AN AFTERPART À LA L. C. C.
As the L. C. C. have taken in hand the morals of the music halls, and shown an inclination to supersede the Lord Chamberlain, it may be as well to publish a rough sketch of a specimen scene from the afterpart of a pantomime for the guidance of theatrical managers desirous of standing well with the successors to the members of the Metropolitan Board of Works. The "opening" would, of course, be written by "a serious bard with a mission." No doubt the story would be told in a manner most productive to the manufacture of prigs. The transformation over, Clown, Pantaloon, Harlequin and Columbine would be discovered in a group.
Clown (in the conventional tone). Here we are again!
Bumble (representing the L. C. C.). Scarcely. Allow me to point out that in future you will be entirely different.
Clown (as before). Come along, old'un; let's make a butter slide.
Bumble. You must permit me to interpose. The Council cannot recognise any practical joke of the kind. If you wish to have the same sort of fun, pull up the streets in the most frequented thoroughfares in the metropolis—the Strand and Fleet Street for choice.
Clown (as before). Oh, here's a baby! Let's smash it!
Bumble. Please accept my advice. The Council do not object to the keeping down of babies in the abstract. But personal violence is contrary to the law. If you really wish to decrease the surplus population, why not work it to death at a board-school? It may be a slower process than throwing it over a lamp-post, but the incident will be truer to life, and therefore more convincing.
Clown (as before). Oh! old 'un, here's a peeler coming!
Bumble. Pray be under no apprehension. Until the Police Force is placed under the direct control of the Council, the members will do their best to protect you. It stands to reason that a great community like London should have its own guardians under its own direct control.
Clown (as before). And now let's jump through this building.
Bumble. Again I must put my veto upon your proceedings. If you were to jump through that wall no doubt a placard would appear bearing the legend "Somersault Place." This might be apt, but no change in the nomenclature of the streets can be permitted without the direct sanction of Spring Gardens.
Clown (as before). And now let's pelt this house, and all who's in it!
Bumble. Stop, stop! You are attacking our own sacred building. (To Harlequin). Will you be so good as to change the locale. (Harlequin strikes building, which turns into the Mansion House.) Now you may do what you please. For the Corporation of the City of London is so effete that we have no sympathy for it!
[Scene of bustle and confusion, and curtain.
New Musical Work: Leading Strings.—If it isn't a title it ought to be for the biographies of celebrated violinists from Paganini to Joachim.