DOI issue:
June 4, 1887
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17657#0274
June 4, 1887.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
265
MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.
It is confidently hoped that any pupil who has followed this
course with attention will be now sufficiently advanced to
undertake a Recitation demanding powers of the highest order,
and, acting under this conviction, Mr. Punch has set his very
best Bard to construct a poem that shall provide the panting
amateur with even greener laurels than before.
In presenting his readers with an opportunity for attaining:
distinction which may not occur again, the Author would
merely observe that the key-note of the piece is a vaguely
voluptuous melancholy, dominated by the approaching shadow
of impending calamity. If the Student feels any doubt of
A propos de Bottes. his power to convey all this, he had far better employ his
abilities upon, something of an easier and less exalted character
than the following, which we will call
A PBOPOS be BOTTES.
In a bow-window on the Esplanade Belinda with her Beeteam breakfasted;
But while with outward calm the tea Bhe made, within was all uncertainty and dread:
What though the toast was crisp, the eggs new-laid, when, in its envelope of dull brick-red,
The missive that had forced her heart to flutter, lay, yet unopened, by the bread-and-butter ?
(Pause, until the curiosity of your audience is thoroughly aroused—then continue toith deeper
. _ intensity.)
Fleet is pursuing Fate when most she limps! So Beeteam, having put away his ham.
Upon his letters cast a careless glimpse, selecting first the ruthless telegram [lamb! "
Which tore him from felicity and shrimps. He muttered words which sounded like " My
The while he in despair the carpet stamped on, " My own," he cried, " I must leave Little-
hampton 1"
{Second pause. Turn your head slowly round to left, and then to right again ; assume a look
of petrified despair; hand pressed to side, as if in pain ; level tone.)
Her face she turned all piteously drawn, and gazed upon him apprehensively,
With eyes dilating, like a startled fawn ; one crystal tear fell flashing in her tea,
Nor did she heed the appetising prawn, nor amber marmalade from far Dundee; [City !"
"Beeteam," she gasped, "leave me not thus, in pity—they cannot really want you in the
[This entreaty very tragic. If your hands are not liable to grow red under influence of
emotion, clasp them.)
But he—" Alack that I must answer yes ! Who could foretell the dream would end so soon ?
Or deem the envious cloud of busi-ness would drift across our radiant honeymoon?
But I must catch the Ten o'clock express, which gets me up to London Bridge by noon!
Nay,'> wee test one, give not the reins to sorrow—I shall be back ere dinner-time to-morrow!"
[ With a fictitious cheerfulness.
And hearing, she forebore to make a fuss, but sought, with packing, her despair to drug;
Then, seated in the Hotel omnibus, she strapped with dainty hands his railway rug;
Till at the Littlehampton terminus they parted, with one last hvsteric hug,
And he, his manifest emotion choking, entered a first-class carriage labelled " Smoking."
(Pause again ; then cast your eyes down, and continue in a tone of chastened melancholy.)
Now, feeling that her well of joy is dried, her lotus-tree all withered to its roots,
Back to her lonely lodgings she has hied—and here a pang through all her being shoots!
(Bend forward here with outstretched arms, and smile of infinite tenderness.)
For—basking on the hearthrug, side by side—she finds her best beloved Beeteam's boots; _
His patent leathers he had gone to Town in—so this must be the pair he'd travelled down in!
(Gently.) There is a pathos in the mute appeal of objects that have shared a bygone bliss;
Arid, even these dumb boots are down at heel—seeming their absent master now to miss 1
Which, as Belinda notes, she fain must kneel, and cheer them with a sympathetic kiss,
But now a carmine tide o'erflows her neck fast—the maid comes in to clear away the breakfast!
Anon a fantasy Belinda thrills, and both the boots she on the table sets:
* nil lovingly each vacancy she fills, with freshly gathered sweet March violets,
And heavy-headed saffron daffodils—nor necessary moisture she forgets. [such chalices ? "
To sigh," she whispers, "for your native valley, cease—for when were flowers honoured by
*nd she forgets the grim Teutonic bands: and she forgets the donkeys on the green :
And she forgets the sea-gull haunted sands: and she forgets the fashions in The Queen :
°eated before those boots with folded hands, she feels no yearning for a change of scene,
^"ntent to linger by her flowers fragrant, and yield herself to recollections vagrant.
