Punch (89.1885)

November 14, 1885.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

229

'ARRY ON SONG AND SENTIMENT.

Dear CnA.rt.ie,

Your buthday, old bandbox, I 've got it marked down orl kerrect,
And some sort of a little momento is wot a old pal might expect. _ -™,
Well, I know you 're a mark upon Sing-song, and nuts on the comical lay,
So I send you a rorty collection of Popular Songs of the Day.

Reglar rousers, my pippin, I tell yer, the pick of the 'Alls took all round,

And the lot, sentimental or comic, '11 suit yer right down to the ground.

I fancy I 'ear your fine barrytone piping out " Mother's Old Mug,"

Or " Doin' the Toff for a Tanner," or " 'Arry, dear, put on the ' Ug ! "

Some old bloke, I forget who exsackly, although he gits quoted a lot,

And the D. T. jest trots him out reglar whenever it puts on the pot,

Remarks, " Let the Bigwigs make Laws for the People so I makes their Songs! "
And the hodds on that chap being right are St. Paul's to a pair of old tongs.

He knowed English hearts, did that joker ; he jest took my weight to a hounce.
Legislaters, my pippin, ain't in it along o' my pal, " The Big Bounce."
He's top-row, if yer like, and. no turnups, smart brougham, sealskin coat, all
0. K.;

Yet he tips me the hafiable flipper as though I was fair on his lay.

Ah ! to sit, mate, and listen to him, cigars round, and a bottle of fizz,

While he rattles out " Mashed on a Mxiggins," is wot I call real good biz.
Monday Pops are all kibosh and catgut, and even the Promenard palls ;

If yer want Song and Sentiment, Charlie, fust chop, you must go to the 'Alls.

That's Life and no bow-wow, my biffin! The mugs who write poetry rot
All skim-milk and die-away doldrums, they simply ain't up to wot's wot.
We want something spicj; and sparklin'. jest take wot a feller likes most,
Pop it into smart verse with a chorus, and there you are, served upon toast.

Wot would you and me do, my dear Charlie, if we 'ad a thousand a year ?
That's larks, that's true poetry, ain't it ? Not sawdust and snivel, no fear !
To cut a fair dash, dress Blap-uppish, 'ave fourpenny smokes and good drink,
With a touch of the azure for fun, and for yum-yum a patch of the pink!

That's Life, mate, I say once agin, and put into a Song that's our mark,

And the bokos who try other barneys are bossing about in the dark.

The " Big Bounce " hits the " bull" every time, mate, 'cos why ? he 'as bin in
the swim,

And it's jolly few games on the board as don't open like hysters to hm.

Don't he touch up our patriot feelings with " Britons shall bang'em all round ! " ?
That's wot we can all understand, mate, and my ! 'ow the 'obnails do sound!
Let the Tory lot give us a Leader as takes the " Big Bounce " for his model,
And Brummagem Joe and his gang may jest pick up their trotters and toddle.

As to Sentiment, Charlie, you know as I ain't of the snivelling sort,
But " Mother's Last Spank " is a fetcher, while " Angels have called for Jim
Short,"

Or " Don't put Father's Watch up the Spout" are both very fair biz in their
way,

And a thousand times better than " Kathleen Mavourneen " or " Auld Robin
Gray."

" Spoons "—sweetheart or nursery, Charlie, go down with the"women, old ohap;
For wot they call " pathos," my pippin, is mostly a spechies of pap
Aprypo of the kids or the petticoats. Latter, of course, is my lay,

Bat I do like the rosy put rorty, and love-making done on the gay.

There, my pal, the " Big Bounce," is a hot 'un. What can be more lummy,
dear boy,

Than " Dasher the Masher," page ten ? turn it up, it's a song to enjoy.
You should hear the B. B. roll it out, you should see his light kids and his wink!
If there is any party I envy, it's him, Charlie. Wot do you think ?

Well, well, we can't all be Big Bounces—wus luck! but I'm sure you '11 agree
That the Music 'All Song paints a picter of wot we should all like to be;
And that's where it nails us, dear Charlie, and that's what I meant when I
said

That that Josser, whose name I've forgotten, 'ad 'it the right nail on the 'ed.

