Thuy Hct OD) OTT UIA VR Cs Pa Be je eae Al rer | — eR is aM [; . ‘ on ere! qrmnnpe isto" WU at WT yk : i i wit “SWS N; Ne \ A SS SX SS BSS we Ori ae eS — a se SSS SS Ws SS WN SSS SSG Saw i 1 : a ALLE RED ano <. Niaz beni te Wife. HG INE A CRACKER BON-BON FOR CHRISTMAS PARTIES: CONSISTING OF CHRISTMAS PIECES, FOR PRIVATE REPRESENTATION, AND OTHER SEASONABLE MATTER, IN PROSE AND VERSE. BY ROBERT B. BROUGH. LONDON: DAVID BOGUE, 86, FLEET STREET. MDCCCLII, LONDON: HENRY VIZETELLY, PRINTER AND ENGRAVER, GOUGH SQUARE, FLEET STREET, CONTENTS. CHRISTMAS PIECES :— I.—KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES . . . . 1I.—WILLIAM TELL . : . . Ill.—ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE : . ‘ . . SKATES AND LIFE . . . . . . . HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN A CHRISTMAS CROAK . . . : . ; . A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS :— I.—A SPECIMEN OF THE PERPETUAL MOTION, OR SOCIAL PROGRESS SCHOOL :— ‘(KEEP IT UP MY RUM ’UNS”’ ‘ : II.—THE SUPERANNUATED KITCHEN UTENSIL SCHOOL “oars MEAT”, ; ; ‘ 11I,—THE ETHIOPIAN SCHOOL : . . , . ‘‘onp GINGER CROW” ; ‘ : IV.—CONCLUDING SPECIMEN :— . . . ‘nts SWEET TO ROAM WHEN MORNING'S FOPULAR NOTIONS OF POPULAR ACTORS :— MR, FRANK MATTHEWS . . : : . : MR, WRIGHT MR, O. SMITH MR, BLAND LIGHT’”’ PAGE 18 70 87 89 96 97 CHRISTMAS PIECES. (NOT AT ALL SUITED TO THE STAGE, BUT THE VERY THING FOR THE FRONT DRAWING-ROOM.) HE following little Dramas are strong- ly recommended to families anxious to amuse themselves, and (as a secondary consideration) their friends, at this fes- tive season of the year, with private theatricals. If des- titute of any other merit, they, at all events, possess those of brevity and simplicity. The import- ance of the former, in such representations, we need not impress upon the amateur (such of his friends who have had the for- B iv PREFACE. tune to witness his previous efforts, having, doubtless, already done so),—whilst the latter will enable him to triumph over all difficulties in the shape of “ getting up,” or “ mounting,” (generally such sad up-hill work with non-professionals!) As descriptive placards, in the Elizabethan style, will supply the place of scenery, and no * appointments” need be cared about, beyond those requisite for rehearsals (which are never kept), the pieces may be got up literally regardless of expense (if we except the preliminary three-and-sixpence for prompt copy): And it is hoped the general lightness of the productions will admit of their being supported (or borne) without taxing the entire strength of the company. > ) ree é Ae : e nu SS A . ~I ine — —i | — | | —— MIN ils Ci is I.— KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. AN HISTORICAL DRAMA. [Tue great fault found, and deservedly, with modern playwrights, is, that they will not write the Drama of our Hearths and Homes. The following dramatic sketch, the author flatters himself, will be found an exception to the rule, The liberal use he has made of such household matters as baking, a scolding matron, the coal-hole, &c., gives an irresistible charm of homeliness to his production. And as the entire scene is laid in the immediate vicinity of the oven and fire-place, the tone of sentiment throughout is necessarily “ of the hearth—hearthy.”’] Prvsmns represented. ALFRED THE Great, King of England, (At present fulfilling a provincial engagement as a journeyman baker). Gururum, Leader of the Danish Forces. Joun Smirx, Neatherd and Faney Baker, (Hot rolls at eight, and dinners Dunctually attended to). Mrs. Sorru, his excitable better half. Time or REPRESENTATION—Just before Supper. ScensE—Neatherd’ s cottage and public bakehouse of the olden time. Various placards in the Anglo-Saxon character, such as“ Hot Rolls at Hight,” “ Best Bread down again to 5d.,”” disposed about the scene, B 2 4 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. ALFRED (attired, according to the costume of the period, in a cotton nighteap and apron) is discovered depositing tea-cakes, Sally Lunns, &c. in the oven. The entire batch being disposed of, he comes forward, and strikes an attitude. ( BAKINGS CAREFULLY ATTENDED To | At¥. This, for a sovereign, is no small change. “ But now a king, now thus!” ’tis passing strange. A monarch who his land’s elite forsakes, To pass his life amongst a’set of cakes ; And close it, far from regal pomp and state, Though buried ’mongst the ashes of the grate. Well! Faith, when things are all so dull and rusty, A baker’s situation’s none so dusty. At all events, I’m safe from Dane and danger; No one suspects the unpretending stranger— Who, o’er Smith’s oven, holds the foreman’s post, Guarding the baked meat—once had ruled the roast ! KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. It’s seldom I repine at Fortune’s dealings, Though mem’ry will bring back no end of feelings ; When on the brown crisp rolls my eyes I fix, I think upon those brave, though crusty, bricks, Who—e’en as now I stir the dough so barmy— With me, stirr’d up the flow’r of Guthrum’s army ; And the fermenting bread—in size increased— Oft calls to mind a rising in the (y) east ; Which once I quell’d—when that bold rebel, Jackson, Was hung on high—although a hang-low Saxon.* SONG (Atrrzp). (Am—Mary Blane.) OH! once I was a happy king, And led as gay a life - * The above couplet is strongly recommended to mercy. KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. As Cole himself, in all his pride Of fiddle, pipe, and fife. At home we lived so happily, Quite free from grief and pain, Till, one fine day, we found ourselves Invaded by the Dane. But mind your eye, my wary Dane, A rod in pickle soaks for you; With lots of fleas your ears to pain, We’ll send you home again. As going through the woods one day, I hook’d it in disguise (For he who fights and runs away, You know, is reckon’d wise), I of this situation heard, So came, the place to seek— Agreed to terms—and here I am, At thirteen bob a-week. But mind your eye, &c. (which means, of course, G—— up!) My upper G Would be improved by just the slightest sup— Of moisture. Shop! just mind yourself now, please, While I step over to the Cheshire Cheese KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. 7 To get a drain. I’ve not much time to sport, So what I do take must be something short. [Tucks up his apron, takes off his nightcap, and exit. [Enter GutuRuM, disguised as a peasant. He raps with his knuckles on the counter. GutH. Shop! Want—ed! Who’s at home? Does no one hear? Who waits? Myself, it seems; egad, its queer: Far from polite of them, it must be said— A fancy baker’s! and no better bred! — [Sits down. The news that we’ve been wopp’d and overthrown, In this vicinity—is not yet known. So I may chance to ’scape, and ne’er be scented ; Th’ Electric Telegraph not being invented. [Knocks again. They are—which makes my strong impatience stronger— A good time coming—(Sits down again.) Wait a little longer! [He becomes furiously impatient. 8 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. Shop! It’s too bad! A set of careless loons— "T would serve them right were I to bone the spoons! I’d do it, too—but that I rather fear There’s little silver to be met with here; And since my troops the natives chose to settle, I’ve had sufficient of Britannia mettle. Still, out of something this concern I'll chisel : T’ll take—let’s see—a quartern loaf! then mizzle. [He takes a quartern loaf, and tucks tt up under his smock- Jrock. SONG (Gururvm), (Atrr—One Bumper at parting.) OnE buster at parting (though many The act down as thieving would set), KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. 9 I'll take—and not suffer from any Such feelings as shame or regret. The alum and ground bones within it, Are cramm’d so remarkably tight, That really, instead of a sin, it Is serving the baker quite right. Then, Oh! may such villainous ruffi’ns Be all, at the Bailey, had up; And, on their own poisonous muffins, Be forced to dine, breakfast, and sup. [Enter ALFRED, briskly, wiping his lips, and re-arranging his apron for business. Ar. Ill make that Cheshire Cheese my favourite haunt—— [ Seetng GUTHRUM. A customer! (Politely.) What did you please to want? Mr. and Mrs. Smith are out to tea.— GUTH. (Starting.) That voice! ALF. (Starting.) No! GuTH. Yes! ALF. "Tis! GuTH. Tis n't! ALF. Can it be? Villain ! 