PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 93.
October 22nd, 1887.
MR. PUNCH’S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.
As has been observed earlier in this series, the Amateur Reciter is influencedby a natural ambition to harrow his audience to the best of his ability.
And, be it said, the average audience isnot at all averse to being harrowed—providedthis is done with any science and refinement.When persons are met togetherfor social enjoyment, nothing apparentlyaffords them keener pleasure than a performancewhich produces certain peculiarsensations, such as the feeling of partialwant of control over the facial nerves,smarting behind the eyes, increasing obstructionin the throat, and a general convictionthat, unless something occurs tomake them laugh at once, they will beirresistibly compelled to sob like so manyseals. It is, perhaps, a little odd—but thetaste exists, and must be taken into account.The sole drawbacks are that, too often, themeans adopted to secure the desired resultdepend more than should be upon sentimentwhich might almost be described as false;that the incidents occasionally have too littlerelation to real life; and that, what mighthave proved eminently touching, is marredby some involuntary association with theludicrous and grotesque. In his anxietyto preserve his pupils from such pitfalls as these, Mr. Punch offers anexample in which the blemishes he has hinted at have been sedulouslyavoided. It is at once homely, wholesome, and tear-compelling—like the commononion. You will find you produce a favourable impression at once by announcingit as,—
Positively the Last Performance!
(You must come on with a general suggestion in your manner that you aresupposed to be the proprietor of an itinerant Cat and Canary Troupe.Begin with a slow and somewhat depressed shake of the head, as if inanswer to imaginary inquirer.)
No, we ain’t performin’ to-day, Sir, and the boys are all on the gape
At seem’ the mice in mournin’, and the cats in chokers o’ crape;
But I’m giving the Show a rest, d’ye see? for I didn’t feel up to the job,
(Pause—then subdued) For my leadin’ comejian’s left me, Sir—
(Explanatory, perceiving you are not understood)—thebrindle kinairy—(more impatiently) Bob!
What, ye don’t remember? (Surprise.) Not him as wore the toonic o’ Turkey red?
What rode in a gilded kerridge with a ’at an’ plumes on his ’ed?
And, as soon as we’d taken a tanner, ’ud fire a saloot from the gun?[Excitedly.
There was Talent inside o’ that bird, there was, or I never see it in one!
(Philosophic bitterness.) Well, he’s soon forgot—but I’ve often thought as a
fish keeps longer than Fame!
(Sudden comprehension and restored cordiality.) Oh, ye didn’tknow him as Bob?... I see—no, that were his private name.
I used to announce him in public on a more long-winded-er scale—
I christened him “Gineral Moultky,” (apologetically)which he ’ad rather gone at the tail;
And a bird more popilar never performed on a peripathetic stage,
He was allers sure of a round of applause as soon as he quitted the cage!
For he thoroughly hentered into the part he was down for to play,
And he