Wands behind you for this last stanza, head slightly to left, eyes half closed, speak with a
, dreamy musical lingering intonation.)
?nd all day long she keeps them in her sight, and murmurs to them tender little phrases,
-r^agining they comprehend her quite—conduct that her old landlord much amazes,
"no overhears her bidding them " good-night," (kiss your fingers here) and. open-mouthed
j, upon the threshold gazes, [Raise both hands.
gilding, perchance, that such proceedings can well entitle her to residence at Hanwell.
tjUnda seeks her couch—but ere she sinks into the brief oblivion of sleep.
dewy eyes shine brighter as she thinks how those stout boots will o'er her slumber keep,
» ^ar<i as unremitting as the lynx; then trembles—for the silence grows more deep,
*«a. now (0, portent passing understanding I) she hears them creaking towards the second
landing
n . (Raise your index finger here, and imbue the last line with a weird suggestiveness.)
\a the morning early she descends—to find her flowers scattered far and faded— [shaded,
the boots—gone ! Her perfect head she bends, her fair low brow with sweet distress is
^veiling much what evil this portends—can Beeteam, too, have perished—just when they
^n, did ? [In a hushed awe-stricken whisper.
uo- Were his hoots, as Death secured this last trophy, tramping upstairs to break the sad
ft catastrophe?
Of l?ay she know whither those twain have fled, having achieved their automatio climb,
She ^ebtbam now be lying dead—the victim of some secret midnight crime I
■___hut hide her grief-distracted head, and blame the leaden-footed lounge of Time.
About the Supernatural no man knew all—
So much she's learned from many a Christ-
mas annual!
In restless dread the worst she must await.
Hearing on every breeze her Beeteam's
knell!
(Start, andpoint off in tone of fullest alarm.)
Hark! is there not a clanging at the gate ?
A feverish ringing at the front-door bell ?
Lo ! 'tis her Bebtbam ! Wondrous to relate,
He looks most unromantically well!
Finding his Club a dreary place to stay at, he
Had spentthepreviousevening atthe Gaiety!
But, ah! Belinda's mind not yet at ease is—
Specks will appear upon the fairest fruits !
She dare not speak (for Beeteam such a
tease is)—
But she has learnt that those were not his
boots! [sneezes,
And every time she hears the landlord's
She blushes to remember past pursuits.
Keen self-reproach recurs with each cadenza
—Wet feet alone could cause that influenza!
[Shake your head, and sigh compassion-
ately, then bow, and retire in graceful
pre-occupation. If you are recalled,—
don't go.'
"The 'Roses' that Bloom,[,tra la!"
Lohengrin went well here, and Mabie
Koze was a better Elsa than probably any-
,... body else,
Sir, at
\ \ present.
Mr. Goo-
sens eon-
ducted in
first-rate
style. He
was de-
servedly
applaud-
ed. Poor
Lohen-
grin got
too much
Marie rose to receive Mr. Punch. " Goosins
m Pans.
The Roses appeared early, and are leaving
us. Too short a season.
BOHEMIAN BALLAD
Of the Society- Variety-Artiste.
(By Ben Tbovato Jonson.)
Tor; meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy the eye,
(Perhaps it would not be polite
The ladies' names to specify,)
Where are you when my love is nigh ?
Ye wallflowers that first appear,
That first appear and latest go,
Striking the surging crowd with fear
At your insipid anxious row,
What wonder that you find it slow ?
Ye chanters of the drawing-room,
That warble ballads of the day
So that you well deserve the doom
Of the weak heroes of your lay,
Wait till my love comes round your way!
For when my mistress shall appear
In the new playhouse I 'ye designed,
A serio-tragi-comic Queen,
With all the latest fads combined,
Out of all sails she '11 take the wind.
A Classical oritio remarked of an amateur
Actor who was not particularly successful
in his delineation, "Laudatur ab his—hvA
I don't say how the last word ought to be
spelt."
