PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 98.

May 24, 1890,

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. XI.—THE RIVAL DOLLS.

"Miss Jenny and Polly Had each a new dolly."—Vide Poem.

CHARACTERS.

Scene—A Nursery. Enter Miss Jenny and Miss Polly, who perform a blameless step-dance with an improving chorus.

Oh, isn't it jolly! we've each a new dolly,

And one is a Soldier, the other's a Tar!

We're fully contented with what's been presented,

Such good little children we both of us are!

[They dance up to a cupboard, from which they bring out two large Dolls, which they place on chairs.

Miss J. Don't they look nice!

Come, Polly, let us strive

To make ourselves believe that they're alive!

Miss P. (addressing Sailor D.). I'm glad you're mine. I dote on all that's nautical.

The Sailor D. (opening his eyes suddenly). Excuse me, Miss, your sister's more my sort o' gal!

[Kisses his hand to Miss J., who shrinks back, shocked and alarmed.

Miss J. Oh, Polly, did you hear? I feel so shy!

The Soldier D. (with mild self-assertion). I can say "Pa" and "Ma"—and wink my eye.

[Does so at Miss P., who runs in terror to Miss J.'s side.

Miss J. Why, both are showing signs of animation!

Miss P. Who'd think we had such strong imagination!

The Soldier Doll (aside to the Sailor D.). I say, old fellow, we have caught their fancy—
In each of us they now a real man see!
Let's keep it up!

The Sailor D. (dubiously). D'ye think as we can do it?

The Soldier D. You stick by me, and I will see you through it.
Sit up, and turn your toes out,—don't you loll;
Put on the Man, and drop the bloomin' Doll!

[The Sailor Doll pulls himself together, and rises from chair importantly.

The Sailor D. (in the manner of a Music-hall Chairman)—Ladies, with your kind leave, this gallant gent Will now his military sketch present.

[Miss J. and P. applaud; the Soldier D., after feebly expostulating, is induced to sing.

Song, by the Soldier Doll.

When I used to be displayed

In the Burlington Arcade,

With artillery arrayed

Underneath. Shoulder Hump!

I imagine that I made

All the Lady Dolls afraid,

I should draw my battle-blade

From its sheath, Shoulder Hump!

For I'm Mars's gallant son,

And my back I've shown to none,

Nor was ever seen to run

From the strife! &c.

Oh, the battles I'd have won,

And the dashing deeds have done,

If I'd ever fired a gun

In my life! &c.

Refrain (to be sung marching round Stage).

By your right flank, wheel!

Let the front rank kneel!

With the bristle of the steel

To the foe.

Till their regiments reel,

At our rattling peal,

And the military zeal

We show!

[Repeat, with the whole company marching round after him.

The Soldier Doll. My friend will next oblige—this jolly Jack Tar Will give his song and chorus in charàck-tar!

[Same business with Sailor D.

Song, by the Sailor Doll.

In costume I'm

So maritime,

You'd never suppose the fact is,

That with the Fleet

In Regent Street,

I'd precious little naval practice!

There was saucy craft,

Rigged fore an' aft,

Inside o' Mr. Cre-mer's.

From Noah's Arks to Clipper-built barques,

Like-wise mechanical stea-mers.

But to navigate the Serpentine,

Yeo ho, my lads, ahoy!

With clockwork, sails, or spirits of wine,

Yeo-ho, my lads, ahoy!

I did respeckfully decline,

So I was left in port to pine,

Which wasn't azactually the line

Of a rollicking Sailor Boy,

Yeo-ho! Of a rollicking Sailor Bo-oy!

Yes, there was lots Of boats and yachts,

Of timber and of tin, too;

But one and all Was far too small

For a doll o' my size to get into!

I was too big On any brig

To ship without disas-ter,

And it wouldn't never do

When the cap'n and the crew

Were a set o' little swabs all plas-ter!

Chorus—So to navigate the Serpentine, &c.

An Ark is p'raps The berth for chaps

As is fond o' Natural Hist'ry.