10 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. eS — GuTH. (Aside.) He’s found me out, and nothing but it. Confound his stupid head—I’d better cut it. [He draws a sword, which has been concealed beneath his smock-frock, suddenly; and aims a treacherous blow at the head of ALFRED, which that great monarch is suf- Jictently wide awake to avoid. ALF. Come, that’s against the rules. You might have cried, “ Strike!” or, “Come on!” or, “This, then, to decide !” KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES, Il Just wait a second. (Fetches a sword.) NowI’m ready—sixes? GutTH. Oh! any style you please. ALF. Then, make it Hicks’s. [ Combat @ la Hicks. GuTH. It’s rather warm—a minute please, not more; A comforter sometimes becomes a bore. (He takes off his comforter. The fight ts resumed. AF. Yield! GUTH. Not while any drops of blood remain. I’m more an antique Roman than a Dane. [He receives a powerful blow. I say, hit one of your own size. (Another.) Come, drop it! [ He ts struck down. There ’s been enough of this—suppose we stop it ? Aur. (Stabbing him.) That brings it to aclose, my spark, high mettled. GuTu. (Faintly.) Yes; a receipt in full—I may say settled. 12 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. [ALFRED kneels upon the prostrate body of GuTHRUM, and disposes of him in the Sollowing manner. ALF. Down, down, to what-d’ ye-call the place, and say I sent you there to make a longish stay. What’s to be done with him? It’s very clear This defunct Ferguson can ’t lodge here. Were I the master here, I might be led— To grind his bones to make the people bread ; But as I play the workman’s humble part, I’ve not the int’rest of the firm at heart. He’s got no parish! No, a Dane’s a foreigner. The coal-hole! Yes; I'll keep him for the coroner. He won't keep many days !—a nose would then mark Something.—Ahem !— Gone, in the state of Denmark. [Drags GutuRvm to the coal-hole door, and shuts him in. KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. 13 Good gracious—though—the cakes! I quite forgot. [Runs precipitately to oven door, and opens it. He starts back with horror. Oh! here’s a horrid, burning shame! all hot! Soot black! What fire could thus to ashes turn’em ? Unless ’t was kindled with the wood of Birnam. No wonder that my mind tow’rds Scotland turns, Methinks I’m in the Land of Cakes and Burns. I’ve been and done it. Yes; there’ll be a row When Mrs. Smith comes in; she won't allow BAKINGS CAREFUL < ~ “~~ Lo For my neglected baking—an excuse That I was busy, cooking Guthrum’s goose. 14 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. Enter Mrs. Smit. Already ! Mrs. §. Have you drawn the batch yet ? ALF. (Uneasily.) No! It isn’t drawn. (Aside.) She’ll find it’s coloured, though. Mrs. 8. (Running to oven door.) What do I see? What sight my soul amazes P The cakes all burning like—in fact, like blazes ! Wretch! you shall pay for this. ALF. (Humbly.) Send in the bill! Mrs. 8. You will repent it. ALF. Possibly I will; Nor need materials for repentance lack, I’ve made the ashes and expect the sack. ri . —— - ee ne ey ov matte. - KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES, 15 Mrs. 8. Come, your Assurance, sir, I don’t require, Unless it will make good our loss by fire. Where have you been, and what have you been takin’ ? Would I had been in time to save my bakin’! ALF. Now, pray with those black gloomy looks have done. Mrs. 8. Black looks, indeed! Behold this Sally Lunn! ALF. I may explain this accident unpleasant, Although things do look rather black at present-—— Enter SMITH, excited. SmI. News! news! The Danes, with suddenness surprising, Have been defeated, and the stocks are rising. On Guthrum’s head a heavy price is set-—— ALF. Huzza! my friends. We may be happy yet. 16 KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES. « Haste! claim the sum the posters advertise, For Guthrum’s head in yonder coal-hole lies. [ The coal-hole is suddenly opened from within, and GuTH- RUM walks out, alive, and appearing in excellent health and spirits. Guthrum !—alive! GUTH. Yes, for a short time more ; I was but stunn’d against the bakehouse floor; And, by a very wondrous piece of fort’n’— Instead of me, you only stabb’d this quart’n. [Producing the quartern loaf which he had concealed under his smock-frock ; by means of which, to the intense astonishment of the audience, his life has been saved. ALF. The staff of life, then, warded off my blows ? Ah, well! You must be pardon’d, I suppose. KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES, 17 SMI. (Astonished.) Why, who are you? ALF. Who? (Aside.) With surprise I'll scare ’em. I’m simply Alfred—Rex Britanniarum! [Strikes an attitude. Mr. & Mrs. Sur. (Kneeling.) The king! ALF. Yes, you the royal hand may kiss. SMI. (Aside.) A good week’s wages I shall save by this. ALF. Rise, rise, my friends! and, for past kindness’ sake, You, Smith, the Master of the Rolls I'll make; And, in remembrance of this baking fun, Henceforth I'll take the name of ALFRED Bun. Curtain falls. II.— WILLIAM TELL; OR, THE CIVIL WAR IN SWITZERLAND. A DRAMA FOR THE PEOPLE. Chavarters. AUSTRIANS. GxstER, the original Austrian butcher. (Not likely to be quarrelled for by the actors, as he is unquestionably the worst character in the drama.) PorticemMan A 21, his Official Representative. Guards, Attendants, Police, &¢. SWISS. Wii Tei, a Demagogue in a constant state of Agitation. VERNER, Furst, Repealers. MIcHAEL, ALBERT, Tel? s Son.—( The original Merry Swiss Boy.) Peasants, Blackguards, Hereditary Bondsmen, &c. Scene—Switzerland, WILLIAM TELL. 19 SCENE THE FIRST. A romantic pass, somewhere out in the cold. VERNER, solus, trying to warm himself, by blowing on his fingers. VER. It’s time the sub-committee met, that’s clear; I’ve got no watch, although I keep one here, And so can’t tell the time. Had I a ticker I’d tell it—to move on a little quicker. Here’s Furst, at last. I thought I heard his shout. Enter Furst. 20 Fur. VER. Fur. VER. Fur. VER. MICc. VER. MIc. VER. Four. MICc. WILLIAM TELL. I’m warm with walking. Ah! I’m cold without. Where ’s Michael ? © All behind, of course; the bore! Behind! He promised to be here by four. Hast met Bill Tell ? No, Verner ; no such treat. Bills in these times are difficult to meet. But see; here’s Michael. Enter MICHAEL. Welcome, Mike! Alas ! It seems we ’ve all come to this precious Pass. Your news ? The Daily News! It’s all alike. Wouldst hear it ? To be sure. Cut away, Mike. Gesler, whose tyranny knows ne’er a truce, Still rules the roast, and cooks the Switzer’s goose, With corn and malt tax makes the quarterns dear, And robs the poor man of his cherish’d beer (For the once merry Swiss boy of the vale No longer of a morning “ takes his pale”). WILLIAM TELL. 21 With new Wrongs, Outrages, Coercion Bills, Each late edition of the papers thrills: Cabins, in flames, our native mountains crowd ; Cabins, where smoking should n’t be allow’d: Business is at a stand-still—stocks are falling; The daily emigration ’s quite appalling. This social problem puzzles every one; For us—the People! what 7s to be done? TELL. (Outside.) Holloa! VER. Our leader comes! my friends rejoice. Mic. He sings out bravely. Fur. Yes; he’s got a voice— All throat, though. In these times—he’s so distress’d, He’s not a single good note in his chest; 22 WILLIAM TELL. Yet for his skill in planning revolution, Few Austrians would blame his execution. Enter TELL in a great-coat and woollen comforter. TELL. My friends and patriots, I hope you’re well. Ver. How fares our liberator ?—William—tell. TELL. (Unwinding his comforter.) Striving the chilling influence to prevent, Of this, the winter of our discontent ; Though, thanks to tyrants, for our blood who’ve thirsted, Our only bosom comforters are worsted ! But we’re all here—for business, let’s prepare. Mic. I move that William Tell do take the chair. WILLIAM TELL, 23 TELL. (Bitterly.) Chairs, stools, all! Gesler’s bailiffs from us wrench, Till nought is left for Switzers but the Bench ! No matter though; to work—which is the chair? VER. Sit on that rail instead. TELL. What, that one there? It’s not a first-class rail, but it’ll do. Now who begins the evening’s business ? Mic. You! Move on. TELL. I shan’t; I’m comfortable here. Mic. Stuff! Make a motion. TELL. Now you’re meaning’s clear. [Mr. TELL rises to address the meeting. 24 Mic. TELL. Mic. TELL. Mic. For. VER. Fur. TELL. VER. ALL. Fur. TELL. MIc. WILLIAM TELL. Hereditary bondsmen! Don’t you know that, Who would be free, themselves must strike the-—— Blow that! Try something new. Oh! certainly. Here goes! The haughty Gesler’s domineering nose I'll soon disjoint; remove our country’s curse, Or die upon the floor of. (Disgusted.) Worse and worse. Then here ’s a proposition—that a rent Shall be collected—something large per cent. On what the people really have n’t got. Ah! now, I own, you seem to know what ’s what. I like the plan extremely, I confess. I'll be collector with great willingness. But when we’ve got it, how should it be spent ? As Mrs. Glass would say, first catch your rent. We four, the spending of it, will enforce. The resolution ’s carried then ? Of course. Then let’s dissolve. ‘(Lachrymously.) A motion to my mind, For to the melting mood I feel inclined. Then we break up. WILLIAM TELL. 25 TELL. | Let’s mind and not break down. I must be off, they ’re wanting me in town. VER. Then is the evening’s business finished ? MICc. Quite. TELL. Carried unanimously. Gents, good night. [Exeunt severally. 