VOL. xch.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
265
MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.
It is confidently hoped that any pupil who has followed this
course with attention will be now sufficiently advanced to
undertake a Recitation demanding powers of the highest order,
and, acting under this conviction, Mr. Punch has set his very
best Bard to construct a poem that shall provide the panting
amateur with even greener laurels than before.
In presenting his readers with an opportunity for attaining:
distinction which may not occur again, the Author would
merely observe that the key-note of the piece is a vaguely
voluptuous melancholy, dominated by the approaching shadow
of impending calamity. If the Student feels any doubt of
A propos de Bottes. his power to convey all this, he had far better employ his
abilities upon, something of an easier and less exalted character
than the following, which we will call
A PBOPOS be BOTTES.
In a bow-window on the Esplanade Belinda with her Beeteam breakfasted;
But while with outward calm the tea Bhe made, within was all uncertainty and dread:
What though the toast was crisp, the eggs new-laid, when, in its envelope of dull brick-red,
The missive that had forced her heart to flutter, lay, yet unopened, by the bread-and-butter ?
(Pause, until the curiosity of your audience is thoroughly aroused—then continue toith deeper
. _ intensity.)
Fleet is pursuing Fate when most she limps! So Beeteam, having put away his ham.
Upon his letters cast a careless glimpse, selecting first the ruthless telegram [lamb! "
Which tore him from felicity and shrimps. He muttered words which sounded like " My
The while he in despair the carpet stamped on, " My own," he cried, " I must leave Little-
hampton 1"
{Second pause. Turn your head slowly round to left, and then to right again ; assume a look
of petrified despair; hand pressed to side, as if in pain ; level tone.)
Her face she turned all piteously drawn, and gazed upon him apprehensively,
With eyes dilating, like a startled fawn ; one crystal tear fell flashing in her tea,
Nor did she heed the appetising prawn, nor amber marmalade from far Dundee; [City !"
"Beeteam," she gasped, "leave me not thus, in pity—they cannot really want you in the
[This entreaty very tragic. If your hands are not liable to grow red under influence of
emotion, clasp them.)
But he—" Alack that I must answer yes ! Who could foretell the dream would end so soon ?
Or deem the envious cloud of busi-ness would drift across our radiant honeymoon?
But I must catch the Ten o'clock express, which gets me up to London Bridge by noon!
Nay,'> wee test one, give not the reins to sorrow—I shall be back ere dinner-time to-morrow!"
[ With a fictitious cheerfulness.
And hearing, she forebore to make a fuss, but sought, with packing, her despair to drug;
Then, seated in the Hotel omnibus, she strapped with dainty hands his railway rug;
Till at the Littlehampton terminus they parted, with one last hvsteric hug,
And he, his manifest emotion choking, entered a first-class carriage labelled " Smoking."
(Pause again ; then cast your eyes down, and continue in a tone of chastened melancholy.)
Now, feeling that her well of joy is dried, her lotus-tree all withered to its roots,
Back to her lonely lodgings she has hied—and here a pang through all her being shoots!
(Bend forward here with outstretched arms, and smile of infinite tenderness.)
For—basking on the hearthrug, side by side—she finds her best beloved Beeteam's boots; _
His patent leathers he had gone to Town in—so this must be the pair he'd travelled down in!
(Gently.) There is a pathos in the mute appeal of objects that have shared a bygone bliss;
Arid, even these dumb boots are down at heel—seeming their absent master now to miss 1
Which, as Belinda notes, she fain must kneel, and cheer them with a sympathetic kiss,
But now a carmine tide o'erflows her neck fast—the maid comes in to clear away the breakfast!
Anon a fantasy Belinda thrills, and both the boots she on the table sets:
* nil lovingly each vacancy she fills, with freshly gathered sweet March violets,
And heavy-headed saffron daffodils—nor necessary moisture she forgets. [such chalices ? "
To sigh," she whispers, "for your native valley, cease—for when were flowers honoured by
*nd she forgets the grim Teutonic bands: and she forgets the donkeys on the green :
And she forgets the sea-gull haunted sands: and she forgets the fashions in The Queen :
°eated before those boots with folded hands, she feels no yearning for a change of scene,
^"ntent to linger by her flowers fragrant, and yield herself to recollections vagrant.
