remembered that our own people are not savages, and
man-eaters; and, therefore, our philanthropy would be wasted upon
them. (Overwhelming applause.) To return to our subject. Perhaps some
person or persons here may wonder why we should not send out
side-springs and bluchers, as well as top-boots. To those I will say,
that top-boots alone answer the object desired--namely, not only to
keep the feet dry, but the legs warm, and thus to combine the double
use of shoes and stockings. Is it not an instance of the remarkable
foresight of this society, that it purposely abstains from sending out
any other than top-boots? To show the gratitude of the cannibals for
the benefits conferred upon them, I will just mention that, within the
last few weeks, his Illustrious Majesty, Hokee Pokey Wankey Fum the
First, surnamed by his loving subjects, 'The Magnificent,' from the
fact of his wearing, on Sundays, a shirt-collar and an eye-glass as
full court costume--has forwarded the president of this society a very
handsome present, consisting of two live alligators, a boa
constrictor, and three pots of preserved Indian, to be eaten with
toast; and I am told, by competent judges, that it is quite equal to
Russian caviare.
"MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN--I will not trespass on your patience by
making any further remarks; knowing how incompetent I am--no, no! I
don't mean that--how incompetent you all are--no! I don't mean
either--but you all know what I mean. Like the ancient Roman lawgiver,
I am in a peculiar position; for the fact is, I cannot sit down--I
mean to say, that I cannot sit down without saying that, if there ever
_was_ an institution, it is _this_ institution; and therefore, I beg
to propose, 'Prosperity to the Society for the Distribution of
Blankets and Top-boots among the Natives of the Cannibal Islands.'"
The toast having been cordially responded to, his lordship calls upon
Mr. Duffer, the secretary, to read the report. Whereupon that gentlemen,
who is of a bland and oily temperament, and whose eyes are concealed by
a pair of green spectacles, produces the necessary document, and reads,
in the orthodox manner,--
"Thirtieth Half-yearly Report of the Society for the Distribution of
Blankets and Top-boots to the Natives of the Cannibal Islands.
"The society having now reached its fifteenth anniversary, the
committee of management beg to congratulate their friends and
subscribers on the success that has been attained.
"When the society first commenced its labours, the generous and
noble-minded natives of the islands, together with their king--a chief
whose name is well known in connexion with one of the most stirring
and heroic ballads of this country--attired themselves in the light
but somewhat insufficient costume of their tribe--viz., little before,
nothing behind, and no sleeves, with the occasional addition of a pair
of spectacles; but now, thanks to this useful association, the upper
classes of the cannibals seldom appear in public without their bodies
being enveloped in blankets and their feet encased in top-boots.
"When the latter useful articles were first introduced into the
islands, the society's agents had a vast amount of trouble to prevail
upon the natives to apply them to their proper purposes; and, in their
work of civilization, no less than twenty of its representatives were
massacred, roasted, and eaten. But we persevered; we overcame the
natural antipathy of the cannibals to wear any covering to their feet;
until after a time, the natives discovered the warmth and utility of
boots; and now they can scarcely be induced to remove them until they
fall off through old age.
"During the past half year, the society has distributed no less than
71 blankets and 128 pairs of top-boots; and your committee, therefore,
feel convinced that they will not be accused of inaction. But a great
work is still before them; and they earnestly invite co-operation, in
order that they may be enabled to supply the whole of the cannibals
with these comfortable, nutritious, and savoury articles.
"As the balance-sheet is rather a lengthy document, I will merely
quote a few of the figures for your satisfaction. We have received,
during the half-year, in subscriptions, donations, and legacies, the
sum of L5,403 6_s._ 83/4_d._ Rent, rates, and taxes, L305 10_s._
01/4_d._ Seventy-one pairs of blankets, at 20_s._ per pair, have
taken L71 exactly; and 128 pairs of tops-boots, at 21_s._ per pair,
cost us L134 some odd shillings. The salaries and expenses of
management amount to L1,307 4_s._ 21/2_d._; and sundries, which
include committee meetings and travelling expenses, have absorbed the
remainder of the sum, and amount to L3,268 9_s._ 13/4_d._ So that we
have expended on the dear and interesting cannibals the sum of L205,
and the remainder of the sum--amounting to L5,198--has been devoted to
the working expenses of the society."