But I sez to Shem

And the rest o' them,

"How you get along at all's a myst'ry!

With a Wild Beast Show

Let loose below,

And four fe-males on deck too!

I never could agree

With your happy fami-lee,

And your lubberly ways I objeck to."

[Chorus. Hornpipe by the company, after which the Soldier Doll advances condescendingly to Miss Jenny.

The Sold. D. Invincible I'm reckoned by the Ladies.
But yield to you—though conquering my trade is!

Miss J. (repulsing him). Oh, go away, you great conceited thing, you!

[The Sold. D. persists in offering her attentions.

Miss P. (watching them bitterly). To be deserted by one's doll does sting you!

[The Sailor D. approaches.

The Sailor D. (to Miss P.) Let me console you, Miss, a Sailor Doll
As swears his 'art was ever true to Poll!

(N.B.—Good opportunity for Song here.)

Miss P. (indignantly to Miss J.) Your Sailor's teasing me to be his idol! Do make him stop—spitefully—When you've quite done with my doll!

Miss J. (scornfully). If you suppose I want your wretched warrior, I'm sorry for you!

Miss P. I for you am sorrier.

Miss J. (weeping, R.). Polly preferred to me—what ignominy!

Miss P. (weeping, L.). My horrid Sailor jilting me for Jenny!

[The two Dolls face one another, c.

Sailor D. (to Soldier D.). You've made her sluice her skylights now, you swab!

Soldier D. (to Sailor D.). As you have broke her heart, I'll break your nob!

[Hits him.

Sailor D. (in a pale fury). This insult must be blotted out in bran!

Soldier D. (fiercely). Come on, I'll shed your sawdust—if I can!

[Miss J. and P. throw themselves between the combatants.

Miss J. For any mess you make we shall be scolded,
So wait until a drugget we've unfolded!

[They lay down drugget on Stage.

The Soldier D. (politely). No hurry, Miss, we don't object to waiting.

The Sailor D. (aside). His valour—like my own—'s evaporating!

(Defiantly to Soldier D.). On guard! You'll see how soon I'll run you through!

(Confidentially). (If you will not prod me, I won't pink you.)

The Soldier D. Through your false kid my deadly blade I'll pass!

(Confidentially). (Look here, old fellow, don't you be a hass!)

[They exchange passes at a considerable distance.

The Sailor D. (aside). Don't lose your temper now!

Sold. D. Don't get excited.
Do keep a little farther off!

Sail. D. Delighted!

[Wounds Soldier D. by misadventure.

Sold. D. (annoyed). There now, you've gone and made upon my wax a dent!

Sail. D. Excuse me, it was really quite an accident.

Sold. D. (savagely). Such clumsiness would irritate a saint!

[Stabs Sailor Doll.

Miss J. and P. (imploringly). Oh, stop! the sight of sawdust turns us faint!

[They drop into chairs, swooning.

The Sailor D. I'll pay you out for that!

[Stabs Soldier D.

Sold. D. Right through you've poked me!

Sailor D. So you have me!

Sold. D. You shouldn't have provoked me!

[They fall transfixed.

Sailor D. (faintly). Alas, we have been led away by vanity.
Dolls shouldn't try to imitate humanity!

[Dies.

Soldier D. For, if they do, they'll end like us, unpitied,
Each on the other's sword absurdly spitted!

[Dies. Miss J. and P. revive, and bend sadly over the corpses.

Miss Jenny. From their untimely end we draw this moral,
How wrong it is, even for dolls, to quarrel!

Miss Polly. Yes, Jenny, in the fate of these poor fellows see
What sad results may spring from female jealousy!

[They embrace penitently as Curtain falls.

THE ROSE-WATER CURE.

[The Report of the Sweating Committee says that "the inefficiency of many of the lower class of workers, early marriages, and the tendency of the residuum of the population in large towns to form a helpless community, together with a low standard of life and the excessive supply of unskilled labour are the chief factors in producing sweating." The Committee's chief "recommendations" in respect of the evils of Sweating seem to be, the lime-washing of work-places and the multiplication of sanitary inspectors.]

