Punch (92.1887)

134

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[March 19, 1887,

THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.

Guest (who is a bon-vivant, to Host, who isn't). "You must comb and Dine
with Mb, Jones ! "

Hist. "With pleasuee, mt deae Feiend ! When?" Guest. "Now!"

ME. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOE YOUNG EECITEES.

This Manual began, it may be recollected, -with, a contribution to the reper-
toire of the Amateur Reciter which was of a studiously simple and domestic
nature. This week, however, the Poet has risen to a higher altitude, with the
inevitable result of producing a piece that will only be suitable to the more
advanced, and (in the Author's opinion) cannot be rendered with full justice
unless the Reciter can accompany himself, softly upon the piano. Even a few-
scales here and there are better than nothing. The vital point is to produce a
oertain expression of atmosphere. The Reciter, then, should seat himself upon
the music-stool, and improvise a few modulations. He will obtain some useful
hints for these by studying the preludes (many of which are. of singular beauty)
ef the gentleman who comes to tune his piano.

Having thus obtained a concerned silence, you should throw your head back,
and announce the name of your subject, which happens to be—" The Star and
the Moth." Then play all the chords you know best, and begin :—
O'er the purpled pale of Heaven leaned a lonely little Star,

(Leit-motif here for the Star: "Twinkle, twinkle," is recommended, or "Star
of the Evening," or anything else you can pick out with one finger and con-
sider appropriate.)

Gazing down upon the great world, rolling in the distance far ;
Wistfully she watched the movements of a milky-pinioned Moth,
Fluttering about a garden, purposeless as ocean-froth.

{Short scumble in treble, to express froth.)

Till she found a vent for her sentiment in a languishing little lay.
(For a star can sing, like anything, whatever astronomers say.)
(You should speak these last two lines through a waltz refrain. If you don't
know any waltzes, learn "Lilla's a Lady," out of Hamilton's Exercise
Book. Now you come to the Star Song, which should be recited with
a mixture of intense passion and childlike naivete. Scales will suit the
metre here, but, although they _ have the advantage of being instantly
recognised, the Author would advise you to attempt something rather more
spiritual.)

Moth, with the wings so white!
So much attached to light,
Can you be short of sight ?

Diffident ? Dreamy ?
I smile at you down there ;
You don't appear to care!
If you've the time to spare,

Look up and see me!

Thus the Star; and, flashing crimson, scintillated so
with hope,

That each scientific person turned on her his telescope.

(The music here should express the cold-blooded curiosity
of Science, but you must work this out for yourself
the best way you can.)

She did not resent ,the rudeness, feeling far too much
distressed,

For the inadvertent insect still continued unimpressed!

(Waltz refrain again.)

Though for him she shone, he went frivolling on, and he

sang, but it wasn't to her.
(For no moth is dumb, you can hear 'em hum," as the

naturalists aver.)
{Now you want a leit-motif for your Moth; the only air
the Author can think of at the moment is, "Beautiful
as a Butterfly" which doesn't strike quite the right
note for the invocation which follows.)

Lamp, with the globe of ground-
Glass which I flutter round
List while thy praise I sound,

Paraffined Peri!
Blue-bottles seek thy flame ;
Cockchafers do the same ;
Daddy-long-legs go lame,
Crippled—but cheery.
But the Lamp no answering lustre shed upon the table-
oloth; . [the Moth.

"Call again when I am lighted. Not at home !" she told
"Lamp," exclaimed the Star, "I thank thee for the

mercy thou hast shown.
Nodesigning Duplex artthou, mildest Moderator known!"
(Here you should keep up a faint tremolo with two fingers.)
But alas! for_ the Moth was a volatile Goth, and an

entomological Vandal,
And his pique only pricked him to perish a victim at the
shrine of a tall tallow candle!

Altar, the casual gnat
Gets holocausted at!
(This is, perhaps, rather fine language for a common
Moth, but allowance must be made for the excitement
under tohich it is supposed to be labouring.)
Column composed of fat,

Slender, if sallow!
What if it's reckoned rash,
Into thy flame to dash?
Soon shall I be but ash.
Tombed within tallow!
(Chords here, and a few bars from Chopin's "Funeral

March"—if you can manage them.)
Long the Star in pallid anguish kept her eye upon the scene,
Sawthe Moth expiring sputter'mid the candle-rays serene.
Then she leaped headlong, despairing, nought below her
course to bar. [shooting-star I "

Some said, " Isn't that a rocket P " Others, " Oh, no,—
(Deliver these comments in such a manner as to convey your

sense of their tragic disproportion to such an occasion.)
But as she was stooping, prepared for her swooping

through space to its uttermost verge,
Her unprecedented mishap she lamented, and chanted
her own little dirge:

For a mere Moth I pined;
I '11 not be left behind,
Mow that, forlorn, I find
He's suicided.!

No, for I, too, can die—
Into star-dust I '11 fly!
Asteroids all, good-bye!
Don't do as I did.!

(Let your voice die away into a whisper at the last line,
run your fingers rapidly down the keys, concluding
with a crash, to express the fate of the Star. Then
rise, and receive the compliments that will follow with
all the modesty at your disposal.)

Ie triumphant, the Jubilee Motto over the Post-Office
door will not be " Vivat Regina!" but " Vivat Raikes!"