These Songs make the People, my pippin. We build ourselves up on their
plan,—

We snide 'uns, I mean, and the others ain't really wuth recknin', old man.
Wy, if we came into a fortune, in Dress or in Drink, Love or Larks,

Wot could we do better than take the B. B. as our primest of marks ?

0, it makes a chap's mouth water, Charlie ; I'm bio wed if it don't. Just you
think

Of being a " Dasher the Masher," of 'aving his togs and his chink!

The gals at your feet, fun and frolic and fizz jest as much as you '11 carry!
That's Life, and that's Music 'All Song, mate, and that's the True Ticket for

'Abry.

Army Suffrage.—Are Soldiers, as such, entitled to vote for Members
of Parliament ? They ought to be, so many of them as there are at Aldershot
and elsewhere under canvass.

FORGED CRITICISMS.

(A Letter, genuine, to our Mr. Nibbs.)

Dear Nibbs,

I don't very much care if you are hard or soft,
or even medium. At any rate, you are a " Magnum
Bonum," my boy. But when next you go to Ballachu-
lish, and want to read about a new play in that outlandish

" "Waiting for the Verdict."
region, don't put more faith in Newspaper Advertisements
than in Dramatic Critics. You are inolined to judge the
latter by the former, and to condemn accordingly. Take
a leaf out of the book of Jay-Buchanan, and distrust
both. For, not to mince matters, the theatrical Adver-
tisements are "cooked" in the interest of theatres. I
will give you an example. The other evening, at the
Club, I read as follows in the Evening Standard :—

THE DAILY TELEGRAPH says:—"A play that is
vigorous, spirited, and never dull. It is full of clear ideas.
All are good. There is plenty of excitement, and material for a
dozen dramas. Mrs. Conoveb, has an Olympic success."

" Great Scott I" said I to myself, " can this be true ?
Holy St. Clement, what does the fellow mean ? He is
' Lost in London,' not' Alone in London,' surely." So
I went to the original text, and what do you think I
found ? An absolute mis-statement in every line. " It
is full of clear ideas " was originally printed in the D. T.
as follows : " It is full of clever ideas ; but, as a rule, they
are wasted." " All are good " refers to a few trivial inci-
dents that are quoted as good as compared to several
more pronounced to be baa! As to the Mrs. Conover
paragraph, it is pure bunkum. What the "Autocrat"
said was, Meanwhile, Mrs. Conover has a chance o/an
Olympic success yet, if a few judicious alterations are
speedily made." Which is surely a very different thing!

I wonder if Mr. Robert Buchanan is Mrs. Conover's
Advertisement Editor as well as her Olympian Author;
or can it be his literary partner, Miss Harriett Jay, who
so ingeniously quotes a pithy sentence without its quali-
fying sting ? Dramatic Critics may be all you say about
them—they may be far too prone to flourish " the pen of
a ready writer" on first nights ; they may, as Buchanan
elegantly expressed it when he was rash enough to
attack one of them in 1883, " combine the individualities
of Mr. Puff and Mr. Sneer, sending round the hat with
one hand, and brandishing the bludgeon with the other,
alternating between the epilepsy of savage abuse and the
hysteria of sycophantic praise," &c., &c.; but they don't
all talk such nonsense as_ Mrs. Conover or Mr. Storm
Beaten Buchanan or Miss Waif Jay represent them
to talk, and their utterances are deliberately misrepre-
sented in the advertising columns. Now that Augustus
Druriolanus has done away with pioture posters, for
goodness sake let us have truthful advertisements. Eh,
Nibbs, my boy, what do you say ? Yours,

A Pit Bench.

Robert Buchanan, a word in your ear! Do you
remember abusing the Pit and the Critics for not liking
your " Sailor and his Lass" at Drury Lane P Do you
remember writing a letter so violent that your partner,
the_ Emperor Augustus, publicly apologised for it ? Don't
do it again, my canny Scotchman. The Pit and the Critics
never forget!

The Real Corn-Tax.—A tight boot.

vol. Lxxxrx.

x