Seventy-one Sittings, a many months' run,

Witnesses Two Hundred, Ninety and One:

Clergymen, guardians, factors, physicians,

Middlemen, labourers, smart statisticians,

Journalists, managers, Gentiles and Jews,

And this is the issue! A thing to amuse

A cynic, the chat of this precious Committee,

But moving kind hearts to despair blent with pity.

Cantuar., Derby, and mild Aberdeen,

Such anti-climax sure never was seen!

Onslow and Rothschild and Monkswell and Thring,

Are you content with the pitiful thing?

Dunraven out of it; lucky, my lad!

(Though your retirement seemed caused by a fad)

Was the Inquiry in earnest or sport?

What is the pith of this precious Report?

Sweating—which all the world joined to abuse—

Is not the fault of poor Russians or Jews;

'Tisn't the middleman more than the factor,

'Tisn't, no 'tisn't, the sub-contractor;

'Tisn't machinery. No! In fact,

What Sweating is, in a manner exact,

After much thinking we cannot define.

Who is to blame for it? Well, we incline

To think that the Sweated (improvident elves!)

Are, at the bottom, to blame themselves!

They're poor of spirit, and weak of will,

They marry early, have little skill;

They herd together, all sexes and ages,

And take too tamely starvation wages;

And if they will do so, much to their shame,

How can the Capitalist be to blame?

Remedies? Humph! We really regret

We don't see our way to them. People must sweat,

Must stitch and starve till they almost drop;

But let it be done in a lime-washed shop!

To drudge in these dens is their destined fate,

But keep the dens in a decent state.

More inspectors, fewer bad smells,

These be our cures for the Sweaters' Hells!

Revolutions with rose-water cannot be made!

So it was said. But the horrors of Trade,

Competition's accursed fruit,

The woman a drudge, and the man a brute,

These, our Committee of Lordlings are sure,

Can only be met by the Rose-water Cure!

The Sweating Demon to exorcise

Exceeds the skill of the wealthy wise.

Still he must "grind the face of the poor."

(Though some of us have a faint hope, to be sure,

That the highly respectable Capitalist

To the Lords' mild lispings will kindly list.)

No; the Demon must work his will

On his ill-paid suffering victims still;

But—he'd better look with a little less dirt,

So sprinkle the brute with our Rose-water Squirt!!!

HARDLY LIKELY.

(An Incident in a "Point to Point" Race.)

Fallen Competitor (to his Bosom Friend, who now has the Race in hand). "Hi, George, old Man! Just catch my Horse, there's a good Chap!"

An Entertainment of a Good Stamp.—The Penny Postage Jubilee Exhibition at the Guildhall.

SONG SENTIMENTIANA.

(A delightful "All-the-Year-Round" Resort for the Fashionable Composer.)

Example IV.—Treating of a passion which, in the well-meant process of making the best of it, unconsciously saddles its object with the somewhat harassing responsibility of competing with the Universal Provider.

Thou art all the world to me, love,

Thou art everything in one,

From my early cup of tea, love,

To my kidney underdone;

From my canter in the Row, love,

To my invitation lunch—

From my quiet country blow, love,

To my festive London Punch.

Thou art all in all to me, love,—

Thou art bread and meat and drink;

Thou art air and land and sea, love,—

Thou art paper, pens, and ink.

Thou art all of which I'm fond, love:

Thou art Whitstables from Rule's,—

"Little drops" with Spiers and Pond, love,—

Measures sweet at Mr. Poole's.

Thou art everything I lack, love,

From a month at Brighton gay

(Bar the journey there and back, love)

To the joys of Derby Day—

From the start from my abode, love,

With a team of frisky browns,

To the driving "on the road," love,

And the dry vin on the Downs!

Thou art all the world to me, love,—

Thou art all the thing contains;

Thou art honey from the bee, love,—

Thou art sugar from the canes.

Thou art—— stay! I've made a miss, love;

I'm forgetting, on my life!

Thou art all—excepting this, love,—

Your devoted servant's wife!

CHARLES THE FIRST.

