Voces Populi

Miss F. B.

And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey – but I scorned death's pangs,For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of Lobelia Bangs!Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of a cushat dove!(At the top of her voice.) "Forgive me, Clem, but I could not bear any squaw to torture my own true love!"And she raised the revolver – "crack-crack-crack!"[To the infinite chagrin of the Unsophisticated Guest, who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss Bangs and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma – the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in afresh torrent of small-talk – after which he hears Miss F. B. conclude with repressed emotion:But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded their brief harangues;And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie Belle, Lobelia Bangs![Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless mystification

Soc. Chat. Is that the end? Charming! Now we shall be able to talk again! &c., &c.

Bank Holiday

Scene —The Crystal Palace. The Nave is filled with a dense throng of Pleasure-seekers. Every free seat commanding the most distant view of a Variety Performance on the Great Stage has been occupied an hour in advance. The less punctual stand and enjoy the spectacle of other persons' hats or bonnets. Gangs of Male and Female Promenaders jostle and hustle to their hearts' content, or perform the war-song and dance of the Lower-class 'Arry, which consists in chanting "Oi tiddly-oi-toi; hoi-toi-oi!" to a double shuffle. Tired women sit on chairs and look at nothing. In the Grounds, the fancy of young men and maidens is lightly turning to thoughts of love; the first dawn of the tender passion being intimated, on the part of the youth, by chasing his charmer into a corner and partially throttling her, whereupon the maiden coyly conveys that his sentiments are not unreciprocated by thumping him between the shoulders. From time to time, two champions contend with fists for the smiles of beauty, who may usually be heard bellowing with perfect impartiality in the background. A small but increasing percentage have already had as much liquid refreshment as is good for them, and intend to have more. Altogether, the scene, if festive, might puzzle an Intelligent Foreigner who is more familiar with Continental ideas of enjoyment

A Damsel (in a ruby plush hat with a mauve feather). Why, if they yn't got that bloomin' ole statute down from Charin' Cross! What's 'e doin' of down 'ere, I wonder?

Her Swain (whose feather is only pink and white paper). Doin' of? Tykin' 'is d'y orf – like the rest of us are tykin' it.

The Damsel (giggling). You go on – you don't green me that w'y – a statute!

Swain. Well, 'yn't this what they call a "Statutory" 'Oliday, eh?

Damsel (in high appreciation of his humour). I'll fetch you sech a slap in a minnit! 'Ere, let's gow on the Swissback.

Another Damsel (in a peacock-blue hat with orange pompons). See that nekked young man on the big 'orse, Alf? It says "Castor" on the stand. 'Oo was 'e?

Alf. Oh, I d' know. I dessay it'll be 'im as invented the Castor Ile.

The Damsel (disgusted). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to 'im!

Superior 'Arry (talking Musichalls to his Adored One). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"

The Adored. Lots o' toimes. I do like 'er singing. She mykes sech comical soigns – and then the things she sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that —orf the styge.

The S. A. I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'em are that way. You can't 'ave everythink!

His Adored. No, it is a pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [They do.

AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS

Wife of British Workman (spelling out placard under Hottentot Group). "It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!

British Workman (with philosophy). Well, I sha'n't go inter mournin' for 'em, Sairer!

Lambeth Larrikin (in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, to Battersea Bill, who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?

Batt. Bill (more thoughtfully). Yer right – but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot, we shouldn't care 'ow we looked!

Vauxhall Voilet (who has exchanged headgear with Chelsea Chorley —with dismal results). They are cures, those blackies! Why, yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.

Chelsea Chorley. Good job we can't 'ear 'em. They say as niggers' music is somethink downright horful. Give us "Hi-tiddly-hi" on that mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?

[Vauxhall Voilet obliges on that instrument; every one in the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically; exeunt party, dancing.

A Pimply Youth. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits as stoopid as biled howls on – it's about time we went and did another beer. [They retire for that purpose.

DURING THE FIREWORKS

Chorus of Spectators. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin orf! Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a shower o' foiry smuts. Lor, so they do – what a fancy you do 'ave. &c., &c.