Wands behind you for this last stanza, head slightly to left, eyes half closed, speak with a
, dreamy musical lingering intonation.)
?nd all day long she keeps them in her sight, and murmurs to them tender little phrases,
-r^agining they comprehend her quite—conduct that her old landlord much amazes,
"no overhears her bidding them " good-night," (kiss your fingers here) and. open-mouthed
j, upon the threshold gazes, [Raise both hands.
gilding, perchance, that such proceedings can well entitle her to residence at Hanwell.
tjUnda seeks her couch—but ere she sinks into the brief oblivion of sleep.
dewy eyes shine brighter as she thinks how those stout boots will o'er her slumber keep,
» ^ar<i as unremitting as the lynx; then trembles—for the silence grows more deep,
*«a. now (0, portent passing understanding I) she hears them creaking towards the second
landing
n . (Raise your index finger here, and imbue the last line with a weird suggestiveness.)
\a the morning early she descends—to find her flowers scattered far and faded— [shaded,
the boots—gone ! Her perfect head she bends, her fair low brow with sweet distress is
^veiling much what evil this portends—can Beeteam, too, have perished—just when they
^n, did ? [In a hushed awe-stricken whisper.
uo- Were his hoots, as Death secured this last trophy, tramping upstairs to break the sad
ft catastrophe?
Of l?ay she know whither those twain have fled, having achieved their automatio climb,
She ^ebtbam now be lying dead—the victim of some secret midnight crime I
■___hut hide her grief-distracted head, and blame the leaden-footed lounge of Time.
About the Supernatural no man knew all—
So much she's learned from many a Christ-
mas annual!
In restless dread the worst she must await.
Hearing on every breeze her Beeteam's
knell!
(Start, andpoint off in tone of fullest alarm.)
Hark! is there not a clanging at the gate ?
A feverish ringing at the front-door bell ?
Lo ! 'tis her Bebtbam ! Wondrous to relate,
He looks most unromantically well!
Finding his Club a dreary place to stay at, he
Had spentthepreviousevening atthe Gaiety!
But, ah! Belinda's mind not yet at ease is—
Specks will appear upon the fairest fruits !
She dare not speak (for Beeteam such a
tease is)—
But she has learnt that those were not his
boots! [sneezes,
And every time she hears the landlord's
She blushes to remember past pursuits.
Keen self-reproach recurs with each cadenza
—Wet feet alone could cause that influenza!
[Shake your head, and sigh compassion-
ately, then bow, and retire in graceful
pre-occupation. If you are recalled,—
don't go.'
"The 'Roses' that Bloom,[,tra la!"
Lohengrin went well here, and Mabie
Koze was a better Elsa than probably any-
,... body else,
Sir, at
\ \ present.
Mr. Goo-
sens eon-
ducted in
first-rate
style. He
was de-
servedly
applaud-
ed. Poor
Lohen-
grin got
too much
Marie rose to receive Mr. Punch. " Goosins
m Pans.
The Roses appeared early, and are leaving
us. Too short a season.
BOHEMIAN BALLAD
Of the Society- Variety-Artiste.
(By Ben Tbovato Jonson.)
Tor; meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy the eye,
(Perhaps it would not be polite
The ladies' names to specify,)
Where are you when my love is nigh ?
Ye wallflowers that first appear,
That first appear and latest go,
Striking the surging crowd with fear
At your insipid anxious row,
What wonder that you find it slow ?
Ye chanters of the drawing-room,
That warble ballads of the day
So that you well deserve the doom
Of the weak heroes of your lay,
Wait till my love comes round your way!
For when my mistress shall appear
In the new playhouse I 'ye designed,
A serio-tragi-comic Queen,
With all the latest fads combined,
Out of all sails she '11 take the wind.
A Classical oritio remarked of an amateur
Actor who was not particularly successful
in his delineation, "Laudatur ab his—hvA
I don't say how the last word ought to be
spelt."
VOL. xch.