DOI Heft:
July 27, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17688#0043
.Tdly 27, 1889.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
37
WIMBLEDON WHIMS.
“Elevation wrong!” . .
. “ He made several
“Exciting!! A tie !! at
“He obtained a high
bull’s-eyes?’
the last moment!! ”
magpie! ”
IRREPRESSIBLE!
OR, THE CRIMINAL
UNCAUCHT GUIDE.
Little Criminal Tragic Comedy, in Two Acts, now in daily rehearsal.
ACT I.
The Scene represents a hack alley in a low East End slum, in which
an atrocious murder has just been committed, forming in its turn
the eighteenth of a series of similar outrages, the peculiar feature
of ivhich has been the screwing off of the victim's head by the
perpetrator. The extra vigilance of the Police has for some time
past apparently acted as a check upon the murderer, but this
having been for no very definite reason just relaxed, he has
quickly responded to it by the commission of a fresh crime.
This has somewhat reasonably agitated the dwellers in the imme-
diate neighbourhood, and they, together ivith the Medical Men,
Coroner, Jurymen, Police Authorities, Local Loafers, Night
Lodging-house Keepers, Witnesses, and General Outsiders, are
all assembled at the scene of the recent ghastly occurrence. A
Rabid Interviewer, representing the “Irrepressible Press,"
Note-book in hand, forces his way authoritatively through the
crowd, and pushes himself to the front.
Rabid Interviewer (going up to Witness and slapping him
familiarly on the shoulder). Ha ! You’re the man I want to get at.
Witness (resentfully). Come, now, what are you up to ? You
are making some mistake !
Rabid Intervieiver. Not a bit. You ’re one of the Witnesses, aren’t
you? (Witness’] nods assent.) Well, then, you’re the fellow to
post me up in what I want to know. Perhaps you don’t know who
I am. I’m the “ Press.” I’m here for the Irrepressible. Now do
you understand ?
Witness (with effusion). Perfectly: and in that case I’m sure any
information I can give you I shall be only too happy to supply.
Rabid Interviewer. So do, and fire away. (He does, and furnishes
his interlocutor with copious details of the recent evidence coupled
with local gossip and much other interesting material for “copy.")
Thanks! And now (turning to Police Official) perhaps you ’ll be
good enough to tell me what moves you are making m the game.
You ’re on his track ? eh ?
Police Official (doggedly). I ain’t at liberty to say what we is on
and what we ain’t. Besides, how do I know who you are who is
asking questions of me. (With apologetic caution.) We must be on
the look out, you know.
Rabid Intervieiver (with much bonhomie). Quite right. Of course
you must. But it’s all right with me, you know. I’m the “Press”:
here for the Irrepressible.
Police Official (instantly convinced). Oh! then in that case, of
course, I don’t mind telling you that-
[Furnishes him with a complete account of all the measures
about to be taken by the Authorities at Scotland Yard with a
view to the capture of the “Wanted ” Murderer, and puts him
in full possession of all the secrets of the official programme.
Rabid Intervieiver (taking it all down in his “Notes"). Thank you,
that’ll do capitally. Ha! and now, let’s see. Perhaps you can
tell me something. (Suddenly buttonholes a Head of a Department,
who has driven over in a cab from the West End to personally
inspect the locality, and effectually pumps him, finishing his inter-
view.) Thanks, that will be very useful.
Head of Department (with much urbanity). Delighted, I’m sure.
Don’t mention it. One cannot give the Press too much information
on these matters.
Rabid Interviewer. Quite so. (Forces himself among a crowd of
Unsympathetic Loafers who are vaguely discussing the recent atrocity).
Well, my good people, and have you any news to give me ?
First Unsympathetic Loafer. Give you any news ? What for ?
Who are you, I should like to know ?
Second Unsympathetic Loafer. Yes, and what are you a poking
your blooming nose in here for ?
Third Unsympathetic Loafer. I’ll tell you who he is. He’s “ Jim
the Choker,” or next door to him. ’Ere let’s run him in.
Several Unsympathetic Loafers. Run him in. String him up !
Lynch him ! [ They hustle him.
Rabid Interviewer (protesting with a good-humoured smile). No,
no, my good people—you don’t understand. I’m not “ Jim the
Choker,” I’m the “ Press.” I’m getting up facts about the murder
for the Irrepressible, and if you ’ll turn in here and have a drink,
you perhaps might be able to supply me with some particulars.
(Mob of Loafers instantly relent, and turn in for a drink accordingly,
furnishing the Rabid Interviewer with odds and ends of local infor-
mation, with which he judiciously spices his five-column article
for the “Irrepressible.” Survey ing with much satisfaction his work,
which is an elaborate and exhaustive account of the whole affair,
pandering to a morbid public craving, but furnishing the “ Wanted ”
One, if he chance to see it, with a full and detailed account of
all the measures taken by the Police to prevent his escape, and giving
him exactly the requisite information he stands in need of to enable
him to baffle Justice and elude the reach of the arm of the Law.)
Well, come, I think that ought to satisfy ’em; I ’ve left nothing out.
