Punch: Punch (91.1886)

Novkmekb 27, 1886.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 255

THE JELLY-FISH AND THE PHILANTHROPIST

which occurs that ridiculously improbable—I should be inclined to
say impossible, but that philosophy forbids—portrait scene. Mrs.
Bancroft, who played Peg to perfection—I had seen several Pegs
before her—bore no more resemblance to any one of the portraits
of Maegabet Woefington (with whom, by the way, little Davy was
at one time in love) than does Mr. Chables Wyndham to any portrait
of David Gabbics. "When Robson played the little actor who is mis-
taken for Garrieh, in Oarrich at Last— this was, 1 think, the name
of the farce—his stature, and his nervous manner, greatly favoured
the error. Mr. Windham's Oarrick is not the real Garrieh, but
the ideal, with whom Ada Ingot falls in love.
Mr. N. You liked Mr. Wyndham in this ?

Mr. P. In the First Act, excellent. His air of quiet amusement,
his revelling in the idea of some sort of odd adventure, his humouring
old Ingot, all excellent. In the theatrical speeches, too, of this
part of the performance, the actor admirably interpreted what, I
suppose, was the author's meaning. But the sudden inspiration
that strikes him, as to the means he is going to use in order to
disgust the lovesick girl, is not sufficiently emphasised. His manner
of announcing his intention to old Ingot conveys the idea that he
has come with his scheme ready cut and dried. Call the hero " Gar-
rick" and he could not, for an instant at least, have repressed the
visible delight which such a " Happy Thought" must have caused
him. His action and exclamation should have electrified the house,
and utterly staggered old Ingot.

Mr. iV". The Second Act, Sir, how did you like that ?
Mr. P. I thought it too long. Preposterous! Mr. Beakeeey was
as amusing as he always is, but the author has scumbled in these
minor characters anyhow. The Act is entirely on Mr. Wyndham's
shoulders, and it is_ a burden which he hears wonderfully. The
drunken scene, which should be painful and not comic, would
appear less tedious if the dramatic motive were made clearer hy the
conduct of Ada and her father. Here a great opportunity is lost.
The girl's should have been a very fine part,—the heartbroken agony
of her horror should have been within an ace of forcing her doting
old father to reveal the secret. As it is, her Budden start into
indignant and majestic womanhood, in ordering Mr. Garrieh to
leave the house, has nothing whatever to lead up to it.
Mr. N. And the Third Act ?

Mr. P. The Third is the author's best. Here we see what the
characters were really intended to be. Ingot, the fond, foolish old
father, so weak-minded that he is like " The shallow pot, soon hot,"
cursing his disobedient daughter one instant, and telling her he
didn't mean it the next, attempts no wit, delivers himself of no
flowers of speech, does not talk like a poetical bookseller (as he is
made to do in the First Act) and say better things than Garrieh him-
self, but speaks plain homely cockney English, of the period, as such
a man would speak; and in this Act, as indeed throughout, Mr.
David James does his very best with the materials, except that he
misses one opportunity, which if it had made Ingots part a great
one, would have proportionately injured that of Garrieh.

Mr. N. Miss Mooke is a pretty and charming Ada ?

Mr. P. Yes—that, and nothing Mooee. _ On such a weak bread-
and-butter Miss, Garrieh is throwing himself away. I did not
believe Mr. Wyndham so capable of conveying his own idea of the
intensity of a situation as he proves himself to be in the Third Act.
But the illusion of the scene's reality is spoilt by the feeling that
Ada will always want him to go on acting, and that she fell in love
with him "in character," and loved him (if the word "love" may
be so profaned) for what he represented, and not for what he really
was. Charmingly pretty, as you say, she is; but even the author's
carelessly sketched Ada Ingot might say, politely adapting Cassio's
speech, "Unhappy chance that gave me to the Mooee ! "

Mr. JV. But I am told that the piece has been altered for Mr.
Wyndham since Mr. Sothebn played it.

Mr. P. Perhaps so; and if it be improved by the alteration, the
original must have been the very poorest stuff ever penned by Tom
Robebtson. Sotheen's performance did not so impress me that
I could draw any comparison. I should say Mr. "Wyndham is quite
as good in this part as was ever Mr. Sothebn. On the whole, I
spent a most enjoyable evening, and I should say that with. David
Garrieh Mr. "Wyndham will fill his theatre for some time to come—
until he takes a fancy to play something else. Au revoir !

Hee beauty, passive in despair,
Through sand and seaweed
shone,

The fairest jelly-fish that e'er
Mine eyes had looked upon.

It would have made a stone abuse
The callousness of Fate,

This creature of prismatic hues,
Stranded and desolate.

Sadly I said: "My mind's un-
strung,

Love, Hope, are in their grave;
But, ere I perish all unsung,
One Jelly-fish I '11 save."

And yet I fancied I had dreamed

She said: "Ah! spare the pro-
mised treat,
Though your intention's kind;
The sand, the seaweed, and the
heat

I really do not mind.

" The smothering sand, the blind-
ing foam,
Are much the same to me ;
| I seem to make myself at home
Wherever I may be.

When wild waves tossed me to

and fro,
I never felt put out;
I never got depressed and low,

How, on some shore unknown, Or paralysed by doubt
I met a Jelly-fish who seemed | i> To wam3.er through the mighty

" Down on hee Luck."—In the Bromley County Court {vide Daily
Telegraph's report, Nov. 15), Jessie Keen, a laundry-maid, sued the
proprietor of the laundry, one Luck, for three weeks' wages. " She
was singing at her tub," she said, and that's how it all began.
More sensible this than singing to her tub. However, it appears that
singing had been forbidden by Mr. Luck. In fact, the laundry-maids
could only sing when the tune was " There's nae luch about the
House?' The Judge, however, decided in the Defendant's favour. A
Keen disappointment. Now she'll be more down on her Luck than ever.

As utterly alone

But ah! if ever out to sea

That Jelly-fish I bore,i
Immediately awaited me:

A level thousand more.
I knew none ever could desist
" Who tried to float them all,—
And, though I am an altruist,

I felt that it would pall.
"And yet, tl is Jelly-fish," I cried,

"I'll rescue while I may.
I '11 wade out with her through
the tide,

And leave her in the hay."

deep

I do not greatly care;
I somehow seem to go to sleep
Here, there, or anywhere.

" 'Twas not the ocean's soothing
halm—
No—it was something more.
I'm just as peaceful and as calm
When shrivelling on the shore.

" It. does not matter what may
come,

I'm dead to woe or bliss.
I haven't a Sensorium .'—
And that is how it is."

A REAL GRIEVANCE.
My Deae Me. Punch,

To whom can I complain, if not to you?
Since the second year of our happy marriage
some little time ago now, my husband has
been accustomed to stop out very late, and come
in very early. He promised me he would
reform. He told me one day that he had become
a member of the Reform Club, and I was
delighted to hear it. The name alone was
grateful to my ears! Alas! it was but a name,
for, though he belongs to the Reform Club, he
is not a bit better, but rather worse. What is
to be done P I dare say there are many poor
wives whose husbands belong to the Reform
Mending and Ee- Club, but who have not my spirit to address
forming. you. Your broken-hearted Penelope.