Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 22, 1887

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 93.

October 22nd, 1887.

MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.

As has been observed earlier in this series, the Amateur Reciter is influenced by a natural ambition to harrow his audience to the best of his ability.

And, be it said, the average audience is not at all averse to being harrowed--provided this is done with any science and refinement. When persons are met together for social enjoyment, nothing apparently affords them keener pleasure than a performance which produces certain peculiar sensations, such as the feeling of partial want of control over the facial nerves, smarting behind the eyes, increasing obstruction in the throat, and a general conviction that, unless something occurs to make them laugh at once, they will be irresistibly compelled to sob like so many seals. It is, perhaps, a little odd--but the taste exists, and must be taken into account. The sole drawbacks are that, too often, the means adopted to secure the desired result depend more than should be upon sentiment which might almost be described as false; that the incidents occasionally have too little relation to real life; and that, what might have proved eminently touching, is marred by some involuntary association with the ludicrous and grotesque. In his anxiety to preserve his pupils from such pitfalls as these, Mr. Punch offers an example in which the blemishes he has hinted at have been sedulously avoided. It is at once homely, wholesome, and tear-compelling--like the common onion. You will find you produce a favourable impression at once by announcing it as,--

POSITIVELY THE LAST PERFORMANCE!

(You must come on with a general suggestion in your manner that you are supposed to be the proprietor of an itinerant Cat and Canary Troupe. Begin with a slow and somewhat depressed shake of the head, as if in answer to imaginary inquirer.)

No, we ain't performin' to-day, Sir, and the boys are all on the gape At seem' the mice in mournin', and the cats in chokers o' crape; But I'm giving the Show a rest, d'ye see? for I didn't feel up to the job, (Pause--then subdued) For my leadin' comejian's left me, Sir-- (Explanatory, perceiving you are not understood)--the brindle kinairy--(more impatiently) Bob! What, ye don't remember? (Surprise.) Not him as wore the toonic o' Turkey red? What rode in a gilded kerridge with a 'at an' plumes on his 'ed? And, as soon as we'd taken a tanner, 'ud fire a saloot from the gun? [_Excitedly._ There was Talent inside o' that bird, there was, or I never see it in one! (Philosophic bitterness.) Well, he's soon forgot--but I've often thought as a fish keeps longer than Fame! (Sudden comprehension and restored cordiality.) Oh, ye didn't know him as Bob?... I see--no, that were his private name. I used to announce him in public on a more long-winded-er scale-- I christened him "Gineral Moultky," (apologetically) which he 'ad rather gone at the tail; And a bird more popilar never performed on a peripathetic stage, He was allers sure of a round of applause as soon as he quitted the cage! For he thoroughly hentered into the part he was down for to play, And he never got "fluffy" nor "queered the pitch,"--leastwise, till the hother day. I thought he'd bin hoverexertin' hisself, and 'ud better be out of the bill, But it wasn't till yesterday hevenin I'd any ideer he was ill! Then I see he was rough on the top of his 'ed, and his tongue looked dry at the tip, And it dawned on me like a thunderbolt--"Great Evings!" I groaned,--"THE PIP!" (Pause here, to emphasise the tremendous gravity of this discovery.) Well, I 'ad bin trainin' a siskin to hunderstudy the part, (more ordinary tone for this) And I sent him on--(tolerantly)--which he done his best, but he 'adn't no notion o' Hart! So I left the pitch as soon as I could, and (meanin' to make more 'aste) I cut across one o' them buildin' sites as was left a runnin' to waste. There was yawning pits by the flinty road, as rendered the prospeck dull, And 'ere and there a winderless 'ouse, with the look of a grinning skull, (Try to paint this scene visibly for the audience; background is essential for what is to come.) A storm had bin 'anging about all day (and it broke, you'll remember, at last!) So I 'urried on, it was gettin' late--and the Gineral sinking fast! (You are now approaching the harrowing part, but keep yourself in reserve for the present.) But all on a sudding I 'eard him give a kind of a feeble flap, And I stops, and sez in a 'opeful way, "Why, you're up in yer sterrups, old chap."

(A bold metapher applied to a bird, but characteristic in the speaker.)

(Sink your voice.) Then I see by the look of his sorrowful eye he was thinkin': "Afore I go, I'd like to see one performance--for the last--of the dear old Show!"

(Note, and make your audience feel, the touch of Nature here.)

And I sez, with a ketch in my voice, "You shall!" and I whipped the sheet off the board, I stuck up the pair o' trestles, and fastened the tightrope cord; Then I propped the Gineral up in a place from which he could see the 'ole, And I set the tabbies a-sparring, and the mice a-climbing the pole.

(Build up the whole scene gradually; the dreary neighbourhood, the total absence of bystanders, the lurid threatening sky, and the humble entertainment proceeding in the foreground.)

I put my company through their tricks--and they made my hold eyes dim, For they never performed for no orjence like they did last night for him! Them tabbies sparred with a science you'd 'ardly expect from sich, And the mouse (what usually boggles) fetched flags with never no 'itch! Aye, we worked the Show in that lonely place to the sound o' the mutterin' storm, Right through till we come to the finish--the part he used to perform. He was out of the cage in a minnit--egged on by puffessional pride, He pecked that incompitent siskin till he made him stand o' one side! Well, I felt like 'aving a good cry _then_--but the time 'adn't come for that, So I slipped his uniform over his 'ed, and tied on his little cock-hat. [_With great tenderness._ And he set in his tiny kerridge, and was drored along by the mice, A-looking that 'appy and pleased with hisself, I got 'em to do it twice! [_Tone of affectionate retrospection._ The very tabbies they gazed on him then with their heyes dilatin' in haw, As he 'obbled along to the cannon, with the match in his wasted claw! I never 'eard that cannon afore give sech a tremenjious pop-- (Solemnly.) And a peal o' thunder responded, as seemed all over the shop! For a second Bob stood in the lightning, so noble, and bold, and big;-- Then ... a stagger ... a flutter ... a broken chirp--(you can add immensely to the effect here by a little appropriate action. Pause,and give time for a solemn hush to fall upon the audience, then, with a forced calm, as if you were doing violence to your own feelings)--he was orf, Sir,--(a slight gulp)--he'd 'opped the twig!

(Second Pause: then more briskly, but still with strong emotion to the close)

So now you've the hexplanation of the crape round the tabbies' necks, And kin understand why we close to-day "in token of our respecks."