The reading concluded, the secretary resumes his seat amid heavy
applause, which continues until Mr. Alderman Gobbleton rises, and, in a
somewhat lengthy and discursive speech--in which the phrases, "the
Corporation of the City of London," "suit and service," "ancient guild,"
"liberties and privileges," and "Court of Common Council," figure
frequently, states that he agrees with everything the noble chairman has
said; and has, moreover, never listened to a more comprehensive and
exhaustive document than the one just read; which is calculated to
satisfy even the most obtuse and hard-headed of individuals.
Gobbleton is a great man in the City. He has either been Lord Mayor, or
sheriff, or something of the sort; and, as a few words of his go a long
way with his friends and admirers, his remarks are very favourably
received.
"Clever man, Gobbleton!" says a common councilman, sitting near us, to
his neighbour, a languid swell of the period.
"Ya-as, vewy! Wemarkable style of owatowy--and gweat fluency," replies
the other.
But attention, if you please!--for M. Hector de Longuebeau, the great
French writer, is on his legs. He is staying in England for a short
time, to become acquainted with our manners and customs.
"MILORS AND GENTLEMANS!" commences the Frenchman, elevating his
eyebrows, and shrugging his shoulders. "Milors and Gentlemans--You
excellent chairman, M. le Baron de Mount-Stuart, he have say to me,
'Make de toast.' Den I say to him dat I have no toast to us; but he
nudge my elbow ver soft, and say dat dere is von toast dat nobody but
von Frenchman can make proper; and, derefore, wid you kind permission,
I will make de toast. 'De brevete is de sole of de feet,' as you great
philosopher, Dr. Johnson, do say, in dat amusing little work of his,
de Pronouncing Dictionnaire; and derefore, I vill not say ver moch to
de point. Ven I vas a boy, about so moch tall, and used for to
promenade de streets of Marseilles et of Rouen, vid no feet to put
onto my shoe, I nevare to have expose dat dis day vould to have
arrive. I vas to begin de vorld as von garcon--or, vat you call in dis
countrie, von vaitaire in a cafe--vere I vork ver hard, vid no
habillemens at all to put onto myself, and ver little food to eat,
excep' von old bleu blouse vat vas give to me by de proprietaire, just
for to keep myself fit to be showed at, but, tank goodness, tings dey
have change ver moch for me since dat time, and I have rose myself,
seulement par mon industrie et perseverance. (Loud cheers.) Ah! mes
amis! ven I hear to myself de flowing speech, de oration magnifique of
you Lor' Maire, Monsieur Gobbledown, I feel dat it is von great
privilige for von etranger to sit at de same table, and to eat de same
food, as that grand, dat majestique man, who are de terreur of de
voleurs and de brigands of de metropolis; and who is also, I for to
suppose, a halterman and de chef of you common scoundrel. Milors and
gentlemans, I feel dat I can perspire to no greatare honneur dan to be
von common scoundrelman myself; but helas! dat plaisir are not for me,
as I are not freeman of your great cite, not von liveryman servant of
von of you compagnies joint-stock. But I must not forget de toast.
Milors and Gentlemans! De immortal Shakespeare he have write, 'De ting
of beauty are de joy for nevermore.' It is de ladies who are de toast.
Vat is more entrancing dan de charmante smile, de soft voice, de
vinking eye of de beautiful lady? It is de ladies who do sweeten de
cares of life. It is de ladies who are de guiding stars of our
existence. It is de ladies who do cheer but not inebriate; and,
derefore, vid all homage to dere sex, de toast dat I have to propose
is, 'De Ladies! God bless dem all!'"
And the little Frenchman sits down amid a perfect tempest of cheers.
A few more toasts are given, the list of subscriptions is read, a vote
of thanks is passed to the noble chairman; and the Fifteenth Annual
Festival of the Society for the Distribution of Blankets and Top-boots
among the Natives of the Cannibal Islands is at an end.
(_Copyright of_ MESSRS. F. WARNE & CO.)
ACTING WITH A VENGEANCE.
W. SAPTE, JUN.
Methinks 'tis a very remarkable "sign
Of the times"--I must own this expression's not mine--
How in these latter days
The theatrical craze
Has obtained such a hold on all grades of society;
And this love of the stage
Is a mark of the age
Which is not in accord with _my_ views of propriety.
'Twas only last week a young lady I know
Invited the world in a body to go
(On a wretched wet day)
To a dull _matinee_,
When she made her _debut_ in the "Hunchback," as Julia;
A part which to act is
A thing of long practice,
Surely ne'er was conceit more absurd or unrulier.
