Punch (98.1890)

88

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[February 22, 1890.

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. VII.—RECLAIMED!
Or, How Little Elfin taught her Grandmother.
Chabacteks.
Lady Belledame (a Dowager of the deepest dye).
Monkshood (her Steward, and confidential Minion).
Little Elfle {an Angel Child). This part has been specially con-
structed for that oelebrated Infant Actress, Banjoist, and
Variety Comedienne, Miss Birdie Callowchick.

Scene—The Panelled Room at Nightshade Hall.
Lady Belledame (discoveredpreparing parcels). Old and unloved!

_yes, the longer I live, the more plainly do I perceive that I am

not a popular old woman.
Have I not acquired the
reputation in the county
of being a witch ? My
neighbour, Sir Vevey
Long, asked me publicly
only the other day
"when I would like my
broom ordered," and
that minx, Lady Vio-
let Powdray, has
pointedly mentioned old
cats in my hearing!
Pergament, my family
lawyer, has declined to
act for me any longer,
merely because Monks-
hood rack-rented some
of the tenants a little
too energetically in the
Torture Chamber—as if
in these hard times one
was not justified in put-
ting the screw on! Then
the villagers scowl when
I pass; the very children
shrink from me — [A
childish voice outside
window : " Yah, 'oo
sold 'erself to Old Bogie
for a pound o' tea an a
set o' noo teeth?"]—
that is, when they do not insult me by suggestions of bargains
that are not even businesslike! No matter—I will be avenged
upon them all—ay, all! 'Tis Christmas-time—the season at which
sentimental fools exchange gifts and good wishes. For onoe I,
too, will distribute a few seasonable presents . . . (Inspecting
parcels.)_ Are my arrangements complete? The bundle of
choice cigars, in each of which a charge of nitro-glycerine has
been dexterously inserted ? The lip-salve, made up from my own
prescription with corrosive sublimate by a venal chemist in the
vicinity ? The art flower-pot, containing a fine specimen of the
Upas plant, swathed in impermeable sacking? The sweets com-
pounded with sugar of lead ? The packet of best ratsbane ? Yes,
nothing has been omitted. Now to summon my faithful Monks-
hood. . . Ha! he is already at hand. [Chord as Monkshood enters.

Monkshood. Your Ladyship, a child, whose sole luggage is a small
bandbox and a large banjo, is without, and requests the favour of a
personal interview.

Lady B. (reproachfully). And you, who have been with me all
these years, and know my ways, omitted to let loose the bloodhounds ?
You grow careless, Monkshood !

Monks, (wounded). Your Ladyship is unjust—I did unloose the
bloodhounds • but the ferocious animals merely sat up and begged.
The child had took the precaution to provide herself with a bun !
Lady B. No matter, she must be removed—I care not how.
Monks. There may be room for one more—a little one—in the old
well. The child mentioned that she was your Ladyship's grand-
daughter, but I presume that will make no difference ?

Lady B. (disquieted). "What!—then she must be the child of my
only son Poldoodle, whom, for refusing to cut off the entail, I had
falsely aoeused of adulterating milk, and transported beyond the
seas! She comes hither to denounce and reproach me! Monkshood,
she must not leave this place alive—you hear ?
Monks. I require no second bidding—ha, the child ... she comes!

[Chord. Little Elfie trips in with touching self-confidence.
Elfie (in a charming little Cockney accent). Yes, Grandma, it's
me—little Elite, come all the way from Australia to see you,
because I thought you must be sow lownly all by yourself! My
Papa often told me what a long score he owed you, and how he
hoped to pay you off if he lived. But he went out to business one
day—Pa was a bushranger, you know, and worked—oh, so hard;

and never came back to his little Elfie, so poor little Elfie has come
to live with you!

Monks. Will you have the child removed now, my Lady ?

