DOI issue:
Punch's essence of parliament
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16615#0060
52
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Street Boy. “I say Cooky? they just are a Finin' of ’em all
ROUND THE SkVARE-GIVE US A SHILLIN’ AND I'LL SWEEP YOUR DOOR
AFORE THE PLEECEMAN COMES.”
“THE SMASH IN THE FAMILY,”
OR, “ THE VIRTUOUS FOOTMAN.”
(SCENES FROM a DOMESTIC DRAMA OF SERIOUS INTEREST—AS RE-
CENTLY PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, WESTMINSTER.)
Jaunty (a Gentleman's gentleman) . . L—D P—lm—rst—N.
John Small {Groom of the Chambers) . . L—d J—n R—ss—l.
Brass (a Footman).Mr. B—rn—l Osb—rnb.
Bailiffs, Creditors, &c.
The Action passes in the spacious mansion of Lord Mac Foozle, in Whitehall.
Time :—Last week.
Scene I.—The Butler's Pantry.
Jaunty and Brass discovered over a bottle of Twenty Claret.
Brass. And so you really think, Mr. Jaunty, the famTy must come
to grief.
Jaunty (breaking a biscuit). Case of smash, Brass.
Brass. Well, my wages is paid.
Jaunty And you’ve had a goodish place of it, while it did last.
Brass. Yes, tol-lol; in fact, between ourselves, Mr. Jaunty, I don’t
care ’ow soon I gits another as good, especially the winds.
Jaunty. “ Wines," Brass, not “ winds."
Brass. Well, wines, then. I ain’t particular. But I thought what
it would come to up-stairs, considerin’ how we’ve been a-goin’ it down
’ere this two year.
Jaunty. Speak for yourself, Brass. The steward’s room ain’t
answerable for the servants’ ’all.
Brass. In course not. Every man in his place—that’s my motter.
Though I wish you’d ’a-come among us a little freer, Mr. Jaunty.
We’ve had werry pleasant times, I can tell you, at the second table.
My songs ’as been admired, and though I say it, there ain’t many
chaps as can top me at a recitation or a bit of chaff. (Pours out a glass
of loine.) Well, here’s to our next merry meetin’.
Jaunty (sips his claret thoughtfully). H’m.
Brass (anxiously). I s’pose, though, it is a case of Queer Street P
[Pointing over his left shoulder.
Jaunty. Execution put in to-morrow, I hear.
Brass. And the governor can't settle it this time, no-liow P
Jaunty. No ; the creditors are tired out.
Brass. Ah, well, we've ’ad jolly times, any way. I suppose you’ve
given warning, Mr. Jaunty ?
Jaunty. No.
Brass. No—Eh ? You don’t say so.
Jaunty. I means to stand by the fam’ly, for the present.
Brass. Do you, though ? (Aside.) Then they can’t be done for, yet.
Jaunty. You see, Brass, I’ve seen a good deal of this sort of thing,
and I’ve never found that sticking by a fam’ly in difficulties stood in a
man’s way to a new place—that is, when he couldn’t do better.
Brass. Well—but such a desp’rate, rack-ruin, stick-at-nothin’ fam’ly
as this ’ere ? Don’t you think it’d look better if a feller was to wash
his ’ands of ’em—come the virtuous dodge—afore the creditors, you
know.
Jaunty. You can do as you like—I’ve taken their money, and eat
their entrees, and drunk their wines, and I mean to see ’em through it.
But I’ve to make up my books. You can finish the bottle.
[Exit J aunty, cheerfully.
Brass, Thank you, Mr. Jaunty (drinks, and reflects). Now, that’s
a long ’eaded chap, and knows the world. He's a coming on the
attached dependant lay, he is—feelm’s for the fam’ly—and such like.
P’raps I’d better come that game after all. 1 think I could gam-
mon ’em.
Enter John Small.
Brass. Well. Mr. Small,
Small. Ah, Brass ! -would you o’bleege me by stepping out for a cab,
while I fetch down my boxes.
Brass. Your boxes i What, you arn’t goin’. Are you ?
Small. Yes.
Brass. Have you given warnin’ ?
Small. Under the distressing circumstances to which my Lord has
been reduced—by his own imprudence, 1 am afraid that, warning from
me would he thrown away. But, in fact, I have given warning-as tar
back as last November. I told my Lord that if things was allowed to
go on as they was a goin’, I couldn’t stop.
Brass. Well—but you didn’t go.
Small. No. I changed my mind and stopped. But little Wenom
puts in execution to-morrow, and my regard for my own character
wont allow me to be mixed up with that sort of thing. I’m a domestic
man. Brass, I’ve lived in steady families.
Brass But Mr. Jaunty’s a goin’ to see ’em through it.
Small. Mr. Jaunty is a giddy young man, and he can do as he likes.