How can amateur actors commence at the top
Of the Thespian Tree, and avoid coming flop?
It would seem very queer
If a young volunteer
Should begin by commanding the Royal Horse Artillery,
Or if babies should bilk
Their allowance of milk
And insist upon sucking from bottles of Sillery.
So it mostly occurs
That an amateur errs,
And gets chaffed for possessing less skill than audacity,
When he tackles a part
Without learning the art,
And exposes his natural want of capacity--
And what is more painful, his lack of sagacity.
I'm bound to admit
I was rather once bit
By the mania myself in a mild sort of way;
Paid a half-guinea fee
To the Zeus A.D.C.,
And found myself cast for a part in a play.
I think 'twas the Bandit Brothers of Brighton--
Or Eastbourne, or Yarmouth--
Or Hastings, or Barmouth--
I forget for the moment which place was the right 'un--
But I know there's a chief,
Who at last comes to grief,
After numerous blood-curdling adventures and rescues,
Such as frequently writers in modern burlesque use.
Now the part of the chief
Who comes to grief
Was secured by a hot-tempered youth, named O'Keefe;
In spite of the jealousy
Of two other fellows, he
Cast himself as the leader, without hesitation,
And resented remarks with extreme indignation.
So the others were fain
Their rage to contain,
And one e'en accepted the part which was reckoned
To be, on the whole, the one that ranked second.
The local Town Hall was engaged, which would hold
Some three hundred people--the tickets were sold--
The purchasers wishing to help the good charity
We played for; some adding
Donations, and gladding
The treasurer's heart to a state of hilarity.
Rehearsals galore
Were to take place before
The _debut_ on the boards of the Zeus A.D.C.--
For the members were earnest as earnest could be.
Well, the opening one
Was rather good fun,
For we found that the practice of vigorous fighting
'Twixt Bandits and Coastguards was rather exciting;
But later, you know
It got rather slow
For those who were "supers" to constantly go
And lay the same victims perpetually low,
With time after time the identical blow.
But Mr. O'Keefe,
Who played the chief,
Had a time less monotonous, greatly, than ours,
And always kept up the rehearsals for hours.
Still he wasn't quite happy,
And often got snappy,
For Richard McEwen, who'd wanted to play
The part of the chief, and used often to say
He'd have done it himself in a much better way,
Was by no means contented, thus feeling superior
To play "seconds" to Keefe, his decided inferior.
So he did what he could
To annoy the great K.,
And misunderstood,
In a scandalous way,
All the stage-manager's proper directions,
And refused to accept either hints or corrections.
Now in the third act, the time being night,
The scene on the beach, there's a hand-to-hand fight
'Twixt the Bandit chief
(That's Mr. O'Keefe)
And the coastguard captain, Mr. McEwen,
In which 'tis agreed
That the first shall succeed,
While the latter comes in for no end of a hewing.
But Richard McEwen was strong and quick,
And a very good hand with the single-stick,
And he didn't see why
He should quietly die
By the sword of a man, much less clever at fencing.
So he _would_ give a twist
Of his muscular wrist,
Which disarmed the brave Bandit soon after commencing.
The rage of O'Keefe
Exceeded belief,
For McEwen _would_ do it at ev'ry rehearsal;
The manager vowed
It could not be allowed,
And the company's protests became universal.
McEwen explained
That he thought the piece gained
By his showing his skill--how could anyone doubt it?
"There's more credit," said he,
"To the chief than there'd be
If he killed a weak chap who knew nothing about it."
And he went on to say that O'Keefe wasn't fit
For the part of the chief, and could not fence a bit.
O'Keefe in reply,
Gave McEwen the lie,
And vowed he would kick him
Or otherwise "lick" him,
While his eyes flashed like those of a tiger or leopard. He
Induced us to think
That his rival must shrink
From placing himself in such obvious jeopardy.
He did so--and afterwards things all went smoothly,
While O'Keefe played his part in a manner quite Booth-ly,
Or, as somebody said, without meaning to gush,
He'd have put Henry Irving himself to the blush.
* * * * *
As soon as the public performance drew nigh
The local excitement ran awfully high,
For reports had been spread
(By the club, be it said)
That something uncommonly good was expected,
And so on the day
We turned people away
From the doors, where quite early a crowd had collected.