Lady B. (undecidedly). Not now—not yet; I have other work for
you. These Christmas gifts, to be distributed amongst my good
friends and neighbours (handing parcels). First, this bundle of
cigara to Sir Vevey Long, with my best wishes that such a
connoisseur in tobacco may find them sufficiently strong. The salve
for Lady Violet Powdray, with my love, and it should, be rubbed
on the last thing at night. The plant you will take to the little
Pergaments—'twill serve them for a Christmas tree. This packet
to be diluted in a barrel of beer, which you will see broached upon
the village green; these sweetmeats for distribution among the most
deserving of the school-children.

Elfie (throwing her arms around Lady B.'s neck). I do like you,
Grandma ; you have such a kind face! And oh, what pains you
must have taken to find something that will do for everybody!

Lady B. (disengaging herself peevishly). Yes, yes, child. I trust
that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,—but I do not
like to be messed about. Monkshood, you know what you have to do.

Elfie. Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently
he smiles. You 're such a good old man, you will take care that all
the poor people are fed, won't you ?

Monks, (with a sinister smile). Ah! Missie, I've 'elped to settle a
many people's 'ash in my time!

Elfie (innocently). "What, do they all get hash? How nice! I
like hash,—but what else do you give them ?

Monks, (grimly). Gruel, Missie. (Aside.) I must get out of this,
or this innocent child's prattle will unman me! {Exit with parcels.

Elfie. You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you
one of the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in
happier days.

Lady B. No, no, some other time. (Aside.) Pshaw! why should
I dread the effect of her simple melodies ? Sing, child, if you will.

Elfie. How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [Sings.
Oar is a lubly yaller gal that tickles me to deff;
She '11 dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.
When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man,
As she gets her upper lip o'er a plate o' "possum dip," cries,

" Woa, Litcindy Ann ! " (Chorus, dear Granny!)
"Woa, Lucindy ! "Woa, Ldcindy ! "Woa, Lucindy Ann !
At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin ; so
woa, Miss Sindy Ann !

To Lady B. (who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has
burst into tears). Why, you are weeping, dear Grandmother!

Lady B. Nay, 'tis nothing, child—but have you no songs which
are less sad ?

Elfie. Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful
than that. (Sings.)
Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago,

When I used to be a happy darkie slave. (Trump-a-trump.)
But now I 'se got to labour wif de shovel an' de hoe—
For ole Massa lies a sleepin' in his grave ! (Trump-trump.)
Chorus.

Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa! (Pianissimo.) Poor ole Massa,

dat I nebber more shall see!
He was let off by de Jury, "Way down in ole Missouri—But dey
lynched him on a persimmon tree.

Elfie. You smile at last, dear Grandma! I would sing to you
again, but I am so very, very sleepy!

Lady B. Poor child, you have had a long journey. Best awhile
on this couch, and I will arrange this screen so as to protect your
slumbers. [Leads little Elfie to couch.

Elfie (sleepily). Thanks, dear Grandma, thanks . . . Now I shall
go to sleep, and dream of you, and the dogs, and angels. I so often
dream about angels—but that is generally after supper, and to-night
I have had no supper . . . But never mind . . . Good night, Grannie,
goodnight. . . goo'ni'. . . goo. . goo! [She sinks softly to sleep.

Lady B. And 1 was about to set the bloodhounds upon this little
sunbeam! 'Tis long since these grim walls have echoed strains so
sweet as hers. (Croons.) " Woa, Lucindy," &e. " Dey tried him
by a jury, way down in ole Missouri, an' dey hung him to a possum-
dip tree!" (Goes to couch, and gazes on the little sleeper.) How
peacefully she slumbers! "What a ohange has come over me in one
short hour!—my withered heart is sending up green shoots of
tenderness, of love, and hope ! Let me try henceforth to be worthy
of this dear child's affection and respect (Turns, and sees Monks-
hood.) .Ha, Monkshood ! Then there is time yet! Those parcels
. . . quick,, quick '.—the parcels!-

Monks, (impassively), Have been left as you instructed, my Lady.
[Chord: Lady B. staggers back, gasping, into chair. Little
Elfie awakes behind screen, and rubs her eyes.

[N.B.—The reformation of a Grandmother being necessarily a
process of some length, the conclusion of this touching little Drama
is unavoidably deferred to a future number.]