Miss Foljambe (on Stage, acknowledging an encore). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command—Florrie Foljambe!
[Tumultuous applause, and hornpipe.
Chairman. Professor Boodler, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!
The Professor (on Stage). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster the Thrush—better known to some of you, I dare say, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (He gives the Thrush—which somehow doesn't "go.") I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird—the Sky-lark. (He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off.) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary—the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments.) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.
[Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple recall.
The Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls (during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated me as a lady, with grey whiskers—but that's neither here nor there—and I speak of parties as I find them—well. That was a Thursday. On the Saturday there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she saying, as cool as you please——(Heroine on Stage. "Ah, no, no—you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours after, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says,—"'Allo, Rose, 'ow are yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort—I wasn't going to take no notice of her—and she says, "Going out?"—like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper, she never said nothing, and I didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday—well! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me—good-tempered and civil enough, I must say—he said——(Villain on Stage. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she 'ad—no, let me finish my story first. Well, just fancy 'er now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word—not wishing to bring up the past, and—I didn't tell you this—they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room—and the only remark I made, not meaning anythink, was——(Hero on Stage. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is your work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that, could I? and old Mr. Fitkin, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says——(Hero. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of 'im, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number—but—Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying—oh, I'm ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening.
A Recitation Under Difficulties.
Scene.—An Evening Party; Miss Fresia Bludkinson, a talented young Professional Reciter, has been engaged to entertain the company, and is about to deliver the favourite piece entitled, "The Lover of Lobelia Bangs, a Cowboy Idyl." There is the usual crush, and the guests outside the drawing-room, who can neither hear nor see what is going on, console themselves by conversing in distinctly audible tones. Jammed in a doorway, between the persons who are trying to get in, and the people who would be only too glad to get out, is an Unsophisticated Guest who doesn't know a soul, and is consequently reduced to listening to the Recitation. This is what he hears:—
Miss Fresia Blud. (in a tone of lady-like apology).