26 WILLIAM TELL. SCENE THE SECOND, The market place at Altorf—In the centre a new Sour-and-ninepenny hat (in the original brown paper and string) is elevated on the top of a pole, Citizens cross the stage and bow to tt. Poriceman A 21, in full uniform, exerts his truncheon and authority to bring the people (several of whom are refractory) to their knees, NOY Pt. aT = wy ny SS las wilted CV ) / / : Nt fv eee CONCERTED—(A 21 anp Cuonvs.) (Tunzs— The Row Polka.) Bow! bow! bow! bow! bow! Down upon sug marrow bones. WILLIAM TELL. 27 Now! now! now! you ’d Now! now! ; wed best, I vow. Ri tol de riddle iddle, bow! wow! wow! SOLO (A 21), (Zo another Air.) “ All round my hat I would have them bow and kneel, oh!” (Such was the words which Gesler used to me to day ;) “And if any body axes you, The reason why I rears it— You can tell ’em they may go to Bath, or further still away!” [ He loses himself in a cadence, but is recalled to a sense of duty. CHORUS (resumed). Bow! Bow! &c. A 21. Haste to the pole! [TELL crosses the stage, taking no notice of the hat. Now, then, where are you off to? TELL. Dinner. 28 WILLIAM TELL. A 21. Quick! yonder hat, your bonnet doff to. TELL. Bow to a hat ? A 21. Yes! need no more reproof! Remove your tile when under Gesler’s roof. [Points to hat. TELL. Gesley’s! I see. He’ll drive the people mad— Bow to his hat! it’s really shocking bad. A 21. (Pointing to the ground.) Down! with the dust ; or else I'll make you, clown! TELL. Not e’en Sir Peter’s self shall put me down. A 21. Ifin this rudeness you persist, I’ll stop it— So, if you’ve any court’sy, please to drop it. Tew. My cup of anguish over ’gins to swim, Fill’d by yon hat—yes, to its very brim! (Firmly) Kneel to a hat, from Gesler’s greasy pole: No! on my feet I’ll stand—aye, on my soul! WILLIAM TELL. 29 And thou, vile post! I’ll smash thee all to shivery : All Switzerland shall bless this Post Delivery. [He rushes to the side, and fetches an axe, with which he chops the pole down. Great confusion—which may be taken advantage of, by any wag in the audience, to make a joke about the Pole being one of the Distressed Poles. Thus would that I could make the Austrian thieves Cut all their sticks, and never axe their leaves. A 21. (Coming forward.) He’s broke the whole on’t! let alone the peace. A voice within me calls “ Police!” “ Police!” True as the needle to yon pole, I’ll boast— A—Twenty-one—would not desert his post. [He springs his rattle. POLICEMEN appear from the neigh- bouring kitchens, and surround TELL. 30 WILLIAM TELL. CHORUS (resumed). How! how! here’s a row! Drag him to the station—Now! now! now! How! how! refuse to bow ? Ri tol di riddle iddle—Bow ! wow! wow! [TELL is vanquished, and dragged off in custody. WY Wf 8 on Uf / \ ss SSS v WILLIAM TELL. YY a Sb. he we Se ; > ail) | \ 1, pen | nm wi - ! IG O 7 x<—_ | Sf D ( SCENE THE THIRD. The Austrian Camp—GxsuER reading the paper. Txt ts brought in hand- cuffed, guarded by A 21 and auxiliaries, the populace following. Ges. What’s this? Another case of beer ?—I see: Fine him five shillings, and don’t bother me. Yet, stay! that haughty form and features bold! Who art thou, slave ? TELL. I’m Tell. GEs. So I am told. How old are you ? TELL. Why, forty! as I’m guessing. Grs. (Zo his Clerk.) Write “ Forty—and of looks unprepossessing.” Your business ? TELL. If my trade you would inquire, I draw the long bow— 32 WILLIAM TELL. Ges. (Aside.) Now he és a liar. You’ve learnt to read? Mind you’re before your betters. TELL. Read! Well, I’ll let you know I know my letters. SONG (Tett.) (Tunzr—Derry down.) A, was an Archer, who shot at a frog, B, was a Butcher, who went the whole hog. C, the Contempt that B brought on his place, D, the Defiance A hurl’d in his face. Down, derry down, &c. Ges. I know you well, and what you’re always arter, Lecturing folks about the People’s Charter, From casks and platforms; thundering and bawling With all your lungs; a most disgraceful calling. But what’s he charged with? Law I’ll soon dispense! A 21. Contempt of hat. GEs. A capital offence! Yet stay—those Bluchers! that indignant pose / That look! that eagle eye! and parrot nose! He’s very like that little vulgar boy, Whom, dressed in button-over corduroy, I’ve had lock’d up for crying “ whip behind” As I rode out. Ho! Justice isn’t blind. WILLIAM TELL. 33 I see a way to make this tough one tender. Before us place the juvenile offender ! [ALBERT ts brought in, guarded. ALB, (Aside, recognising TELL.) Dad! I’ll not own him, though! the deuce a bit; Though torn in half, I wo’nt be made to split. TELL. (Aside.) My Albert! GEs. TELL. GEs. TELL. GES. WILLIAM TELL, Let’s examine him forthwith. Your name, boy ? Albert. Albert what ? (Winking at his father.) Hem! Smith. Ah! that wo’nt do. Feel in his pockets, quick ! [A 21 searches ALBERT’S pockets. . Two tops, an apple, and a half-sucked stick Of barley-sugar. Stop! give us a bit. This spoil becomes the conq’ror’s perquisite. [Sucking the barley sugar. A 21 is proceeding to Lite the apple ; GESLER snatches it from him. Stop! no, you don’t, my buck; that’s ours as well. We mean to have some fun with it. Here, Tell. I am here. Of your jokes pray have a care, Your whereabouts is neither here nor there. You ought to die—but yet I do n’t mind giving You and your son a chance to earn a living. You’re very kind ; anything I can do— We want to see a little sport ; so you At fifty yards off, with an arrow straight, Must shoot this apple from young Albert’s pate. WILLIAM TELL. 35 TELL. (Agonized.) That apple! What, is this your mercy’s fruit ? No! rather, upon me, your own bolts shoot. Think you your tyrant powers me can force To cook his infant goose—with apple sauce ? ALB. Nay pa; I’m game. TELL. Could I make game of thee I would preserve, not shoot thee. ALB. Why shoot me ? You ‘Il hit the apple— TELL. (Maudiin.) He—his mother’s joy ! She ’s always saying, “Tell, do n’t hit that boy. How, with maternal anguish, would she cry out, To see him homeward going—with his eye out. (With a sigh of resignation.) D2 36 WILLIAM TELL. But it’s my dear boy’s wish, I must not foil him, Though p’rhaps, through my indulgence, I may spoil him. [ALBERT 7s led out by A 21, holding the apple. TELL takes his bow and his aim. Slay my own son! Our dearest friends to shoot us ; My hair stands straight—I feel a perfect Brutus. ALB. (Outside.) All right, my venerable. Don’t say die. Ges. Go it my pippin! TELL, Albert, mind your eye! [He shoots. A shout of triumph. TELL falls into some- body’s arms—it is immaterial whose. GES. ALB. GES. ALB. TELL. GES. WILLIAM TELL. 37 He’s sent a hole through it. Come, that’s a bore! (Running in with the apple, the arrow sticking in tt.) He’s pierced the rosy apple to the core. Rosy! young upstart. Come, that’s like your cheek. Well, for your life you ’ve had an arrow squeak. (Aside.) They ’ll doubtless claim our promise to be hooking. We can’t be off it well. (Aszde:) There’s no one looking. [ Commences eating the apple. I’ve paid my shot, so p’raps youll let me go. But there’s an old score not yet clear’d, you know. Say, if you’d missed it, what would you have done ? TELL. I should have punched you, had I drill’d my son. WILLIAM TELL. Ges. Treason again! Off with the traitor bold. Give him a few bars rest in prison Mic. (Suddenly entering from somewhere) Hold! [ Everybody expresses astonishment. SONG (Mrcnazr). Come arouse ye Arouse ye, My merry Swiss boys. Bring your staves and belabour away ! [Enter unlimited numbers of merry Swiss boys from every - where. They attack the Austrians, and vanquish them tn something considerably less than a quarter of a 39 WILLIAM TELL. minute. TELL puts his foot on GESLER’S neck, MICHAEL By this unexpected serves A 21 in a similar manner. Coup d’ Etat the drama and the CivIL WaR in Swit- zerland is concluded. TABLEAU. Curtain. Blue Fire. fur — Ss — fy ae bast III.—ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE; OR, THE WANDERING MINSTREL. A CLASSIC DRAMA. [Fxxtine himself on Classic ground, the author has considered it his duty, in the present instance, to adhere strictly to the principles of Dramatic composition as enforced by Aristotle, but neglected by Fitzball and Shakspeare. The Unities of Time, Place, and Action, he has observed scrupulously, (that is to say, as far as lay in his power, for he confesses himself in doubt as to what the Unity of Time really is, unless the circumstance of a Drama “ going like one o’clock’”’ may be considered an illustration of it.) He has also preserved the Chorus—at the end of several of his parodies. With regard to the presence or absence of classic erudition displayed in his work, he can only say that whatever objections may be raised to the pathetic passages, the most invidious caviller will not deny that an intimate acquaintance with the ancients— even to the remotest period of antiquity—is evident in the jocular portions of it. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 41 Se Dramatis Persone. Pruto, Monarch of — PROsERPINE, the partner of his Fireside. Cuaron, an Ancient Mariner. The original Jolly Young Waterman. CERBERUS, @ watchman—the Dog-berry of Heathen Mythology—a Policeman of the K 9 (canine) Division. OrPHEvs, the wandering minstrel, Evurypice, the young woman who led him astray. The Curtain rises on a fireside group, in a locality which will soon be obvious, but which there ts no occasion to mention by name. PROSERPINE, setting the tea things. Puuto, toasting a muffin on the prongs of his fork. CERBERUS asleep on the hearth-rug.* - _— “all Don rm Ime aa} NY * The necessary ‘‘ make-up” of this gentleman may at first dishearten amateur mana- gers, let them be never so enterprising, by its apparent impracticability. It can, how- ever, be easily accomplished. Papier Maché casts of countenance, of a decidedly canine 42 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. Puiu. My dear, just ring for coals, it’s dreadful weather, Make up the fire, and let’s be snug together. [He proceeds to butter the muffin, which CERBERUS smells. PLUTO raps him smartly on one of his noses. Lie down! his hunger does n’t seem to stop; Has n’t the dog’s-meat man brought round his sop ? A precious night—upon the Stygian dyke For Charon’s boat ; ’t will founder—wherry like! The roads in such a state, too—all want paving, Remind me, dear, (we must n’t be too saving, And cures are more expensive than preventions)— To order in a load of Good Intentions. [A knock. CERBERUS growls. Lie down, you whelp. My dear, he’s such a snarler, I wonder you allow him in the parlour. See who it is. Pros. (going to door.) It’s CHARON! aspect, may be purchased at any toy shop; and as even two heads are better than one, the effect of a head-dress composed of three, may be imagined. With a little attention to the appropriate action, this character, in the hands of any very young gentleman of active habits, may be made a very funny dog indeed. Pv. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 43 Ask him in. [ Enter CHARON 1n a pilot coat and glazed hat. Pros. Why, I declare he’s dripping to the skin. CHA. PLv. CHA. PLU. CHA. PLv. CHA. PLv. A fare, sir. Male or female ? Gal! Admit her. (Calling outside.) Now then, ma’am. [ Enter EuRYDICE, carrying a bandbox, umbrella, and pattens, Brother Jove! a splendid critter. Hanythink more, sir ? No, you may retire. Mix him a glass, my love, of liquid fire. [ Exit CHARON. Eur. This is the place, then! Well, upon my word PLU. Don’t mention it—it’s name is never heard. 44 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. But may I ask the name of the divinity Who with her presence honours this vicinity ? Evr. Why, though I hate impertinent inquisitors, It’s only right that folks should know their visitors. SONG (Evrypice). (Ain—Jenny Jones.) My name’s Eury-di-ce, excuse the penultimate, Made long, as the music and metre entails. My father and mother pronounce it Eur-y-dice, Good truth, that’s the way, but the prosody fails. And indeed o’er all rules, both of grammar and poetry, Those of sweet music I prize far above, For, indeed, in my heart, I do love that accomplishment, And Orpheus, my husband and master, I love. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. I started from earth and the vale of my fathers, As Fate had decreed o’er the Styx I should pass ; But I don’t care two pins for my present predicament, And I shan’t even say “ Woe is me,” or “ Alas!” For my husband has vowed to release and restore me, To my home, and what’s more, to my music, above ! For indeed, in my heart I do love that accomplishment, And Orpheus, my husband and master, I love. Pru, Take you away from here! toearth? Get out! Eur. I mean to—— PLU. Bother ! Eur. You—beyond a doubt ; And that ere long— Pui. Stuff! Once within our wickets, You come to stop. We don’t give pass out tickets. 46 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. SONG (Puivto). (Atr.—It’s no use knockin’ at de door.) You have just come from town, and it’s very plain to me, You’re wholly unacquainted with the sort of thing you’ll see. You may read, above our gate, inscribed in letters clear, “ Of getting out, all hope abandon, ye who enter here.” And it’s no use knocking at the door any more, It’s no use knocking at the door. CHORUS, And it’s no use knockin’, &c. Eur. We'll see. PLU. Oh yes, we’ll see—but, as you ’re come, I think you’d better make yourself at home. So, ere your spouse our bell and knocker wrings off, . Step up with Mrs. P., and take your things off. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 47 CONCERTED. (Arr.—Goin’ ober de mountain.) Eur. I'll be off, you'll very soon see; Puiu. Make haste down and have some tea. Eur. Soon to hear him say, in accents bold— Puiu. Well, if you prefer your muffins cold— Eur. “Re raw! my true love, Oh come along my darling !” (Zo Pluto) Much distress'd to leave you, But don’t let my parting grieve you. PLU. (derisively) Yah! yah! yah! yah! yah! Yah! yah! yah! yah! you! Eur. “Oh, come along from this low place, I’m going over the mountains.” CHORUS. Yah! yah! &c. 48 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. [ Hxit EURYDICE, escorted by PROSERPINE, carrying a bed- room candlestick, Pivu. What an idea! unheard of, I must say! Get out of here, indeed; I wish she may. Yet I must take precautions with the slut, She seems so sharp; who knows but she might cut. With bolts and bars I’ll make her fast—but steady. Hang it! the jade seems fast enough already ; And with her tongue’s incipient noise and chatter, To shut her up, appears no easy matter. Yet I must try ; with heavy chains and thick locks, That shall defy e’en transatlantic picklocks. [A street organ* is heard outside, playing “ Jeannette and Jeannot.” PLUTO starts, with an agonized expression of countenance. CERBERUS growls. * For the further assurance of despondent amateurs—these instruments of torture may be hired for the night at a very moderate charge. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 49 What’s that? Good heavens! [ The tune is continued with increased violence. Help! Be quiet! Mercy! (Holding his ears.) He does n’t seem inclined to— Vice versy. Oh dear! (Runs to window.) Be off! Orp. (Outside.) I shan’t. PLU. Leave off! ORP. I won’t. [The tune increases in loudness; the agony of PLUTO in intensity. Priv. What’s to be done? it’s getting louder. (With a yell of anguish.) Don’t! 50 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. Our peace of mind for ever ’t will destroy. Hie Cerberus! Good doggy! At him, boy. [ ‘Ze opens the door, urging CERBERUS to the attack in the usual manner. ORPHEUS enters, partly dressed as an Italian boy, playing an organ. CERBERUS rushes at him growling, but is met boldly by ORPHEUS, who plays the organ full in his face. Unable to stand the inflic- tion, CERBERUS runs away, yelping. M 1) ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 51 Puiu. I say, move on—or I shall make you. OrpP. Shall you? Of peace and quietness I know the value. Piu. (Offering him a sixpence,) Take this and go about your bus’ness, ORP. | Stuff! Piu. Well, here’s another— ORP. Pshaw ! not half enough. Piu. I offer’d you a shilling. Orp. Yes—you did I see ; But I, Sir, don’t move on—under Eurydice. Pru. Who art thou slave, whose noise our aching sconce hurts ? Orp. Professor Orpheus—from the Ancient Concerts. | E2 52 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE, SONG. (OrPHEUS, accompanying himself on the organ.) Arr.— Marble Halls. * THE minstrel boy, to Old Scratch, has gone For his wife in hopes to find her, The monster organ he has girded on, Of a wild Italian grinder. Sound of woe! said the wand’ring bard, As all the world so fears thee, E’en Pluto’s self—clean off his guard Will be thrown, when e’er he hears thee. *The author has taken care to select two airs, which may be found arranged on almost any organ. PLv. ORP. PLU. ORP. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 53 [He follows PLUTO round the stage, playing and singing to the symphony ; PLUTO holding his ears, I say, let’s come to terms. My wife! You ask too much; but pray desist— I can’t— T shan’t. ORP. Pv. ORpP. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. SECOND VERSE. The minstrel swell—and in language plain, Declares, if kept asunder From the spouse he loves, he wont refrain ; For he cannot move on under The terms just named, which you must allow— To sink all lies and knavery— Are cheap as dirt—to suppress this row, To submit to which is slavery. Give me my wife, or else your life you’ll find Like Mantilini’s—“ One demnition grind.” Never ! Then I resume my dulcet strain, For I can turn—and turn—and turn again. [Zurniny the handle. Ca LT ES WW WN SS i : e s ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. T’ll play a waltz— PLU. Oh, heavens! mind your stops; I hate all dances, though the son of Ops. [ORPHEUS plays. Monstrum horrendum—cease thy painful twingings — Direst machine of all informe ingens ! Behold me kneeling by your side—who would n’t Kneel e’en by Jupiter’s. By Jove! I could n't. See, I turn suppliant—I—Ammon’s brother ! Ore. For that good turn—I’ll treat you with another. | Grinds. PLu. Hold! I give in—'tis useless to rebel. Orr. It must be so. Pluto, thou reason’st well. PLv. ORP. Puv. ORP. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. I'll give you up your wife—mine, too—if wanted, Rather than be by such a nuisance haunted. Though of concession it’s a fearful stretcher— Look sharp, or else—— [ Threatens to play. “That strain again!” 1°11 fetch her. [Exit precipitately. Come! for subduing wrong, oppression, crimes, I wield an organ—pow’rful as the Times, ‘Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, And soften ”—everybody knows the rest. I question, if the rudest Goth or Vandal, Could well resist my overtures by Handle. Pluto! (calling) I can’t stand here all night, you know, Settle my little claim, and let me go, ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. Or you shall hear from me without delay— PLu. (Running in.) None of your airs, old fellow—drop it, pray. Orp. My wite, then— PLv. Here she comes. Enter EvRYDICE. Orp. My lost Eurydice! EvR. My minstrel boy! Orp. Pack up your things! PLU. Oh, yes—by all means pack! Eur. And have you really come to take me back ? Orp. (Zo PiuTo.) She need n’t stop? PLv. Not e’en to tea or sup; She ’s quite a riddle—so I give her up. 57 58 ORPUEUS AND EURYDICE. Be off about your bus’ness—I entreat, And pray remove it to some other street. Orp. But we must have safe conduct— PLv. Baneful stranger! It’s conduct such as yours in which there’s danger. OrP. (Threatening the organ.) At once decide— PLU. For forms I’m no great stickler - I hate all rows, and that sort in partic’lar. Charon! Enter CHARON. | it MUTT uae Hn a CHA. Your honour ? Piv. (Pointing out Orv. and Eur.) Fares for earth—the trouble T’ll pay you for— CHA. Back fares is always double. PLU. ORP. PLU. ORP. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 59 All right— Come dearest, since it seems we’re free— Stop—won’t you say good night to Mrs. P. ? N’importe—You’ve got your wife back, and I’m glad on ’t. (Aside) Some day I hope and trust he “Il wish he had n’t. (To audience.) The pow’r of Music—as I think we’ve shown All I require—is, for its length—you ’ll own That never was a story of more glee Than this of Orpheus and Eurydice. SKATES AND LIFE: A MORAL DITTY. THE frost was hard, the sky was clear, The ground like iron plates ; I got my tin on Saturday, And bought a pair of skates. I bought a pair of patent skates, The Art of Skating too; Which took a pretty tidy lump From off my weekly screw. SKATES AND LIFE. 61 I took them home, and in my boots I drill’d a pair of holes; And tried the little spikes upon My Gutta Percha soles. Into my nobby walking stick, I stuck an iron nail, And practised walking with a chair, By holding on the rail. 62 SKATES AND LIFE. I sat up late to read the Art, It wasn’t very long ; And when I’d learnt it off, I vow’d Next morn to ccme out strong. I went to bed, but told them first To call me up at six; ; I dreamt all night of flying round Upon the ice like bricks. I dreamt of joining in quadrilles, Of cutting Figure Eight— I dreamt I cut all others out, I went at such a rate. But when I came to Figure Eight A knock came at my door; SKATES AND LIFE. 63 [ found that Figure Six was come, And I must sleep no more. I started up and donned my clothes, I comb’d, ‘atid | brush’d my hair; I did n’t stop to shave myself, But bolted down the stair. I bolted down my breakfast, next— The coffee burnt my throat— 64 SKATES AND LIFE. I didn’t mind—I took my hat, And button’d on my coat. I seized my skates—unlock’d the door— Undid the heavy chain— Drew back the bolt—and found myself— Where ?—Standing in the rain! The frost was done—and so was I— The air no more was raw ; But all around was damp, and slush, And mist, and fog, and thaw. The milkman paddled through the streets, A sack was o’er his head! I wish’d I had n’t bought my skates, And went up stairs to bed. SKATES AND LIFE, MORAL. How often in this troubled’ world Of sorrow and of sin, Short-sighted Man will buy his skates Just as the thaw sets in! HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN: 4. TALE OF MANAGERIAL SORROWS. (From an ExizaneTHan CHRONICLE RECENTLY DISCOVERED. ) CHAPTER I. The utmost consternation reigned in the Globe Theatre.* The company was assembled, and the stage cleared for morning rehearsal. Business, however, was at a standstill. The stage-keeper * Nore (for the preservation of order in the Shakspeare Society).—The writer of the following narration is fully aware that Hamlet is supposed to have been originally pro- duced at the Blackfriars Theatre, instead of at the Globe, as represented in the text. He doesn’t care. As it suits his purpose to make it the Globe—and as any objections to his historical accuracy can only be founded on the merest supposition—he takes upon him- self the responsibility of saying,—“ suppose it wasn’t,” HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 67 clutched his MS., and nibbled his pen in silence. The players, in groups of three and four, discoursed in subdued but troubled tones. Care was depicted on every countenance. “Beshrew me!” said a shabby, middle-aged individual, whose sepulchral voice and overhanging brow at once proclaimed him the “heavy man” of the establishment; “but if the tragedy come not out, it is in truth all Dickon with the management; seeing that there is naught else can be put up, at so short a notice. And where be our salaries then ?” “Where, indeed ?” sighed the person he addressed —Wynkyn, the popular clown, or low comedian of the period—“ seeing that since the drama’s decline the provinces are as very naught.” The drama was declining then. It always has been, and always will be. “ Naught!” said the heavy man, bitterly —“ Worse than naught. You’d scarce credit it, but an I played not Ferrer and Porrex, down at Oxford last week, to an audience of one and tenpence, may I never quaff sack more !” Master Wynkyn coughed slightly, and trod on the toe of the first old man, who formed one of the group, and who coughed also. The insult was not lost upon the tragedian, who was prompt to retaliate. “ But, in truth, it must needs be all up with legitimate acting, in a time when managers insist that particular actors shall be written F2 68 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. for; and authors be fain to disfigure their works with antic buf- foonery.” This was a direct blow aimed at Master Wynkyn; and it not only hit, but hurt him. The existence of that comedian—though rendered agreeable by such blessings as a considerable share of the public favour and an enormous weekly salary —was nevertheless embittered by a besetting grievance: the High Art critics of the day were always at him for being a buffoon. They disapproved of the extravagances of his costume—of the enormous paper-ruffs and pre- posterous rosettes with which he was in the habit of decorating him- self. They disliked his practice of substituting his own words for those of the author, and addressing facetious remarks and friendly winks to gentlemen in the shilling places. Nor could they be found to tolerate the frequent introduction of long comic scenes, and even occasional comic songs, in tragic situations, for the purpose of ex- hibiting his peculiarities. On these, and similar grounds, they never lost an opportunity of pitching into him; and he didn’t like it. In vain he pretended not to care what they said: the effect of their con- stant attacks on his sensitive nature was too apparent. The hated word “buffoon,” their favourite weapon, was one which, even in the hands of the least skilful, could always be relied on for making him wince. He did so on the present occasion. “An you mean me, Master Daggerwood,” he said, wrathfully, ‘“‘T rede you had better say so.” HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 69 The tragedian muttered that he named no names, but that who the cap fitted might e’en go don it; when the angry debate was suddenly interrupted. A young gentleman, clad in the height of the fashion (though the glaring yellow satin lining of his cloak, and somewhat “loud” em- broidery of his trunks, would scarcely have found favour in the eyes of the grave and decorous leaders of ton in those days), entered the theatre with the easy confidence of an habitué of the covilisses. The new-comer was Robert, Earl of Essex, a patron of the legiti- mate drama, and a capital man to know on benefit nights! “How now, Mad Wags!” exclaimed his lordship, slapping Dag- gerwood on the back, and poking the low comedian playfully in the ribs, with his sheathed Toledo; “ goes the work bravely? Come we out with strength on the opening night? Look we for store of broad gold pieces in the house, or will there be need of much paper ?” A general groan, supported by the whole strength of the com- pany (assisted by a talented and numerous corps of supernumeraries), was the only reply. “Eh ?” said the Earl, with some surprise. “ What’s the matter ?” Her Majesty’s servants groaned again. “ Speak some of you. What’s it all about? As Mad Will hath it, ‘Whence got ye that goose look ?” His lordship had hit upon the right key for opening the locked jaws of the present company. 