* * * * *
Well, the overture over, the drama began,
But, thanks to our casual property man,
The rise of the curtain
Was somewhat uncertain.
In fact, for five minutes or so the thing _stuck_--
Which was terrible luck!
And affected the play,
At least, so I should say,
For the opening act went decidedly tamely,
Though O'Keefe and his bandits stuck to it most gamely.
There was not much applause,
Which perhaps was because
Our audience was certainly very genteel,
And thought it was rude folks should show what they feel;
Still, we should have preferred
Some "bravos!" to have heard.
And two or three gentlemen seemingly napping,
We thought might have better employed themselves clapping.
If first act went badly
The second quite dragged;
The actors worked sadly,
All interest flagged.
And though very often we caught people laughing,
The occasions they chose made us think they were chaffing.
Next came act the third, in which the O'Keefe
Was to be very great as the terrible chief,
For in it he killed
His rival, and spilled
The gore of the coastguards all over the coast,
And eloped with a bride,
Who beheld him with pride
Though she could herself of a coronet boast.
As a matter of fact
We hoped that this act
Would redeem in a measure the ones that preceded,
And it opened so well,
And O'Keefe looked so swell,
That at last we obtained the encouragement needed.
And then came the fight.
No one thought, on that night,
That McEwen would dare try his vile _tour de force_;
And the battle began
On the well-rehearsed plan,
While the supers made ready to bear off his corse.
* * * * *
Whatever induced him to do it? Who knows?
He says 'twas an accident. Well, I suppose,
When a man tells you that,
A denial too flat
Might perhaps lead to arguments, even to blows.
But, be that as it may,
The O'Keefe _couldn't_ slay
His opponent, whose wrist
All at once gave a twist,
And the brave bandit's weapon went flying away!
The supers stood spellbound, as over the stage
Strode the maddened O'Keefe; in a frenzy of rage
He picked up his sword, and then went for his foe
In terrible earnest.
Oh, that was the sternest,
Most truculent fight
Ever fought in the sight
Of innocent people, who shouted "Bravo!"
Little knowing how soon the real blood was to flow.
Thank Heaven, the swords
Were as blunt as two boards!
Otherwise the result would have been simply frightful.
As it was, every whack
Make the deuce of a crack,
While the audience considered it clearly delightful.
With th' applause at its height,
This most bloodthirsty fight,
By a blow from the skilful McEwen was ended.
O'Keefe fell as if dead,
With a gash on his head;
The supers rushed forward, the curtain descended.
Talk about clapping!
And walking-stick rapping!
While even the gentlemen formerly napping,
"Bravoed" themselves hoarse
With the whole of their force,
And made their fat palms quite tender with slapping.
"O'Keefe! and McEwen!" was shouted by all,
Why the deuce don't they come and acknowledge the call?
Then some people said
"That blow on the head--
Was it part of the play?--or"--ah, see, in the hall
A youth--he's a member, as that ribbon shows--
See! to Doctor Pomander he stealthily goes--
To the doctor, who sat
With his coat and his hat
Just under his seat, that he need not delay
If a patient should send to fetch him away;
But who never expected to find _in_ the hall
A patient--and much less a bandit--at all!
Anxiety now
Takes the place of the row,
And people talk low
And ask "Shall they go?"
When before the dropped curtain there comes with a bow
The stage-manager suave,
With a countenance grave,
To announce that although there's nought serious the matter,
(Here applause and some chatter)
Still, in the late fight
The _wrong_ man beat the _right_,
And that therefore the show was at end for the night.
Thus the bandit chief
Came duly to grief,
Though not in the way that the author intended,
And as for his head
Ere he went home to bed,
The doctor had seen that 'twas properly mended.
This, friends, was the end of the drama for me,
And for most, I believe, of the Zeus A.D.C.,
Whose need of success
May indeed have been less
Than that usually obtained by such clubs and societies;
But be that as it may,
I have e'er from that day
Placed amateur acting among th' improprieties.
(_By permission of the Author._)
MY FORTNIGHT AT WRETCHEDVILLE.
GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
How I came to be acquainted with Wretchedville was in this wise. I was
in quest last autumn of a nice quiet place within a convenient distance
of town, where I could finish an epic poem--or stay, was it a five-act
drama?--on which I had been long engaged, and where I could be secure
from the annoyance of organ-grinders, and of reverend gentlemen leaving
little subscription books one day and calling for them the next. I pined
for a place where one could be very snug, and where one's friends didn't
drop in "just to look you up, old fellow," and where the post didn't
come in too often. So I picked up a bag of needments, and availing
myself of a mid-day train on the Great Domdaniel Railway, alighted
haphazard at a station.