(Admiringly). By Jove! if “Jim the Choker’’were to see it, it
would be quite a little handbook for him!
ACT II.—A hidden Retreat beyond the ken of the Authorities. The
“Wanted” One discovered deeply engaged perusing a recent
number of the “Irrepressible."
The “ Wanted” One (rising with satisfaction). So, that’s their
game is it? Well, it’s all set out here, chapter and verse, plain
enough, and no mistake! Goodness knows what I should do, if
it wasn’t for these here blessed papers. Howsomever, thanks to
them, I can pretty well see my next move. So here goes to make it.
[Makes it, and is consequently continuing to escape detection, as
Curtain descends.
PLAY-TIME.
At the Court.—Mrs. John Wood is a public benefactress. London
is getting dreadfully dull. The season is going out like an expiring
set-piece of fireworkery. St. Swithin has got hold of the weather.
But at the Court
Theatre you may
enjoy two hours
of the heartiest
laughter. Aunt
Jack is excellent
fooling from be-
ginning to end :
full of quips and
jokes, full of stir-
ring incident, full
of the most de-
lightfully puz-
zling complica-
tions. I am not
going to take the
bloom off the
flower by reveal-
ing the plot. I
will content my-
self with congra-
tulating every-
body, all round,
who interprets Yood, and he »v ouldn t.
Mr. Ralph Lumley’s merry inspirations. Mrs. John 'Wood, most
funny throughout, is quite inimitable in the last Scene, where she
appears in the witness-box.. It is hard to say if Mr. Arthur Cecil
is at his best, making love in the First Act, or opening and tasting a
bottle of very cheap champagne in the Second, or defending a Breach
of Promise Case against his own fiancee in the Third. Mr. F. Cape
is quite a model Judge, and his dictum, “People should not go to
law, unless they can keep their temper,” should find place in the
next edition of Broom's Legal Maxims. He would be quite a new
Broom, and might make a clean sweep, which is a very different
matter from making a sweep clean. But—passons ! Miss Rosina
Fillipi, as the dashing young widow of Mr. Ephraim B. Vanstreek
of Chicago—“ Pork was his vocation, he lived and died in it”—
gives a piquant dash of Yankee flavour to the entertainment.
Mr. Eric Lewis, impersonates excellently Aunt Jack's nephew,
Mr. Caleb Cornish,
gent as Mrs. Caleb.
md Miss Florence Wood is bright and intelli-
A success, says
The Critic oee the Hearth.
Latest Bulletin.—Poet Browning much better, in consequence of
Aldis Wright’s judioious treatment, but still suffering from Fitz.
yol. xcvn.
E
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
37
WIMBLEDON WHIMS.
“Elevation wrong!” . .
. “ He made several
“Exciting!! A tie !! at
“He obtained a high
bull’s-eyes?’
the last moment!! ”
magpie! ”
IRREPRESSIBLE!
OR, THE CRIMINAL
UNCAUCHT GUIDE.
Little Criminal Tragic Comedy, in Two Acts, now in daily rehearsal.
ACT I.
The Scene represents a hack alley in a low East End slum, in which
an atrocious murder has just been committed, forming in its turn
the eighteenth of a series of similar outrages, the peculiar feature
of ivhich has been the screwing off of the victim's head by the
perpetrator. The extra vigilance of the Police has for some time
past apparently acted as a check upon the murderer, but this
having been for no very definite reason just relaxed, he has
quickly responded to it by the commission of a fresh crime.
This has somewhat reasonably agitated the dwellers in the imme-
diate neighbourhood, and they, together ivith the Medical Men,
Coroner, Jurymen, Police Authorities, Local Loafers, Night
Lodging-house Keepers, Witnesses, and General Outsiders, are
all assembled at the scene of the recent ghastly occurrence. A
Rabid Interviewer, representing the “Irrepressible Press,"
Note-book in hand, forces his way authoritatively through the
crowd, and pushes himself to the front.
Rabid Interviewer (going up to Witness and slapping him
familiarly on the shoulder). Ha ! You’re the man I want to get at.
Witness (resentfully). Come, now, what are you up to ? You
are making some mistake !
Rabid Intervieiver. Not a bit. You ’re one of the Witnesses, aren’t
you? (Witness’] nods assent.) Well, then, you’re the fellow to
post me up in what I want to know. Perhaps you don’t know who
I am. I’m the “ Press.” I’m here for the Irrepressible. Now do
you understand ?
Witness (with effusion). Perfectly: and in that case I’m sure any
information I can give you I shall be only too happy to supply.
Rabid Interviewer. So do, and fire away. (He does, and furnishes
his interlocutor with copious details of the recent evidence coupled
with local gossip and much other interesting material for “copy.")
Thanks! And now (turning to Police Official) perhaps you ’ll be
good enough to tell me what moves you are making m the game.
You ’re on his track ? eh ?
Police Official (doggedly). I ain’t at liberty to say what we is on
and what we ain’t. Besides, how do I know who you are who is
asking questions of me. (With apologetic caution.) We must be on
the look out, you know.
