Voces Populi

Policeman. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?

The B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman – (patting lamp-post affectionately) – has kindly promished shee me home.

Mr. F. Hang it! Where's Peacock and the brougham? (He discovers a phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily.) Now, look here, my dear, it's no earthly good – !

Occupant of the Brougham. (who is not Fanny). Coward, touch a defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value. Help! Police!

[Mr. F., seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately, dodges the Policeman, and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is passed, at the end of which time he suddenly realizes that it is perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again. He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife

Mrs. F. (cheerfully). So there you are, Marmaduke! I wasn't anxious – I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!

Mr. F. (not in the best of tempers). Find my way back! It was the only thing I could do. But where have you been all this time, Fanny?

Mrs. F. Where? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure. You see, after you got out, we had to keep moving on, and by and by the fog got better, and we could see where we were going to, – and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an hour, so I was not so very late. Such a nice dinner! Everybody turned up except you, Marmaduke – but I told them how it was. Oh, and old Lady Horehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her most valuable bracelets! – only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park, close to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage with me, instead!

Mr. F. (gloomily). Yes, he might– only, he – er —didn't, you know!

Bricks without Straw

Scene —A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in progress, and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with set of slides complete – to last one hour," is about to be exhibited

The Vicar's Daughter (suddenly recognizing the New Curate, who is blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays). Oh, Mr. Tootler, you've just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked lots of people, and no one will volunteer. Would you mind just explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery tale —Valentine and Orson– I chose that, because it's less hackneyed, and has such an excellent moral, you know. I'm sure you'll do it so beautifully!

Mr. Tootler (a shy man). I – I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure – only I really don't know anything about Valentine and Orson!

The V.'s D. Oh, what does that matter? I can tell you the outline in two minutes. (She tells him.) But it's got to last an hour, so you must spin it out as much as ever you can.

Mr. Tootler (to himself). Ought I to neglect such a golden opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (Aloud.) I will – er – do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as they seem to be getting – er – rather unruly at the further end of the room. (He clears his throat.) Children, you must be very quiet and attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to show you some scenes illustrative of the – er – beautiful old story of Valentine and Orson, which I doubt not is familiar to you all. (Rustic applause, conveyed by stamping and shrill cheers, after which a picture is thrown on the screen representing a Village Festival.) Here, children, we have a view of – er – (with sudden inspiration) – Valentine's Native Village. It is – er – his birthday, and Valentine, being a young man who is universally beloved on account of his amiability and good conduct – (To the Vicar's D. "Is that correct?" The V.'s D. "Quite, quite correct!") – good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the – er – auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are only good, we may, young as we are, count upon gaining the affection and esteem of all around us! (A Youthful Rustic, with a tendency to heckle. "Ef 'ee plaze, Zur, which on 'em be Valentoine?") Valentine, we may be very sure, would not be absent on such an occasion, although, owing to the crowd, we cannot distinguish him. But, wherever he is, however he may be occupied, he little thinks that, before long, he will have to encounter the terrible Orson, the Wild Man of the Woods! Ah, dear children, we all have our Wild Man of the Woods to fight. With some of us it is – (He improves the occasion). Our next picture represents – (To Assistant). Sure this comes next? Oh, they're all numbered, are they? Very well – represents a forest – er – the home of Orson. If we were permitted to peep behind one of those trunks, we should doubtless see Orson himself, crouching in readiness to spring upon the unsuspecting Valentine. So, often when we – &c., &c. The next scene we shall show you represents the – er – burning of Valentine's ship. Valentine has gone on a voyage, with the object of – er – finding Orson. If the boat in the picture was only larger, we could no doubt identify Valentine, sitting there undismayed, calmly confident that, notwithstanding this – er – unfortunate interruption, he will be guided, sooner or later, to his – er – goal. Yes, dear children, if we only have patience, if we only have faith, &c., &c. Here we see – (an enormous Bison is suddenly depicted on the screen) eh? oh, yes – here we have a specimen of – er – Orson's pursuits. He chases the bison. Some of you may not know what a bison is. It is a kind of hairy cow, and – (He describes the habits of these creatures as fully as he is able.) (The Youthful Rustic. "Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What? Oh, but there is, you know. Orson is pursuing him, only – er – the bison, being a very fleet animal, has outrun his pursuer for the moment. Sometimes we flatter ourselves that we have outrun our pursuer – but, depend upon it, &c., &c. But now let us see what Valentine is about – (Discovering, not without surprise, that the next picture is a Scene in the Arctic Regions). Well, you see, he has succeeded in reaching the coast, and here he is – in a sledge drawn by a reindeer, with nothing to guide him but the Aurora Borealis, hastening towards the spot where he has been told he will find Orson. He doesn't despair, doesn't lose heart – he is sure that, if he only keeps on, if he – er – only continues, only perseveres – (Aside. What drivel I am talking! To Assistant. I say, are there many more of this sort? because we don't seem to be getting on!) – Well, now we come to – (a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears) – to the – ah – home of Valentine's mother. You will observe a light in the casement. By that light the good old woman is sitting, longing and praying for the return of her gallant boy. Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old mother is! (To the Vicar's Daughter.) "I really can not keep on like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of order!" The V.'s D. "Oh, no; I'm sure it's all right. Do please go on. They're so interested!" The Young Heckler. "'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur? – wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (To Ass.) Next slide – quick! (Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Canal.) No – but, I say —really, I can't– Here we have Valentine at Venice. He has reached that beautiful city, – well called the Queen of the Adriatic, – at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (The Young Heckler. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed nayther on 'em zo fur!" Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine.) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. I assure you that you will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (To Ass.) I can't stand this any more Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (The screen remains blank while the Assistant fumbles.) Well, have you got them?

