DOI Heft:
February 27, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0110
February 27, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
101
A MEETING OF THE " BANDY" ASSOCIATION
Foe the Promotion of " Hockby on the Ice."
Mrs. F. What a shame, Fred ! Don't think of such a thing-,
there 's a good boy! Say no—and I '11 give you sixpence!
The Boy {grinning). Well, Lady, make it a shillin', and I'll stay
outside—to oblige you!
Mrs. F. {giving him a shilling). There's a good sensible boy!
Frederic, have you gone quite mad ? You know you wouldn't hurt
a fly?
[The Gooles move away, feeling that they have been trifled with.
Mr. F. A fly ? Not for the world !—but this is only a boy. I want
to know what they 're here for. Now, my lad, you 're not engaged
to be idle, you know. Just think of the amount of innocent pleasure
you would afford by getting into this spiked cradle and letting me
rock you. You won't ? Well, will you sit on the Spanish Donkey P
come ! I '11 give you a leg up and fasten the weights on your legs for
you. You aren't afraid of a donkey ?
[Bystanders collect in hope of amusement.
The Boy {sulkily). Not of some Donkeys, Sir, as ain't quite so
sharp as that one, whatever they think theirselves!
[Titters. Mr. F. F. feels that he has got rather the worst of it,
and collapses, with the dismal completeness of a Funny
Man; Mrs. F. remains behind to bribe the boy ivith another
shilling to promise her solemnly never on any account to
play with any of the tortures.
Mrs. F. {rejoining her husband). Frederic, how can you? You
make me feel perfectly faint when you aot like this !
Mr. F. {recovering). Faint, Cecilia ? Well, I daresay they won't
mind if you sit down in one of these spiked chairs for a minute or
two.
Mrs. F. {angrily). I shall do no such thing, Frederic ! And you
ought to be ashamed to suggest it!
Mrs. Borrodale {choosing photographs of Nuremberg). Look,
John, what a lovely large one of the Sebald's Kirche! I really
must have this. Oh, and the Insel Sehutt—a,n& this of the Schdne
Brunnen—&nd the view from the Burg—that makes the half-dozen.
They will be joys for ever, John ! And only three shillings each!
Will you pay the boy for them, John, please—it's just eighteen
shillings.
John. Can't, my dear. Only half-a-crown in my pocket. Don't
you remember, I lent you my last sov. not five minutes ago ?
Mrs. B. Oh, so you did. Well, on second thoughts, perhaps this
size is rather—I think I '11 take five of the sixpenny ones instead—
they 're every bit as good. You can spare me that half-crown,
John !
A Patriot {coining out). Well, it's just the same 'ere as every where
else. All the things " made in Germany " ! Sickenin' / call it!
EICE AND PRUNES.
Rice and prunes a
houseb old j ournal
Called the chief of
household boons:
Hence my mother
cooks diurnal
Rice and prunes.
Therefore on suc-
cessive noons,
Sombre fruit and
snowy kernel
Woo reluctant
forks and spoons.
As the ear, when
leaves are vernal,
Wearies of the
blackbird's tunes,
So we weary of
eternal
Rice and prunes.
An Old Friend at the Criterion.—Time flies, and Fourteen
Days, occupying only a couple of hours or so at the Criterion, goes
wonderfully. Charles AVyndham is the life and soul of the piece,
and the giddy Giddens is another life and soul. Miss Mary Moore,
charming as ever, with a clearness of " dictation," as Mrs. Malapeop
would say, that is in itself a delight to the ear. Every word she
speaks is distinct, and. which is more to the purpose, every telling
word tells. Fourteen Days is a survival and revival of one of H. J.
Byron's fittest. If it " catches on" once more, as it ought to do,
it might run fourteen weeks, and then,—"Next please ! "
101
A MEETING OF THE " BANDY" ASSOCIATION
Foe the Promotion of " Hockby on the Ice."
Mrs. F. What a shame, Fred ! Don't think of such a thing-,
there 's a good boy! Say no—and I '11 give you sixpence!
The Boy {grinning). Well, Lady, make it a shillin', and I'll stay
outside—to oblige you!
Mrs. F. {giving him a shilling). There's a good sensible boy!
Frederic, have you gone quite mad ? You know you wouldn't hurt
a fly?
[The Gooles move away, feeling that they have been trifled with.
Mr. F. A fly ? Not for the world !—but this is only a boy. I want
to know what they 're here for. Now, my lad, you 're not engaged
to be idle, you know. Just think of the amount of innocent pleasure
you would afford by getting into this spiked cradle and letting me
rock you. You won't ? Well, will you sit on the Spanish Donkey P
come ! I '11 give you a leg up and fasten the weights on your legs for
you. You aren't afraid of a donkey ?
[Bystanders collect in hope of amusement.
The Boy {sulkily). Not of some Donkeys, Sir, as ain't quite so
sharp as that one, whatever they think theirselves!
[Titters. Mr. F. F. feels that he has got rather the worst of it,
and collapses, with the dismal completeness of a Funny
Man; Mrs. F. remains behind to bribe the boy ivith another
shilling to promise her solemnly never on any account to
play with any of the tortures.
Mrs. F. {rejoining her husband). Frederic, how can you? You
make me feel perfectly faint when you aot like this !
Mr. F. {recovering). Faint, Cecilia ? Well, I daresay they won't
mind if you sit down in one of these spiked chairs for a minute or
two.
Mrs. F. {angrily). I shall do no such thing, Frederic ! And you
ought to be ashamed to suggest it!
Mrs. Borrodale {choosing photographs of Nuremberg). Look,
John, what a lovely large one of the Sebald's Kirche! I really
must have this. Oh, and the Insel Sehutt—a,n& this of the Schdne
Brunnen—&nd the view from the Burg—that makes the half-dozen.
They will be joys for ever, John ! And only three shillings each!
Will you pay the boy for them, John, please—it's just eighteen
shillings.
John. Can't, my dear. Only half-a-crown in my pocket. Don't
you remember, I lent you my last sov. not five minutes ago ?
Mrs. B. Oh, so you did. Well, on second thoughts, perhaps this
size is rather—I think I '11 take five of the sixpenny ones instead—
they 're every bit as good. You can spare me that half-crown,
John !
A Patriot {coining out). Well, it's just the same 'ere as every where
else. All the things " made in Germany " ! Sickenin' / call it!
EICE AND PRUNES.
Rice and prunes a
houseb old j ournal
Called the chief of
household boons:
Hence my mother
cooks diurnal
Rice and prunes.
Therefore on suc-
cessive noons,
Sombre fruit and
snowy kernel
Woo reluctant
forks and spoons.
As the ear, when
leaves are vernal,
Wearies of the
blackbird's tunes,
So we weary of
eternal
Rice and prunes.
An Old Friend at the Criterion.—Time flies, and Fourteen
Days, occupying only a couple of hours or so at the Criterion, goes
wonderfully. Charles AVyndham is the life and soul of the piece,
and the giddy Giddens is another life and soul. Miss Mary Moore,
charming as ever, with a clearness of " dictation," as Mrs. Malapeop
would say, that is in itself a delight to the ear. Every word she
speaks is distinct, and. which is more to the purpose, every telling
word tells. Fourteen Days is a survival and revival of one of H. J.
Byron's fittest. If it " catches on" once more, as it ought to do,
it might run fourteen weeks, and then,—"Next please ! "