xiii.—THE MILITARY IMPERSONATOR.
To be a successful Military Impersonator, the principal requisite is a uniform, which may be purchased for a moderate sum, second-hand, in the neighbourhood of almost any barracks. Some slight acquaintance with the sword exercise and elementary drill is useful, though not absolutely essential. Furnished with these, together with a few commanding attitudes, and a song possessing a spirited, martial refrain, the Military Impersonator may be certain of an instant and striking success upon the Music-hall stage,—especially if he will condescend to avail himself of the ballad provided by Mr. Punch, as a vehicle for his peculiar talent. And—though we say it ourselves—it is a very nice ballad, to which Mr. McDougall himself would find it difficult to take exception. It is in three verses, too—the limit understood to be formally approved by the London County Council for such productions. It may be, indeed, that (save so far as the last verse illustrates the heroism of our troops in action—a heroism too real and too splendid to be rendered ridiculous, even by Military Impersonators), the song does not convey a particularly accurate notion of the manner and pursuits of an officer in the Guards. But then no Music-hall ditty can ever be accepted as a quite infallible authority upon any social type it may undertake to depict—with the single exception, perhaps, of the Common (or Howling) Cad. So that any lack of actuality here will be rather a merit than a blemish in the eyes of an indulgent audience. Having said so much, we will proceed to our ballad, which is called,—
IN THE GUARDS!
First Verse.
I'm a Guardsman, and my manner is perhaps a bit "haw-haw;"
But when you're in the Guards you've got to show esprit de corps.
[Pronounce "a spreedy core."
We look such heavy swells, you see, we're all aristo-cràts,
When on parade we stand arrayed in our 'eavy bearskin 'ats.
Chorus (during which the Martial Star will march round the stage in military order.)
We're all "'Ughies," "Berties," "Archies,"
In the Guards! Doncher know?
Twisting silky long moustarches,
[Suit the action to the word here.
Bein' Guards! Doncher know?
While our band is playing Marches,
For the Guards! Doncher know?
And the ladies stop to gaze upon the Guards,
Bing-Bang!
[Here a member of the orchestra will oblige with the cymbals, while the Vocalist performs a military salute, as he passes to—
Second Verse.