MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.
A natural anxiety that his pupils should be furnished with as complete a repertory as possible, has prompted Mr. Punch to command one of his spare Poets to knock off a little dramatic piece founded (at a respectful distance) upon a famous Transatlantic model. The spare Poet in question—all reluctant as he felt even to appear to be competing with the inimitable—had, as the minion of Punch the Peremptory, no option but to obey to the best of his powers. The special merit of the present production will be found in the care with which it has been watered down to suit the capacity of amateurs for whom the original would offer difficulties well-nigh insuperable. This poem is particularly recommended to diffident young ladies with a suppressed talent for recitation. Some on reading it may imagine that its rough but genuine pathos is scarcely adapted to feminine treatment—but wait until you hear some young lady recite it! Mr. Punch, for his part, is content to wait for almost any length of time. The Author calls it:—
Hasdrubal Jopp.
The Reciter is supposed to be in the Strand, facing the audience. As you come on, the idea is that you are suddenly attracted by an advertisement borne by the last of a string of Sandwich-men. You stop him, and begin as follows. By the way, as you are enacting an American, you will of course be careful to speak through your nose, whenever it occurs to you. Now then:—
H'yur, you! bossing them boards—Jess you fetch up a spell!
[Rough good-nature expressed by forefinger.
Don't go twitching your cords! (Impatiently.) Lemme look at ye well:
(Genial amusement.) Why, I'm derned ef ye don't look as skeered as a tortoise growed out of his shell!
What's the style of your show? This yer pictur looks gay:
Why, ye don't tell me so! (Homely gratification.) It's a Murrican play!
And you mosey along with the posters—wa'al, now, do ye find the job pay?
(With a kindly curiosity.) Say, what was it—drink? As has led to it....Stop!
Wa'al, on'y to think—Ef it isn't his shop!
This identical theater as hires ye. Hev ye heerd on him?—Hasdrubal Jopp!
So ye hev, I declar! Oh, it's likely the same,
Which I knew him out thar (indicate the United States by a vague jerk of your thumb). And I reckon it's Fame,
If a broken-down blizzard like you—(No offence!)—kin look so at his name!
(By the word "so" you should suggest a movement of pleased
surprise on the part of the Sandwich-man.)
Can't ye stay for awhile—Till I've opened my head?
So he's bin an' struck ile? Which the same's what I said—
Fur I see him in Fish outer Water, and sez I (sententiously), "A Tragedian bred!"
Yes, I allays allowed, As he must make a hit;
And not at all proud—No, Sir—all on him grit! (Affectionately.)
Jess you wait till he hears I'm around, and you mark the reception I git!
For us two were such chums As ye don't often find.
Lord! the way it all comes Scrouging in on my mind!—
(Abruptly.) This dern sun is that pesky an' strong, it's enough for to strike a man blind!
(Here you should convey the idea that this is a mere excuse for a not
unmanly emotion; this is generally done by wiping the eye surreptitiously
on the coat-sleeve.)
A freehandeder cuss Never stepped on a street.
Which he'd raise such a fuss, When we happened to meet—
I could see he'd be hurt in his feelins ef he warn't not allowed to stand treat!
So he's managed to climb To the top of the tree!
[Homely, unselfish satisfaction.
But I'll bet every time—Big a boss as he be—
He remembers his pardner in Frisco—Yes, he don't forgit little old Me!
[This proudly, but tenderly.
(Here the Sandwich-man is supposed to make some sort of assent.
You turn upon him savagely, with an irritation assumed to
conceal deep feeling.)
What on airth do you mean? By a' sayin' "You're sure
Of it." (With half recognition.) Seems like I've seen Those yer featurs afore!
[Hand to chin, dubiously.
A mistake? (Roughly.) Well then, you hold yer hosses, and don't interrup' me no more!
(The Sandwich-man here makes another attempt to escape; you put
out two detaining fingers.)
Come, you ain't going yet? (Heartily.) H'yur, you lem me run on!
Why, we've on'y jest met—And you want to be gone!
I must hev some critter, I tell ye, to practise chin-music upon!
No, theer don't seem a doubt—He is cock of the school;
And the stuffing's knocked out Of your Irving and Toole!
[Outburst of rapturous exultation.
Jest, to think o' Jopp busting up Barrett!—thar, call me a soft-hearted fool!
(Second emotional display; half turn, and use your handkerchief
with ostentation; the Sandwich-man is also affected, which you
observe with some surprise.)
Why, you air lookin' queer! Derned ef I kin see why!
Sho! you thought 'twas a tear As I've got in my eye?
[Rough shame at your own weakness.
No, I don't take no stock in hydraulics—it's on'y a dod-gasted fly!
[Resume with a proud anticipation.
He'll be chipper an' smart.—But, fur all he has riz,
He will open his heart And a bottle of fizz
Right away when he sees me! (Here you seem to detect a lurking doubt in the Sandwich-man's eye.) Hightoned, Sir? You'd better believe that he is!
I ain't feared o' no change: Jopp'll be jest as true!
[Stop abruptly, and stare glassily.
(In a husky whisper.) Blame my cats—but it's strange! (Take a step backwards.) What in thunder!... Jopp it's—YOU!!!
[With a shout.
(Crestfallen tone.) So ye're not on the boards, but between 'em! (Change to hasty and somewhat confused apology.) ... Ye'll excuse me—I've suthin' to do!
[Go off hurriedly, with air of a man recollecting an appointment.
It is hardly necessary to advise you that the effect you should aim at is the securing of your audience's sympathy for yourself—as the victim of such an unfortunate mistake—don't let them trouble themselves about the unseen Sandwich-man.