I must consider my future prospects, and keep clear of such messes.
Besides— (he pauses)
Brass. Well (curiously).
Small. Between ourselves, I can’t abide the ’ouse steward—
Brass. What, Mr. Merrypebbi/es. I ’ates him : he’s a serious cove
—he is.
Small. It’s not that I dislike seriousness. But I can’t abear intrigue
—and if I’d been in his shoes —
Brass. You’d a kept things straight, eli ?
Small. It’s not for me to boast; but I remember in my great grand-
father’s time, when the great Lord Chatham—
Brass. Oil—stow that—I don’t know anythink about, ’istory ; take a
glass of wind. [.Pushes the bottle to him.
Small. I never drink. But about that cab.
Brass. I’ll tell the porter to call one. [Going.
Small. By the way, Brass, you needn’t mention to any of the servants
that I’m going.
Brass. All right. I’m fly. (Aside). Don’t want bis boxes over-
hauled, I’ll bet a pound. [Exit Brass.
Small. Yes—there’s that great city man, Mr. Bull, wants a Butler.
He’s one of my Lord’s chief creditors, and if he hears that I left my
Lord’s because I couldn’t stand the goin’s on in this ’ouse, he ’ll think
all the better o’ me when I apply for the situation. Jaunty’s got an
eye on it, I know, and if I can only steal a march on him—and then
my character’s all I have to depend on.
Re-enter Brass.
Brass. All right! Cab’s at the area-gate, and there’s nobody iu
the front kitchen. You can slip out unbeknown.
Small. You won’t peach ?
Brass. Ob, honour bright! You done me a good turn when I applied
for this ’ere place; and then I’m like you, I can’t abear that ’ere
Merrypebbles—a sanctified, argufying beggar.
Small. Gsod-bye, Brass. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll cut this
too, before the row comes.
Brass. Thank you, Mr. Small. But I’ve my dodge, too. Only you
wait till to-morrow. But you’ll want a hand with your boxes. You
ain’t werry strong in the back, you know.
Small. Thank you—if you would be so kind. They’re outside.
(Exit Brass.) How astonished they’ll be to-morrow, when they find
I’m gone. The best thing is not to get into a mess. But, when you
are in, the next best thing’s to get quietly out of it, and leave other
folks to shift for themselves.
Re-enter Brass, with a box.
Brass. My eyes, this is a back-breaker. (Cautiously ) I say, it ain’t
the plate, is it ?
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Street Boy. “I say Cooky? they just are a Finin' of ’em all
ROUND THE SkVARE-GIVE US A SHILLIN’ AND I'LL SWEEP YOUR DOOR
AFORE THE PLEECEMAN COMES.”
“THE SMASH IN THE FAMILY,”
OR, “ THE VIRTUOUS FOOTMAN.”
(SCENES FROM a DOMESTIC DRAMA OF SERIOUS INTEREST—AS RE-
CENTLY PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, WESTMINSTER.)
Jaunty (a Gentleman's gentleman) . . L—D P—lm—rst—N.
John Small {Groom of the Chambers) . . L—d J—n R—ss—l.
Brass (a Footman).Mr. B—rn—l Osb—rnb.
Bailiffs, Creditors, &c.
The Action passes in the spacious mansion of Lord Mac Foozle, in Whitehall.
Time :—Last week.
Scene I.—The Butler's Pantry.
Jaunty and Brass discovered over a bottle of Twenty Claret.
Brass. And so you really think, Mr. Jaunty, the famTy must come
to grief.
Jaunty (breaking a biscuit). Case of smash, Brass.
Brass. Well, my wages is paid.
Jaunty And you’ve had a goodish place of it, while it did last.
Brass. Yes, tol-lol; in fact, between ourselves, Mr. Jaunty, I don’t
care ’ow soon I gits another as good, especially the winds.
Jaunty. “ Wines," Brass, not “ winds."
Brass. Well, wines, then. I ain’t particular. But I thought what
it would come to up-stairs, considerin’ how we’ve been a-goin’ it down
’ere this two year.
Jaunty. Speak for yourself, Brass. The steward’s room ain’t
answerable for the servants’ ’all.
Brass. In course not. Every man in his place—that’s my motter.
Though I wish you’d ’a-come among us a little freer, Mr. Jaunty.
We’ve had werry pleasant times, I can tell you, at the second table.
My songs ’as been admired, and though I say it, there ain’t many
chaps as can top me at a recitation or a bit of chaff. (Pours out a glass
of loine.) Well, here’s to our next merry meetin’.
Jaunty (sips his claret thoughtfully). H’m.
Brass (anxiously). I s’pose, though, it is a case of Queer Street P
[Pointing over his left shoulder.
Jaunty. Execution put in to-morrow, I hear.