The Assistant. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't here. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't Valentine and Orson—it's a miscellaneous lot, Sir!

[Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in

At a Music Hall

Scene. —The auditorium of a Music Hall, the patrons of which are respectable, but in no sense "smart." The occupants of the higher-priced seats appear to have dropped in less for the purpose of enjoying the entertainment than of discussing their private affairs – though this does not prevent them from applauding everything with generous impartiality

The Chairman. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Celebrated Character-Duettists and Variety Artistes, the Sisters Silvertwang, will appear next!

[They do; they have just sung a duet in praise of Nature with an interspersed step-dance. "Oh, I love to 'ear the echo on the Moun-ting!" (Tiddity-iddity-iddity-iddity-um!) "And to listen to the tinkle of the Foun-ting!" (Tiddity, &c.)

A White-capped Attendant (taking advantage of a pause, plaintively). Sengwidges, too-pence!

Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls (telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point). No, but you 'ear what I'm going to tell you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't remember his name at this moment – something like Budkin, but it wasn't that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a Scotchman, but that doesn't matter! (Here she breaks off to hum the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the stage.) Well, let me see – what was I telling you? Wait a minute, excuse me, oh, yes, —well, there was this picture, – mind you, it's a lovely painting, but the frame simply nothing, – not that I go by frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him – oh, I know what you'll say, but he must know something about such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he is– he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty – years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to her, and no children, so I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he sets eyes on it, he says – (Female "Character-Comic" on Stage, lugubriously. "Ritolderiddle, ol deray ritolderiddle, olde-ri-ido!") I can't tell you how old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry – that's what he said, and if he don't know, nobody does, for it stands to reason he must be a judge, though nothing to me, – when I say nothing, I mean all I know of him is that he used to be – (Tenor Vocalist on Stage. "My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you? Well, and this is what I was wanting to tell you, she got to know what I'd done – how is more'n I can tell you, but she did, and she come straight in to where I was, and I see in a minute she'd been drinking, for drink she does, from morning to night, but I don't mind that, and her bonnet all on the back of her head, and her voice that 'usky, she – (Tenor. "She sang a Song of Home Sweet Home – a song that reached my heart!") And I couldn't be expected to put up with that, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet —well, &c., &c.

IN THE RESERVED STALLS

First Professional Lady, "resting," to Second Ditto (as Miss Florrie Foljambe appears on Stage). New dresses to-night.