Sir,—Did Charles the First walk and talk half an hour after his head was cut off, or not?

Yours,

A Verifier of Facts.

Sir,—Charles the First walked and talked one quarter of an hour, not half, as is erroneously supposed, after his decollation. We know this by two Dutch pictures which I had in my possession until only the other day, when I couldn't find them anywhere.

Yours,

Historian.

Sir,—King Charles the First lost his head long before he came to the scaffold. I have the block now by me. From it the well-known wood-cut was taken.

Consule Plauco.

Sir,—It is a very curious thing, but all the trouble was taken out of Charles's head and put into mine years ago by one of the greatest Charleses that ever lived, whose name was Dickens; and mine, without the "ENS," is

Yours truly,

"Mr. Dick."

P.S.—"'Mr. Dick sets us all right,' said My Aunt, quietly."

A CHAPTER OF DICKENS UP TO DATE.

(In which Mrs. Harris, assisted by a Carpet, is the cause of a division between Friends.)

Mrs. Gamp's apartment wore, metaphorically speaking, a Bab-Balladish aspect, being considerably topsy-turvey, as rooms have a habit of being after any unusual ebullition of temper on the part of their occupants. It was certainly not swept and garnished, although its owner was preparing for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey Prig.

Mrs. Gamp's chimney-piece was ornamented with three photographs: one of herself, looking somewhat severe; one of her friend and bosom companion, Mrs. Prig, of far more amiable aspect; and one of a mysterious personage supposed to be Mrs. Harris.

"There! Now, drat you, Betsey, don't be long!" said Mrs. Gamp, apostrophising her absent friend. "For I'm in no mood for waiting, I do assure you. I'm easy pleased, but I must have my own way (as is always the best and wisest), and have it directly minit, when the fancy strikes me, else we shall part, and that not friendly, as I could wish, but bearin' malice in our 'arts."

"Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, "I will now propoge a toast. My frequent pardner, Betsey Prig!"

"Which, altering the name to Sairah Gamp, I drink," said Mrs. Prig, "with love and tenderness!"

"Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "jining business with pleasure, as so often we've done afore, wot is this bothersome affair about which you wants to consult me? Are you a-goin' to call me over the Carpet once more, Sairey?"

"Drat the Carpet!" exclaimed Mrs. Gamp, with a vehement explosiveness whose utter unexpectedness quite disconcerted her friend.

"Is it Mrs. Harris?" inquired Mrs. Prig, solemnly.

"Yes, Betsy Prig, it is," snapped Mrs. Gamp, angrily, "that very person herself, and no other, which, after twenty years of trust, I never know'd nor never expected to, which it 'urts a feeling 'art even to name her name as henceforth shall be nameless betwixt us twain."

"Oh, shall it?" retorted Mrs. Prig, shortly. "Why bless the woman, if I'd said that, you'd ha' bitten the nose off my face, as is your nature to, as the poick says."

"Don't you say nothink against poicks, Betsey, and I'll say nothink against musicians," retorted Mrs. Gamp, mysteriously.

"Oh! then it was to call me over the Carpet that you sent for me so sudden and peremptory?" rejoined Mrs. Prig, with a smile.

"Drat the Carpet!!!" again ejaculated Mrs. Gamp, with astonishing fierceness. "Wot do you know about the Carpet, Betsey?"

"Why nothink at all, my dear; nor don't want to," replied Mrs. Prig, with surprise.

"Oh!" retorted Mrs. Gamp, "you don't, don't you? Well, then, I do, and it's time you did likewise, if pardners we are to remain who 'ave pardners been so long."

Mrs. Prig muttered something not quite audible, but which sounded suspiciously like, "'Ard wuck!"

"Which share and share alike is my mortar," continued Mrs. Gamp; "that as bin my princerple, and I've found it pay. But Injin Carpets for our mutual 'ome, of goldiun lustre and superfluos shine, as tho' we wos Arabian Knights, I cannot and I will not stand. It is the last stror as camels could not forgive. No, Betsey," added Mr. Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, "nor crokydiles forget!"