Rabid Intervieiver (with much bonhomie). Quite right. Of course
you must. But it’s all right with me, you know. I’m the “Press”:
here for the Irrepressible.
Police Official (instantly convinced). Oh! then in that case, of
course, I don’t mind telling you that-
[Furnishes him with a complete account of all the measures
about to be taken by the Authorities at Scotland Yard with a
view to the capture of the “Wanted ” Murderer, and puts him
in full possession of all the secrets of the official programme.
Rabid Intervieiver (taking it all down in his “Notes"). Thank you,
that’ll do capitally. Ha! and now, let’s see. Perhaps you can
tell me something. (Suddenly buttonholes a Head of a Department,
who has driven over in a cab from the West End to personally
inspect the locality, and effectually pumps him, finishing his inter-
view.) Thanks, that will be very useful.
Head of Department (with much urbanity). Delighted, I’m sure.
Don’t mention it. One cannot give the Press too much information
on these matters.
Rabid Interviewer. Quite so. (Forces himself among a crowd of
Unsympathetic Loafers who are vaguely discussing the recent atrocity).
Well, my good people, and have you any news to give me ?
First Unsympathetic Loafer. Give you any news ? What for ?
Who are you, I should like to know ?
Second Unsympathetic Loafer. Yes, and what are you a poking
your blooming nose in here for ?
Third Unsympathetic Loafer. I’ll tell you who he is. He’s “ Jim
the Choker,” or next door to him. ’Ere let’s run him in.
Several Unsympathetic Loafers. Run him in. String him up !
Lynch him ! [ They hustle him.
Rabid Interviewer (protesting with a good-humoured smile). No,
no, my good people—you don’t understand. I’m not “ Jim the
Choker,” I’m the “ Press.” I’m getting up facts about the murder
for the Irrepressible, and if you ’ll turn in here and have a drink,
you perhaps might be able to supply me with some particulars.
(Mob of Loafers instantly relent, and turn in for a drink accordingly,
furnishing the Rabid Interviewer with odds and ends of local infor-
mation, with which he judiciously spices his five-column article
for the “Irrepressible.” Survey ing with much satisfaction his work,
which is an elaborate and exhaustive account of the whole affair,
pandering to a morbid public craving, but furnishing the “ Wanted ”
One, if he chance to see it, with a full and detailed account of
all the measures taken by the Police to prevent his escape, and giving
him exactly the requisite information he stands in need of to enable
him to baffle Justice and elude the reach of the arm of the Law.)
Well, come, I think that ought to satisfy ’em; I ’ve left nothing out.
(Admiringly). By Jove! if “Jim the Choker’’were to see it, it
would be quite a little handbook for him!
ACT II.—A hidden Retreat beyond the ken of the Authorities. The
“Wanted” One discovered deeply engaged perusing a recent
number of the “Irrepressible."
The “ Wanted” One (rising with satisfaction). So, that’s their
game is it? Well, it’s all set out here, chapter and verse, plain
enough, and no mistake! Goodness knows what I should do, if
it wasn’t for these here blessed papers. Howsomever, thanks to
them, I can pretty well see my next move. So here goes to make it.
[Makes it, and is consequently continuing to escape detection, as
Curtain descends.
PLAY-TIME.
At the Court.—Mrs. John Wood is a public benefactress. London
is getting dreadfully dull. The season is going out like an expiring
set-piece of fireworkery. St. Swithin has got hold of the weather.
But at the Court
Theatre you may
enjoy two hours
of the heartiest
laughter. Aunt
Jack is excellent
fooling from be-
ginning to end :
full of quips and
jokes, full of stir-
ring incident, full
of the most de-
lightfully puz-
zling complica-
tions. I am not
going to take the
bloom off the
flower by reveal-
ing the plot. I
will content my-
self with congra-
tulating every-
body, all round,
who interprets Yood, and he »v ouldn t.
Mr. Ralph Lumley’s merry inspirations. Mrs. John 'Wood, most
funny throughout, is quite inimitable in the last Scene, where she
appears in the witness-box.. It is hard to say if Mr. Arthur Cecil
is at his best, making love in the First Act, or opening and tasting a
bottle of very cheap champagne in the Second, or defending a Breach
of Promise Case against his own fiancee in the Third. Mr. F. Cape
is quite a model Judge, and his dictum, “People should not go to
law, unless they can keep their temper,” should find place in the
next edition of Broom's Legal Maxims. He would be quite a new
Broom, and might make a clean sweep, which is a very different
matter from making a sweep clean. But—passons ! Miss Rosina
Fillipi, as the dashing young widow of Mr. Ephraim B. Vanstreek
of Chicago—“ Pork was his vocation, he lived and died in it”—
gives a piquant dash of Yankee flavour to the entertainment.
Mr. Eric Lewis, impersonates excellently Aunt Jack's nephew,
Mr. Caleb Cornish,
gent as Mrs. Caleb.
md Miss Florence Wood is bright and intelli-
A success, says
The Critic oee the Hearth.
Latest Bulletin.—Poet Browning much better, in consequence of
Aldis Wright’s judioious treatment, but still suffering from Fitz.
yol. xcvn.
E