Second Ditto. Yes. (Inspects Miss F.'s costume.) Something wrong with that boy's dress in front, though, cut too low. Is that silver bullion it's trimmed with? That silver stuff they put on my pantomime-dress has turned quite yellow!

First Ditto. It will sometimes. Did you know any of the critics when you were down at Slagtown for the Panto?

Second Ditto. I knew the Grimeshire Mercury, and he said most awfully rude things about me in his paper. I was rather rude to him at rehearsal, but we made it up afterwards. You know Lily's married, dear?

First Ditto. What – Lily? You don't mean it!

Second Ditto. Oh, yes, she is, though. She went out to Buenos Ayres, and the other day she was taken in to dinner by the Bishop of the Friendly Islands.

First Ditto. A Bishop? Fancy! That is getting on, isn't it?

Miss Foljambe (on Stage, acknowledging an encore). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command – Florrie Foljambe!

[Tumultuous applause, and hornpipe

Chairman. Professor Boodler, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!

The Professor (on Stage). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster the Thrush – better known to some of you, I dare say, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (He gives the Thrush – which somehow doesn't "go.") I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird – the Sky-lark. (He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off.) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary – the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments.) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.

[Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple recall

The Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls (during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated me as a lady, with grey whiskers – but that's neither here nor there – and I speak of parties as I find them —well. That was a Thursday. On the Saturday there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she saying, as cool as you please – (Heroine on Stage. "Ah, no, no – you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours after, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says, – "'Allo, Rose, 'ow are yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort —I wasn't going to take no notice of her– and she says, "Going out?" – like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper, she never said nothing, and I didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday —well! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me – good-tempered and civil enough, I must say – he said – (Villain on Stage. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she 'ad– no, let me finish my story first. Well, just fancy 'er now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word – not wishing to bring up the past, and – I didn't tell you this– they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room – and the only remark I made, not meaning anythink, was – (Hero on Stage. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is your work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that, could I? and old Mr. Fitkin, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says – (Hero. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of 'im, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number – but – Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying – oh, I'm ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening.

A Recitation Under Difficulties

Scene. —An Evening Party; Miss Fresia Bludkinson, a talented young Professional Reciter, has been engaged to entertain the company, and is about to deliver the favourite piece entitled, "The Lover of Lobelia Bangs, a Cowboy Idyl." There is the usual crush, and the guests outside the drawing-room, who can neither hear nor see what is going on, console themselves by conversing in distinctly audible tones. Jammed in a doorway, between the persons who are trying to get in, and the people who would be only too glad to get out, is an Unsophisticated Guest who doesn't know a soul, and is consequently reduced to listening to the Recitation. This is what he hears: —

Miss Fresia Blud. (in a tone of lady-like apology).

I am only a Cowboy —

[Several Ladies put up their glasses, and examine her critically, as if they had rather expected this confession. Sudden burst of Society Chatter from without

Society Chatter. How d'ye do?.. Oh, but her parties never are!.. How are you?.. No, I left her at … Yes, he's somewhere about… Saw you in the Row this mornin'… Are you doing anything on – ?.. Oh, what a shame!.. No, but doesn't she now?.. No earthly use trying to get in at present … &c., &c.

Miss Fresia B. (beginning again, with meek despair, a little louder).

I am only a Cowboy; reckless, rough, in an unconventional suit of clothes;I hain't, as a rule, got much to say, and my conversation is mostly oaths.[Cries of "Ssh!" intended, however, for the people outside, who are chattering harder than ever

When the cackle of females strikes my ear —

Society Chatter (as before). Oh, much cooler here… Yes, delightful, wasn't it? Everybody one knows… No, you don't really?.. Oh, Popsy's flourishing, thanks… The new Butler turned out a perfect demon … but I said I wouldn't have his tail docked for anything … so they've painted it eau de Nil, and it looks so nice!

Miss F. B. (pointedly).

When the cackle of females strikes my ear, I jest vamose, for they make me skeered,And I sorter suspicion I skeer them too, with my hulking form, and my bushy beard![Here, of course, she strokes a very round chin

Society Chatter. Seems to be somethin' goin' on in there – singin', actin', dancin', or somethin'… Well, of course, only heard her version of it as yet, y' know… Have you seen him in … white bengaline with a Medici collar, and one of those … nasty gouty attacks he will have are only rheumatism, &c., &c.