70 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. “Mad Will!” exclaimed the heavy man, in his heaviest tones. ‘“‘ May the foul fiend seize him !” “ May he endure thirst for a whole hour!” said another. “May his wife live twenty years!” said the low comedian. (Wynkyn was a bitter man when roused.) “ A scurvy Jack!” said one. “A pestilent knave !” said another. “ An I have it not in my heart to cudgel him, call me sot!” said the “leading lady” of the establishment, an athletic youth of seven- teen. “Why, what’s he been after now?” inquired the Earl, and the waggish young nobleman added, with a knowing look, “ Surely they be not adi bad parts in his new tragedy ?” “ Itisn’t that, your excellency,” said Master Daggerwood; “though as to my part, as it now stands, I must say, of all the rubbish——. But no matter.” “Then, what is it ?” “The tragedy isn’t finished.” “How much have you got ?” “The first four acts.” “Um! And when do you open?” “Thursday, it is purposed ; but I wish they may get it.” “ But there be two days yet; and Will hath a ready pen.” Master Daggerwood indulged in a sepulchral monosyllabic laugh, HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 71 which he was accustomed to make tell with great effect in old Mar- lowe’s demon pieces, and, approaching his mouth to the Earl of Essex’s ear, hissed out the following words :— «‘ MASTER BURBAGE HATH GIVEN WILL THE MONEY IN ADVANCE.” And considering no further explanation necessary, he strode off in gloomy silence. The Earl of Essex shrugged up his shoulders, and gave a pro- longed whistle. ‘«¢ Where is the governor ?” he inquired of a bystander. ‘“‘Closeted with Ben.” “T’ll to him straight.” 72 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. CHAPTER II. MasTER Burbage, the manager, was pacing up and down his room in a frightful state of agitation. Heaps of applications for free admissions, and places on the stage, lay unopened on the table. A substantial luncheon, sent in from the neighbouring hostelry, was untouched. There was a quart flagon on the same tray —but that was empty. A tall bulky individual, with a red face, and clutching a manuscript almost as bulky as himself, had been talking to him incessantly for half an hour. But he might as well have talked to the wall—the manager’s thoughts were far away. Master Ben J onson, however, was not a man to get easily tired of talking —especially when the subject of discourse was himself—as was the case on this, and indeed most occasions, when Master Ben opened his mouth. HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 73 “ But, I tell you, I hold in my hand a piece that will save the theatre, an you would but read it. Why not put it up at once, and let Will, and his vulgar and unlearned trash go hang!” Master Ben had said that so often within the last five minutes, that the manager was fain, at last, to pay some attention to it. He stopped in his distracted walk, and said peevishly :— “T tell thee, Master Jonson, it may not be. There has been a large let on the strength of Will’s tragedy ; and, if aught else be put up, there will be Satan to pay. The young bloods would tear the benches up; and we should have rare showering of apple-johns and empty sack pottles on to the scene. And, in sober truth, thy last comedy drew not two pence; bit was decided—even by thine own friends—to need judicious application of the pruning-knife. No more, I prithee !” Master Ben rolled up his MS. in a huff, and was about to quit the apartment, when the Earl of Essex entered it. “ How now, lads?” said the peer, after a hurried greeting. “These be gloomy tidings. What’s to be done ?” “T was, even now, pointing out to Master Burbage the means of saving the theatre, and making his fortune,” said Ben, with dignity ; * but he would not have it; and so——” “ Ah, Master Ben! these be not times for men of art and learning,”’ said the good-natured nobleman, winking at the manager. “ Will, and such like knaves, have so dosed the public with strong dishes — 74 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. murders, fights, processions, and the like—that they have little stomach left for delicacies. But what 7s to be done, Burbage ?” The manager moaned. “Oh, come! none of that; pluck up a spirit,” said the Earl, What’s the piece like P—I mean what you’ve got of it.” “Why, the thing is an odd conceit enough,” replied the manager; “but of no great merit. There is a quaint part of a mad prince— nothing in itself, but of which I might make something—if” (and Master Burbage moaned again) “the scurvy knave would but send us the finish.” “ Hath he been sought after?” inquired the Earl, after a pause. “ High and low.” “ And he can’t be found ?” “ Not a sign of him.” “ Have you tried his own house ?” “ Even there—as a last resource.” “ And what said they ?” “ His ill-favoured wife— Mistress Hathaway that was—said it was of little use seeking him there, till his money was spent.” “ Of a verity, a thriftless knave!” muttered the Earl of Essex; and then, after a few moments’ reflection, he asked— “ Could n’t Ben finish it ?” Ben thought he could—certainly. The manager, with equal con- fidence, thought he could n’t. HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 75 “It is my belief,” said Burbage, “that the reason he came for his money as soon as he had done the first four acts, was that he didn’t know how to finish it himself. He hath gotten his people into such a coil, as would defy the devil to get them out of it. Truly, I was distraught to pay him !” “It will be a lesson for you in future,” said the Earl. “Tt will!” said the manager, with deep feeling. The Earl of Essex appeared lost in meditation. At length his countenance assumed an air of decision. He grasped the manager’s hand, and said, with fervour— “ Burbage, I’ll save you yet! Give me the manuscript.” Burbage looked frightened. He feared that his illustrious patron was going to offer his own literary services; and his faith in noble amateurs was not great. He falteringly asked him what he pro- posed. “To find Will,” was the reply. ‘And if he be alive, and within twenty miles, I pledge you my knightly word he shall finish the piece before sunrise—though I ransack every pot-house round Paul’s, and force him to write with my sword at his throat.” “My noble friend!” exclaimed the delighted manager, at once relieved of his fears, and inspired with a ray of hope—* how shall I ever repay you ?” . And he thrust the MS. eagerly into the Earl’s hand. “Not a word!” said Essex, impatiently: “it shall be done. 76 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. Farewell. - Ben—we’ll burn a cup of sack together, when we next meet.” In a few seconds the high-spirited young nobleman was seen gallopping past the window. “A rare ado!” muttered Ben, contemptuously ; “and all about a scurvy unlearned Jack, who knows not Omega from an ox-hoof.” CHAPTER III. “Will,” said the Earl of Essex, “get up!” “Go hang!” was the only reply. “ He’s stone drunk!” said the Earl. “ Marry, that is he, your worship,” said a third speaker—a woman, “and hath been these three days. Truly it is a pity to see him—a HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 77 man of parts, as they tell me he is. But ours isa house of public entertainment, and we couldn’t refuse him liquor while his money lasted. But they tell me it is the fault of all his calling.” “ A thriftless lot!” muttered the Earl. “ When did he come here ?” “Saturday night; anda rare coil we have had with him in the house, with his treatings and vagaries.” “ And a rare coil have I had to find him,” said Essex: “ twelve hours have I been horsed, seeking him high and low; and now, to find him in Wapping, of all places in the world—and thus! But I must have him up somehow. Will! if you don’t get up, I’ll shake the life out of you.” And he proceeded asif to put his threat in execution. The only sign of life, however, to be shaken out of Will, was a feeble mutter- ing with reference to sack. ‘Fetch a bucket of water,” said the Earl. “Anon, your worship;” said the hostess; “but hadn’t we better have him lifted on to the bench, or put something between his head and the stones ?” ‘* No! leave him there to cool. Be off!’ The landlady left the room. «A nice condition he’ll be in for work, if I do succeed in waking him!” soliloquized the Earl. “But I’m determined to keep my word. Oh, here’s the water. Throw it over him.” “ All? ” inquired the hostess. 