It turned out to be Sobbington. I saw at a glance that Sobbington was
too fashionable, not to say stuck-up for me. The waltz from "Faust" was
pianofortetically audible from at least half-a-dozen semi-detached
windows; and this, combined with some painful variations on "Take,
then, the sabre," and a cursory glance into a stationer's shop and fancy
warehouse, where two stern mammas of low-church aspect were purchasing
the back numbers of "The New Pugwell Square Pulpit," and three young
ladies were telegraphically inquiring, behind their parents' backs, of
the young person at the counter whether any letters had been left for
them, sufficed to accelerate my departure from Sobbington. The next
station on the road, I was told, was Doleful Hill, and then came
Deadwood Junction. I thought I would take a little walk, and see what
the open and what the covert yielded.
I left my bag with a moody porter at the Sobbington Station, and trudged
along the road which had been indicated to me as leading to Doleful
Hill. It is true that I had not the remotest idea of where I was going
to live. I walked onwards and onwards, admiring the field cows in the
far-off pastures--cows the white specks on whose hides recurred so
artistically that one might have thought the scenic arrangement of the
landscape had been entrusted to Mr. Birket Foster. Anon I saw coming
towards me, a butcher-boy in his cart, drawn by a fast trotting pony. I
asked him when he neared me, how far it might be to Doleful Hill.
"Good two mile," quoth the butcher-boy, pulling up. "But you'll have to
pass Wretchedville first. Lays in a 'ole a little to the left, 'arf a
mile on."
"Wretchedville," thought I; what an odd name! "What sort of a place is
it?" I inquired.
"Well," replied the butcher-boy; "it's a lively place, a werry lively
place. I should say it was lively enough to make a cricket burst himself
for spite: it's so uncommon lively." And with this enigmatical
deliverance the butcher-boy relapsed into a whistle of the utmost
shrillness, and rattled away towards Sobbington.
I wish that it had not been quite so golden an afternoon. A little
dulness, a few clouds in the sky, might have acted as a caveat against
Wretchedville. But I plodded on and on, finding all things looking
beautiful in that autumn glow, until at last I found myself descending
the declivitous road into Wretchedville and to destruction.
"Were there any apartments to let?" Of course there were. The very first
house I came to was, as regards the parlour-window, nearly blocked up by
a placard treating of "Apartments Furnished." Am I right in describing
it as the parlour-window? I scarcely know; for the front door, with
which it was on a level, was approached by such a very steep flight of
steps, that when you stood on the topmost grade, it seemed as though,
with a very slight effort, you could have peeped in at the bed-room
window, or touched one of the chimney-pots; while as concerns the
basement, the front kitchen--I beg pardon, the breakfast
parlour--appeared to be a good way above the level of the street.
The space in the first-floor window not occupied by the placard, was
filled by a monstrous group of wax fruit, the lemons as big as pumpkins,
and the leaves of an unnaturally vivid green. The window below--it was a
single-windowed front--served merely as a frame for the half-length
portrait of a lady in a cap, ringlets, and a colossal cameo brooch. The
eyes of this portrait were fixed upon me; and before almost I had lifted
a very small light knocker, decorated, so far as I could make out, with
the cast-iron effigy of a desponding ape, and had struck this against a
door, which to judge from the amount of percussion produced, was
composed of Bristol board highly varnished, the portal itself flew open
and the portrait of the basement appeared in the flesh; indeed, it was
the same portrait. Downstairs it had been Mrs. Primpris looking out into
the Wretchedville Road for lodgers. Upstairs it was Mrs. Primpris
letting her lodgings and glorying in the act.
She didn't ask for any references. She didn't hasten to inform me that
there were no children or any other lodgers. She didn't look doubtful
when I told her that the whole of my luggage consisted of a black bag
which I had left at the Sobbington Station. She seemed rather pleased
with the idea of the bag, and said that her Alfred should step round for
it. She didn't object to smoking; and she at once invested me with the
Order of the Latchkey--a latchkey at Wretchedville, ha! ha! She further
held me with her glittering eye, and I listened like a two-years' child
while she let me the lodgings for a fortnight certain.