Miss F. B. (when next heard).

I cleared my throat and I tried to speak – but the words died strangled —

A Feminine Voice outside. So long since we had a quiet talk together! Do tell me all about, &c., &c.

Miss F. B.

– strangled by sheer alarm.For there in front —[Here she points dramatically at a stout matron, who fans herself consciously– was the slender form, and the sweet girl-face of our new"School Marm"!Say, boys! hev' ye heard an Æolian harp which a Zephyr's tremulous finger twangs?Wa'al, it kinder thrills ye the way I felt when I first beheld Lobelia Bangs!

Soc. Chat. Oh, you really ought to go – so touching! Dick and I both regularly howled all through the last act… Not in the least, thanks. Well, if there is a seat… You're sure there are any ices? Then, strawberry, please – no, nothing to drink!.. Will you allow me?

… Told she could dress hair perfectly, but I soon found she was … a Swedenborgian, my dear, or something horrid… Haven't you? I've had it three times, and … so many people have asked me for cards that really I … had the drains thoroughly looked to, and now they're … delicious, but rather overpowering in a room, I think! &c., &c.

Miss F. B. (with genuine feeling).

Who would imagine one meek-voiced girl could have held her own in a deafening din!But Lobelia's scholars discovered soon she'd a dead-sure notion of discipline;For her satin palm had a sting like steel, and the rowdiest rebel respected her,When she'd stretched out six of the hardest lots in the Bible-Class with a Derringer!

Soc. Chat. No, a very dull party, you could move about quite easily in all the rooms, so we … kicked the whole concern to shivers and … came on here as soon as we could… Capital dinner they gave us too … &c., &c.

Miss F. B. (with as much conviction as possible under the circumstances).

And the silence deepened; no creature stirred in the stagnant hush, and the only soundWas the far-off lumbering jolt, produced by the prairie rolling for leagues around!

Soc. Chat. (crescendo). Oh, an old aunt of mine has gone in for step-dancing – she's had several lessons … and cut her knees rather badly, y'know, so I put her out to grass … and now she can sit up and hold a biscuit on her nose … but she really ought to mix a little grey in her wig!

[&c., &c., to the distraction of the Unsophisticated Guest, who is getting quite interested in Lobelia Bangs, whom he suddenly discovers, much to his surprise, on horseback

Miss F. B.

And on we cantered, without a word, in the mid-day heat, on our swift mustangs.I was only ignorant Cowboy Clem – but I worshipped bright Lobelia Bangs!

Soc. Chat. (fortissimo). Not for ages; but last time I met him he was … in a dreadful state, with the cook down with influenza … and so I suppose he's married her by this time!

Miss F. B. (excitedly).

But hark! in the distance a weird shrill cry, a kinder mournful, monotonous yelp —(Further irruption of Society Chatter) … is it jackal? – bison? – a cry for help.

Soc. Chat. Such a complete rest, you know – so perfectly peaceful! Not a soul to talk to. I love it … but, to really enjoy a tomato, you must see it dressed … in the sweetest little sailor suit!

Miss F. B.

My horse was a speck on the pampas' verge, for I dropped the rein in my haste to stoop;Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil – and caught – ah, horror – the Indian whoop!

Soc. Chat. Some say it isn't infectious, but one can't be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.

Miss F. B.

I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face went white as a fresh-washed towel;I had heard a war-cry I knew too well – 'twas the murderous bellow of Blue-nosed Owl!

Soc. Chat. Nice fellow – I'm very fond of him – so fresh – capital company – met him when I was over there, &c.

Miss F. B.

"What! leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid from her horse's back;"Let me die with you – for I love you, Clem!" Then she gave her steed a resounding smack,And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter I brought!" said she."Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes – and the next for you – and the last for me!"

Soc. Chat. Is it a comic piece she's doing, do you know? Don't think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like Shakespeare, or Dickens, or one of those fellahs… Didn't catch what you said. No. Quite impossible to hear one's self speak, isn't it?