Brass. And the governor can't settle it this time, no-liow P
Jaunty. No ; the creditors are tired out.
Brass. Ah, well, we've ’ad jolly times, any way. I suppose you’ve
given warning, Mr. Jaunty ?
Jaunty. No.
Brass. No—Eh ? You don’t say so.
Jaunty. I means to stand by the fam’ly, for the present.
Brass. Do you, though ? (Aside.) Then they can’t be done for, yet.
Jaunty. You see, Brass, I’ve seen a good deal of this sort of thing,
and I’ve never found that sticking by a fam’ly in difficulties stood in a
man’s way to a new place—that is, when he couldn’t do better.
Brass. Well—but such a desp’rate, rack-ruin, stick-at-nothin’ fam’ly
as this ’ere ? Don’t you think it’d look better if a feller was to wash
his ’ands of ’em—come the virtuous dodge—afore the creditors, you
know.
Jaunty. You can do as you like—I’ve taken their money, and eat
their entrees, and drunk their wines, and I mean to see ’em through it.
But I’ve to make up my books. You can finish the bottle.
[Exit J aunty, cheerfully.
Brass, Thank you, Mr. Jaunty (drinks, and reflects). Now, that’s
a long ’eaded chap, and knows the world. He's a coming on the
attached dependant lay, he is—feelm’s for the fam’ly—and such like.
P’raps I’d better come that game after all. 1 think I could gam-
mon ’em.
Enter John Small.
Brass. Well. Mr. Small,
Small. Ah, Brass ! -would you o’bleege me by stepping out for a cab,
while I fetch down my boxes.
Brass. Your boxes i What, you arn’t goin’. Are you ?
Small. Yes.
Brass. Have you given warnin’ ?
Small. Under the distressing circumstances to which my Lord has
been reduced—by his own imprudence, 1 am afraid that, warning from
me would he thrown away. But, in fact, I have given warning-as tar
back as last November. I told my Lord that if things was allowed to
go on as they was a goin’, I couldn’t stop.
Brass. Well—but you didn’t go.
Small. No. I changed my mind and stopped. But little Wenom
puts in execution to-morrow, and my regard for my own character
wont allow me to be mixed up with that sort of thing. I’m a domestic
man. Brass, I’ve lived in steady families.
Brass But Mr. Jaunty’s a goin’ to see ’em through it.
Small. Mr. Jaunty is a giddy young man, and he can do as he likes.
I must consider my future prospects, and keep clear of such messes.
Besides— (he pauses)
Brass. Well (curiously).
Small. Between ourselves, I can’t abide the ’ouse steward—
Brass. What, Mr. Merrypebbi/es. I ’ates him : he’s a serious cove
—he is.
Small. It’s not that I dislike seriousness. But I can’t abear intrigue
—and if I’d been in his shoes —
Brass. You’d a kept things straight, eli ?
Small. It’s not for me to boast; but I remember in my great grand-
father’s time, when the great Lord Chatham—
Brass. Oil—stow that—I don’t know anythink about, ’istory ; take a
glass of wind. [.Pushes the bottle to him.
Small. I never drink. But about that cab.
Brass. I’ll tell the porter to call one. [Going.
Small. By the way, Brass, you needn’t mention to any of the servants
that I’m going.
Brass. All right. I’m fly. (Aside). Don’t want bis boxes over-
hauled, I’ll bet a pound. [Exit Brass.
Small. Yes—there’s that great city man, Mr. Bull, wants a Butler.
He’s one of my Lord’s chief creditors, and if he hears that I left my
Lord’s because I couldn’t stand the goin’s on in this ’ouse, he ’ll think
all the better o’ me when I apply for the situation. Jaunty’s got an
eye on it, I know, and if I can only steal a march on him—and then
my character’s all I have to depend on.
Re-enter Brass.
Brass. All right! Cab’s at the area-gate, and there’s nobody iu
the front kitchen. You can slip out unbeknown.
Small. You won’t peach ?
Brass. Ob, honour bright! You done me a good turn when I applied
for this ’ere place; and then I’m like you, I can’t abear that ’ere
Merrypebbles—a sanctified, argufying beggar.
Small. Gsod-bye, Brass. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll cut this
too, before the row comes.
Brass. Thank you, Mr. Small. But I’ve my dodge, too. Only you
wait till to-morrow. But you’ll want a hand with your boxes. You
ain’t werry strong in the back, you know.
Small. Thank you—if you would be so kind. They’re outside.
(Exit Brass.) How astonished they’ll be to-morrow, when they find
I’m gone. The best thing is not to get into a mess. But, when you
are in, the next best thing’s to get quietly out of it, and leave other
folks to shift for themselves.
Re-enter Brass, with a box.
Brass. My eyes, this is a back-breaker. (Cautiously ) I say, it ain’t
the plate, is it ?