Punch (98.1890)

90 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 22, 1890.

HAPPY THOUGHT.

"Oa. I sat, Old Man, I wish you'd bun upstaies and hdnt foe my Aunt, and being hee down to Suppee. She's an
Old Lady, in a Red Body, and a Geeen Skirt, and a Blue and Yellow Teain, with an Oeange Bied of Paeadise in hee
Cap. You can't possibly mistake hee. Say / sent you 1"

"Awfully soeey, Old Man, but—a—I'm totally Coloue-Blind, you know. Just been tested !"_[Exit in a hurry.

Zamiel. Enough—no more! I'11 tell thee now
By this day month there '11 be—a row ?

[More mutterings are heard and repeated in
chorus. The skull and hanger sink, and,
in their place a hearth with lighted
coals and faggots, rise out of the earth,
within the Circle. The Moon becomes
red.

Caspar. "Well served! Bless thee, Zamiel !

The day will be ours!
[Caspae moves to and fro, places faggots on
the coals, blows the fire, which blazes and
fumes. In the smoke certain cabalistic
letters appear.
Now for it! Every moment is precious.
"Every bullet hath its billet," saith the old
saw. Rather I Black C-c-l, beware ! Bland
William H., look out! Brutal B-lf-b, mind
your eye! Shrewish G-sch-n, be warned!
Haughty H-et-ngt-n, take care! Perfidious
J-8-ph, watch it! That accounts for Six out
of the fatal Seven. 'Twill suffice, even if
the seventh—bah! that's silly superstition.
Here goes! First this lead—heavy as Sm-th's
speeches; then this glass, brittle as the bond
between the Unionists; some quicksilver of
Randolphian shiftiness j three charmed balls
whioh nave already hit their mark. See,
they are marked. "P-g-tt," "P-bn-ll,"
" C-mm-ss-n " !!! Probatum est'. Now for
the blessing of the balls._
[Caspak bowing down his head three separate
times {as to three Judges) before he com-
mences his incantation.
Thou who hast Fate's mystic dower,
Zamiel, Zamlel, work thy power!

THE INCANTATION SCENE.

Fredy Adapted from " Der Freischiilz."

Caspar, Mr. L-b-chxre.
Zamiel, Mr. P-bn-ll.

Scene—Stage in complete shadow. An Irish
Glen surrounded by bare mountains
covered with dwarf oaks, overhanging a
big bog. The Moon is shining dimly.
Caspae discovered toith a pouch and
hanger, busily engaged in making a Circle
of fairy lanterns, in the middle of which
is, placed a turnip-skull, a shillelagh, a
bunch of shamrock, a crucible, and a
bullet-mould. Distant mutterings heard.
Chorus of Distant Party-Spirits,
Shindy now would be a boon,

(' Hear, hear ! Hear, hear ! ")
Interest in M-tch-llst-wn hath died,
("Hear, hear .' Hear, hear!")
Misohief must be stirred up soon.
(" Hear, hear ! Hear, hear ! ")
And Obstruction once more tried.
("•Hear, hear ! Hear, hear ! ")
Ere this S-ss-n's course is run
We must really have some fun.

(" Hear, hear ! Hear, hear .'")
[At the end of chorus, a Big Bell booms
twelve times; the Circle being finished,
Caspar within it, draws his hanger
round the lanterns, and at the twelfth
stroke strikes it into the turnip-skull.
Caspar {kneeling, and raising the skull on the
hanger at arm's length).

Zamiel, Zamiel, hear me, hear!
By this bogey-skull appear!
Zamiel, rise, for things look queer!
[A confused noise is heard, a Meteor {looking
rather like a long-expected Blue-Book)
falls on the Circle, and Zamiel, looking
coldly triumphant, appears.
Zamiel. Why callest thou ?
Caspar. Well, hang it! I like that!

But, by St. Patrick's beard, your advent's
pat,

Our foes boast three years longer they may
live.
Zamiel. No!

Caspar. Then good reason you and I must
give.

Zamiel. Who says so P

Caspar. One who hardly dared—till now—
To face thy really rayther freezing brow ;
But, moved by reason, and a late Report,
He's on the job ; and we shall have some
sport.

Zamiel. What doth he seek ?

Caspar. To be supplied

With bullets which thy skill shall guide.
Zamiel. Six shall obey,

The seventh—who '11 say f
Caspar. Lord of the mystic League,

I hope, by sly intrigue,

To rule the seventh also,

And let it kill—you know I
Zamiel. Too risky.
Caspar. Oh, I say,

Let's have no more delay.

Three long years yet to sway ?

Pooh, Zamlel ! It's child's-play.