78 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. “ No—half to begin with.” The head of the prostrate dramatist was immediately deluged with a plentiful cold bath. It was not without its effect. He raised his head feebly, and looked round with a stupid stare. ‘“What’s all this—where am I?” he asked, in a faltering voice. “Where! where but in the best parlour of the Pipe and Tabor ; and a nice mess you’ve made it in, with your broken glass and filthy tobacco. But see, here’s a gentleman—a gentleman from Court, Master Will.” | Will raised himself on his elbow, and with some difficulty brought the focus of his bloodshot eyes to bear upon his visitor. “Eh, Essex—is that you? How are you?” * You’re a nice fellow!” said the Earl. “Yes, I know—I’m so ill!” “ Serve you right!” “T suppose it does,” said Will humbly. “I’ve been very drunk— what time is it?” “Time your tragedy was finished.” “Tragedy!” said Will, vacantly. “What tragedy?” “That which should come out to-morrow; it’s now Wednesday— and the fifth act not finished.” “You don’t mean to say that!” said Will, overwhelmed with re- morse. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! What is to be done?” HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. 79 “To the best you can. Come get up—there’sa good fellow. That’s right—you'll stand well enough in a minute or two. Now, just dip your head in the water again, and then sit down, and try and finish it somehow. Burbage is ina deuce of astate. See, I’ve brought the manuscript.” And he spread it temptingly on the table, and led the complying dramatist to a chair, putting a pen in his hand. | Will gazed helplessly at the paper, and pressed his burning’ forehead. “That’s right!” said Essex. “Just look it over, and you’ll soon remember all about it; and will hit upon some way of getting rid of the characters. Let ’em all fight, and kill each other—Why, Will !— situp. He’s asleep again!” So he was—with his head on the manuscript. “There, this wont do! Will! you’re enough to drive a saint mad!” And the Earl administered several hard thumps and pinches to the somnolent bard. “ Don’t—there’s a good fellow,” said Will, indistinctly. “ You can’t think what a state I’m in.” “Yes, I can, anda beastly state itis. But you shan’t go to sleep.” “Just half an hour?” said Will, imploringly. “No—I tell you.” “Ten minutes?” “Well, ten minutes—not a second more. Then we’ll have you up 80 HOW THE LAST ACT OF HAMLET WAS WRITTEN. and washed, and borrow a clean shirt for you, and I’ll read over the. play to you, and you shall——_ Eh ? Off again !” Will had n’t heard a word of the last speech. “T suppose I must leave him for half an hour,” said the Earl, humanely. Thanks to the unwearying exertions of the Earl of Essex, the tragedy did get finished, as that nobleman had proposed it should be—somehow ! and in sufficiently good time on the following day, to enable the actors to go on the stage with it. Of course they had to “read” their parts for the fifth act, but as an apology was made for the author, “who had been recently visited by a severe domestic calamity——” no particular disapprobation was expressed by the audience. Such were the circumstances under which the last act of Hamlet was written. At least, we know of no other way in which to ac- count for its extreme badness. It is reported of Master Burbage, that he never paid an author in advance again, as long as he lived. a (ae I pitt leu] : = A CHRISTMAS CROAK. By OUR OWN RAVEN. OH, rest you, merry gentlemen! Let nothing you dismay ; But be prepared to meet the woes That come with Christmas Day. - Look out! look out! your winter clothes, To face the season’s ills ; And muster cash and fortitude To meet your Christmas bills. And ’tis tidings of comfort and joy. 82 A CHRISTMAS CROAK. Bind up, bind up your walking shoes With list, or woollen rags ; In case of slides, by playful boys, Prepared upon the flags. And mind, a Respirator buy ; A good thick shawl also ; For, in the jolly Christmas time, The Asthma’s all the go. And ’tis tidings of comfort and joy. Pile up, pile up the Christmas log, Or scuttle full of coals ; To melt the stuff for sticking on Your Gutta Percha soles. A CHRISTMAS CROAK. &3 And place the antibilious pills Your dressing-table near, In case you ’ve been partaking of Substantial Christmas cheer. For ’t is tidings of comfort and joy. Then drain the draughts of gruel down, Although the throat be sore ; 84 A CHRISTMAS CROAK. And, spite of coughs and phthisics, quaff The mixture as before ! The nice, unwholesome Christmas breeze, In, now, has firmly set. And so, a jolly Christmas time I wish you all may get. And ’t is tidings of comfort and joy. A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS : SPECIMENS OF MODERN POETRY. GREAT diversity of opinion exists as to the present condition and prospects of English poetry. Many people maintain that the poetic spark is extinct in the land; or, in more homely phrase, that “that sort of thing has gone out altogether.” Others are of opinion, that so far from it being “all up” with poetry—the genuine article, if it could be ‘met with, would go down as well as ever it did. We ourselves are far from agreeing with old gentlemen who tell us “ We have no poets now-a-days” (though we quite approve of the advice with which the lament is generally followed up—namely, that “you should read Pope, sir”). It is a mistake to suppose that the present depressed state of the verse market is attributable to a deficiency of supply. There are plenty of manufacturers, who are constantly producing large quantities of stuff—of a more or less last- ing description. Nor can it be objected that we have no schools of Poetry. Several new ones have been founded in our own time—conducted upon prin- ciples of the strictest propriety—of which we entertain the highest 86 A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. opinions, and to which we should be very happy to send our sons, if they had a turn that way. The following are a few specimens of the principal “ Poet- teachers” employed on these not sufficiently appreciated establish- ments :— I.—A SPECIMEN OF THE PERPETUAL MOTION, OR SOCIAL PROGRESS, SCHOOL. Tus school which, from the unbounded benevolence professed by its disciples, might, not inaptly, be named the Charity School (an ap-- pellation which the occasional homely freedom, not to say “slang,” of its language, renders all the more appropriate), whatever its per- formances may be, is certainly promising. Indeed, when we consider the cheap rate of its publications, and the unheard-of amount of social and political happiness promised in them, it is astonishing how so much can be done for the money. A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. | 87 The objects of its members are not always the most distinct. But as they are constantly urging each other to “ Push along,” “ Keep moving,” “Clear the way,” &c., we presume they ate driving at some- thing. The wonder is, with their restless and locomotive principles, that they have not managed to “ get on,” ina literary sense, a little better_than they have done. KEEP IT UP, MY RUM’UNS. A SONG FOR THE MILLION. By C——-s M——y, Esa. (From “Mackay while the Sun Shines,” a collection of Summer Lyrics. ) I. Pusu along like one o’clock, Battle, fight, and strive, boys: Now then, stupid !—Who’s afraid ? Keep the game alive, boys. Might has triumph’d over Right, Longer than is proper—quite : Freedom’s trumpets sound to fight,— Trumpets far from dumb ’uns,— Bid Oppression take a sight ; KEEP IT UP, MY RUM’UNS! 88 . A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. CHORUS. Look alive! Push and drive ! List to Freedom’s summons. That’s your sort— So you ought; KEEP IT UP, MY RUM’UNS! II. That’s the ticket—strike a light! Whoop! and clear the way, boys; Put your shoulders to the wheel; That’s the time of day, boys! Drag from Wrong th’ Usurper’s crown ; Do him, straight, exceeding brown, Never mind the Despot’s frown, Though he show some glum ’uns; Hit him hard, and hold him down; KEEP IT UP, MY RUM’UNS! Look alive, &c. Til. See! the hated monster moves From his den, to fly out. A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. 89 Throw him over!