COMING HOME

An Old Gentleman (who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners – which he has done from a respectful distance – to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-class compartment). There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins. Now, to me, y'know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience – wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd, enjoying itself in its own way – boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum! Really, very exhilarating to see – but you don't agree with me?

His Friend (reluctantly). Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than —

The O. G. (testily). Pathetic, Sir – nonsense! I like to see people putting their heart into it, whether it's play or work. Give me a crowd —

[As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment

Man by the Window. Third-class as good as fust, these days! Why, if there ain't ole Fred! Wayo, Fred, tumble in, ole son – room for one more standin'!

["Ole Fred" plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his stick, as he leans against the door

Ole Fred. Where's my blanky friend? I 'it 'im one on the jaw, and I ain't seen 'im since! (Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice.) "Comrides, Comrides! Hever since we was boys! Sharin' each other's sorrers. Sharin' each hother's – beer!"

[A "paraprosdokian," which delights him to the point of repetition

The O. G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there, Sir? [Whimpers from over-tired children.

Ole Fred (roaring). "I'm jolly as a Sandboy, I'm 'appy as a king! No matter what I see or 'ear, I larf at heverything! I'm the morril of my moth-ar, (to O. G.) the himage of your Par! And heverythink I see or 'ear, it makes me larf 'Ar-har!'"

[He laughs "Ar-har," after which he gives a piercing blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof

The O. G. (roused). I really must beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance! There are women and children here who —

Ole Fred. Shet up, old umbereller whiskers! (Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again.) "An' the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold. In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!" (To people on platform, as train stops.) Come in, oh, lor, do! "Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!"

[The rest take up the refrain – "'Ave a drink an' wet your eye," &c. and beat time with their boots

The O. G. If this abominable noise goes on, I shall call the guard – disgraceful, coming in drunk like this!

The Man by the Window. 'Ere, dry up, Guv'nor —'e ain't 'ad enough to urt 'im, 'e ain't!

Chorus of Females (to O. G.). An' Bank 'Oliday, too – you orter to be ashimed o' yerself, you ought! 'E's as right as right, if you on'y let him alone!

Ole Fred (to O. G.). Ga-arn, yer pore-'arted ole choiner boy! (sings dismally), "Ow! for the vanished Spring-toime! Ow! for the dyes gorn boy! Ow! for the" – (changing the melody) – "'omeless, I wander in lonely distress. No one ter pity me – none ter caress!" (Here he sheds tears, overcome by his own pathos, but presently cheers up.) "I dornce all noight! An' I rowl 'ome toight! I'm a rare-un at a rollick, or I'm ready fur a foight." Any man 'ere wanter foight me? Don't say no, ole Frecklefoot! (To the O. G., who perspires freely.) "Oh, I am enj'yin' myself!"

[He keeps up this agreeable rattle, without intermission, for the remainder of the journey, which – as the train stops everywhere, and takes quite three-quarters of an hour in getting from Queen's Road, Battersea, to Victoria – affords a signal proof of his social resources, if it somewhat modifies the O. G.'S enthusiasm for the artless gaiety of a Bank Holiday

A Row in the Pit; or, The Obstructive Hat

Scene —The Pit during Pantomime Time. The Overture is beginning

An Over-heated Matron (to her Husband). Well, they don't give you much room in 'ere, I must say. Still, we done better than I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once – but it was on'y the umberella's. You pretty comfortable where you are, eh, Father?

Father. Oh, I'm right enough, I am.

Jimmy (their Son; a small, bullet-headed boy, with a piping voice). If Father is, it's more nor what I am. I can't see nothen, I can't!

His Mother. Lor' bless the boy! there ain't nothen to see yet; you'll see well enough when the Curting goes up. (Curtain rises on opening scene.) Look, Jimmy, ain't that nice, now? All them himps dancin' round, and real fire comin' out of the pot – which I 'ope it's quite safe – and there's a beautiful fairy just come on, dressed so grand, too!

Jimmy. I can't see no fairy – nor yet no himps – nor nothen!

[He whimpers

His Mother (annoyed). Was there ever such a aggravating boy to take anywheres! Set quiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!

Jimmy. I tell yer I can't see no hactin', Mother. It ain't my fault – it's this lady in front o' me, with the 'at.