—There he goes! With his hated eye out. Driven to the right-about, With his Ogre rabble rout— Envy, Crime, Mistrust, and Doubt— (Hungry fee-faw-fum ’uns !) Does his mother know he’s out? KEEP IT UP, MY RUM’UNS! Look alive, &c. Il—THE SUPERANNUATED KITCHEN UTENSIL SCHOOL. TuHE gifted authoress from whose works we are about to select, is the best representative of this admired school—of which, indeed, she is the founder. The poetic flame, which burns with such unquestionable ardour in 90 A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. this young lady’s bosom, may be said to have been originally lighted at the kitchen fire. She may be justly described as the Cinderella of poetry. While her sisters of the muse have been gadding about, taking the wildest flights, and courting admiration by the most extra- vagant ornaments, she has been content to confine her poetical exer- tions to the humblest sphere of domestic life; seeking no more eX- tended area than that through which she has been accustomed to take in the milk, and borrowing her images from the kitchen mantel-piece. The most trivial incidents, coming within the kitchen range of sentiment, are exalted by her genius to a level with the loftiest stories. The most dilapidated and worthless articles of household furniture and wearing apparel are rendered imperishable by her magic touch. Old Arm Chairs, Old Clocks, Old Straw Hats, Old Boots, Old Shoes, Old Rags, Bones, and Doctor’s Bottles—in her hands acquire a value far exceeding what they would fetch at those establish- ments where the “best price” is guaranteed for such articles. CAT’S MEAT, By E——a C——x. I. Car’s meat !—cat’s meat! Well I recollect this cry. Cat’s meat !—cat’s meat! Spite of years gone by. A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. 91 The batter’d scales—the little cart ; It’s creaking wheels, unused to grease ; The bits of meat on skewers held, Sold at a halfpenny a piece. I see them now !—In mem’ry’s ear Hear, jolting on, the tiny van; And catch his well-remembered tones! Friend of my youth—the Cat’s Meat Man! II. Cat’s meat !—cat’s meat! And the square and houses round— Cat’s meat !—cat’s meat! Echo back'the sound : And Pussy, with her arching back, And Tiny, Kiddlums, Trot, and Tit, Around me press, with eager mews, Expectant of the juicy bit. And to the parlour straight I run, Or seem to run, as erst I ran, To fetch the halfpenny, well earned By the true-hearted Cat’s Meat Man Il. Cat’s meat !—cat’s meat! *T was a spell in times gone by: 92 A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. Cat’s meat!—cat’s meat! Now, it makes me sigh. All, all! are gone—Puss—Tiny—Trot— Poor Tit they sent away, long miles! And Kiddlums perish’d in a brawl— They found his body on the tiles. With childhood’s days have pass’d away The batter’d scales—the jolting van! But still I’m quite resolved on this— I won't forget the Cats’ Meat Man. III.—_THE ETHIOPIAN SCHOOL. Tue following school is not quite as popular as it was a few years ago, when its introduction ereated a perfect furor. It is, however, A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. 93 considerably relished still in certain quarters ; and its merits are too striking to allow of its total extinction. Its chief excellencies are purity of expression, and unswerving consistency of narrative. OLD GINGER CROW. (AvTHOR’s NAME UNKNOWN. ) OLD Ginger Crow, Him come from Alabama ; Old Ginger Crow, Him downy as a hammer. Racoon’s tail am berry long, Monkey’s nose am blue ; Oh! Missy Dinah— y Chickabiddy Coo! CHORUS. Walk Ginger Crow, Jenny, Oh my! Old Johnny Walker, Hit him in the eye. : Dinah’s legs am like de mop; Her feet am like de shovel ; All her lily picaninnies, Ugly as de debble. 94 A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. Oh! if I was in Old Kentuck, As sure as eggs am eggs; I’d punch dat sarsy nigger Sam, And pull him by de legs. Walk Ginger Crow, &c. Old Ginger Crow was taken ill— It wasn’t long ago— Dem say it was de toothache Attack him in de toe. And now de poor old boy am dead, And in him grave am laying ; And so de niggers can’t insult him, Any more, by saying— Walk Ginger Crow, Jenny, Oh my! Old Johnny Walker, Hit him in de eye! PRPADRIYYWOO* Our concluding specimen is of a school whose peculiarities baffle all attempts at definition, and whose representation is confined at present to its founder—who is himself confined at present (and likely to be for some time) in the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum. A POT OF PRESERVES FROM MOUNT PARNASSUS. 95 No one can deny that its general adoption would mark a new era in the history of our literature. SONG. ’T 1s sweet to roam when morning’s light Resounds across the deep ; And the erystal song of the woodbine bright Hushes the rocks to sleep. When the midnight sky has a sanguine dye, Of a pale and inky hue ; And the wolf rings out, with a glittering shout, To-whit! to-whit! to-whoo! When the pearly wing of the wintry trees Dashes along the glen ; And the laughing tint of the moss-grown cliff Haunts the ethereal fen. When, at burning noon, the bloodshot moon Is bathed in crumbling dew; And the wolf rings out, with a glittering shout, To-whit! to-whit! to-whoo! POPULAR NOTIONS OF POPULAR PERFORMERS. DERIVED FROM SEEING THEM IN PUBLIC. were ee MR. FRANK MATTHEWS. Tt HAT he wears gaiters habitually, and a pigtail. That his family chiefly consists of marriageable danghters—to whom be behaves with unpardonable barbarity, in- sisting upon their marrying disagreeable old bachelors, and locking them up because they won't. That he is very weak-minded ; => = and may be duped by the most shallow <= artifices. That he will suffer himself to be persuaded that a young gentleman in moustaches and lavender kids, found lurking about his premises, is the pot-boy ; and will believe that the boots of @ concealed lover, peeping out from under the window curtains, are his own, left there by 2 careless domestic— forgetting to inquire to whom the trousers and spurs attached to them belong. That he is in the habit of submitting to the most scurrilous abuse from his own waiting-maid, contenting himself, in return, with playfully aiming timid thrusts at her waist with his POPULAR NOTIONS OF POPULAR PERFORMERS. 97 . walking-stick, and calling her “jade.” That he gives away large sums of money (which he carries about him in several purses). That he is very capricious ; inasmuch as he will sometimes persist doggedly for weeks in the most inhuman course of domestic tyranny, making everybody wretched around him ; and then suddenly, and from no particular conviction, change his mind, and give his consent to anything, and his blessing to anybody. PALL III IY MR. WRIGHT. HAT his ordinary costume is a white hat, T very large in the crown, and very narrow in the brim (which is turned up with green); @ crimson neck-tie; and a snuff- coloured coat, with bright buttons, and a very short tail. That, on being introduced to you, he would ask impertinent questions as to the price of your wearing apparel, the health of your mother, &c. He is not considered at all a safe man to invite to your house, being addicted to sitting on bonnets, and pouring tea-kettles over the legs of any elderly gentlemen who may happen to be in company. He has, moreover, @ knack of concealing himself, on H 98 POPULAR NOTIONS OF POPULAR PERFORMERS. frivolous pretexts, in china pantries invariably, where he always breaks everything. Mothers are particularly cautioned against trust- ing their babies to his care. He is addicted to conceal those precious charges behind heavy articles of furniture, which he always upsets on them. PLL SISSIES MR. 0. SMITH. HERE is something so terrible about the prestige attached to this gentle- man’s name, that few are hardy enough even to speculate as to his probable mode of existence. The general im- pression is, that he lives in the neigh- bourhood of Saffron Hill, where he has a private still in his back kitchen, and a coiners’ cave underground. That when he goes home at night, he lets himself in, as a matter of taste, with a crow-bar instead of a latch-key ; and prefers smoking his pipe by the light of a dark lantern. That he was, somehow or other, implicated in the burning of the Houses of Parliament ; building the principal parricade at the Revolution of June; blowing up the Cricket steamer; and murdering Eliza Grimwood. POPULAR NOTIONS OF POPULAR PERFORMERS. 99 MR. JAMES BLAND. HAT he lives either on Eel Pie Island or Twickenham Ait, holding absolute and unlimited authority over one of those territories. That Mr. Caulfield is his confidential secretary, and Mr. Clark his major-domo; and that he is an object of terror to both these gentle- man, who quake and tremble in the most ludicrous manner whenever he opens his mouth. That he is summoned to dinner by a flourish of trumpets, the meal being served up by a troop of domestics, marching in to a popular melody, and marshalled by Mr. Clark, carrying a white wand. wryyyyyev eee LONDON : HENRY VIZETELLY, PRINTER AND ENGRAVER, GOUGH SQUARE, FILEET STREET, t ‘a Ae Be Svs Mare Creer de Na id abe aA Pa idee we feb Ri PALE tags Meters aad ’. nal} Pe fa i pate a etapa tes t i : $ t Pet tie é sieae ft hg seitt Fi 7 + ; apes | are oie Pe Pesaran Ohta Eerie i ee fea eh ls Bee it Lbbanreea) abo p ieee: Sette Pe ee en a ea Bes 7 Fert ; i ; 1 ; cert eco iarig EAS 7 mit eb 3S TER ry tae aD rR: aa aac tPghee Bebe tt es ee Leave as geet eras Hc pas Pog Fea 4 * EH foal ; : 2 ops ptt Fe i tet ip ia, coy % tt B ties Bag TS as Beek at ce oh oe