Mother (perceiving the justice of his complaints). Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is, 'cause of a lady's 'at in front.

Father (philosophically). Well, I can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up with it, that's all!

Mother. No – but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing places with him – you're taller than him, and it wouldn't be in your way 'arf so much.

Father. It's always the way with you – never satisfied, you ain't! Well, pass the boy across – I'm for a quiet life, I am. (Changing seats.) Will this do for you?

[He settles down immediately behind a very large, furry, and feathery hat, which he dodges for some time, with the result of obtaining an occasional glimpse of a pair of legs on the stage

Father (suddenly). D – the 'at!

Mother. You can't wonder at the boy not seeing! P'raps the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?

Father. Ah! (He touches The Owner of the Hat on the shoulder.) Excuse me, Mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to kindly remove your 'at? [The Owner of the Hat deigns no reply.

Father (more insistently). Would you 'ave any objection to oblige me by taking off your 'at, Mum? (Same result.) I don't know if you 'eard me, Mum, but I've asked you twice, civil enough, to take that 'at of yours off (pathetically). I'm a playin' 'Ide and Seek be'ind it 'ere! [No answer.

The Mother. People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with sech 'ats! Callin' 'erself a lady – and settin' there in a great 'at and feathers like a 'Ighlander's, and never answering no more nor a stuffed himage!

Father (to the Husband of The Owner of the Hat). Will you tell your good lady to take her 'at off, Sir, please?

The Owner of the Hat (to her Husband). Don't you do nothing of the sort, Sam, or you'll 'ear of it!

The Mother. Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might beyave as ladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her 'usband can't teach her better manners!

The Father. 'Im teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar there, 'e 'as!

The Owner of the Hat. Sam, are you going to set by and hear me insulted like this?

Her Husband (turning round tremulously). I – I'll trouble you to drop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, Sir. It's puffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage with all these remarks be'ind!

The Father. Not more nor it is to see what's going on on the stage with that 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime, I did; not to 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!.. 'Ere, Maria, blowed if I can stand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy must change places again, and if he can't see, he must jest stand up on the seat, that's all!

[Jimmy is transferred to his original place, and mounts upon the seat

A Pittite behind Jimmy (touching up Jimmy's Father with an umbrella). Will you tell your little boy to set down, please, and not block the view like this?

Jimmy's Father. If you can indooce that lady in front to take off her 'at, I will – but not before. Stay where you are, Jimmy, my boy.

The Pittite Behind. Well, I must stand myself then, that's all. I mean to see, somehow! [He rises.

People behind him (sternly). Set down there, will yer?

[He resumes his seat expostulating

Jimmy. Father, the gentleman behind is a pinching of my legs!

Jimmy's Father. Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs! He ain't doing you no 'arm – is he?

The Pinching Pittite. Let him sit down, then!

Jimmy's Father. Let the lady take her 'at off!

Murmurs behind. Order, there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take orf that 'at! Silence in front, there! Turn 'em out! Shame!

… &c., &c.

The Husband of the O. of the H. (in a whisper to his Wife). Take off the blessed 'at, and have done with it, do!

The O. of the H. What —now! I'd sooner die in the 'at!

[An Attendant is called

The Attendant. Order, there, Gentlemen, please – unless you want to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats – you're disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!

[Jimmy is made to sit down, and weeps silently; the hubbub gradually subsides – and The Owner of the Hat triumphs – for the moment

Jimmy's Mother. Never mind, my boy, you shall have Mother's seat in a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on, pore thing!

The Father (perceiving her drift). Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'at won't come off – not without her 'air!

THE MOTHER. Ah, well, we mustn't be 'ard on her, if that's so.

The O. of the H. (removing the obstruction). I 'ope you're satisfied now, I'm sure?

The Father (handsomely). Better late nor never, Mum, and we take it kind of you. Though, why you shouldn't ha' done it at fust, I dunno; for you look a deal 'ansomer without the 'at than what you did in it —don't she, Maria?

The O. of the H. (mollified). Sam, ask the gentleman behind if his little boy would like a ginger-nut.

[This olive-branch is accepted; compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the Pantomime proceeds without further disturbance