Puppets at Large: Scenes and Subjects from Mr Punch's Show

Thank goodness, it was only a dream – for here I am, in the same old nursery again! Not all a dream, either – or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The accident was real. Then what —what has become of Joseph? I must find him – I must make him understand that I repent – that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll!

September.– Still searching for Joseph. No trace of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways than one. My former set knows me not. The Ninepins do not stagger when I smile at them now; the Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I call upon the Composition Dolls – they are very polite; but it is quite clear that they don't remember me in the least! Alas! how soon one is forgotten in the world of Toys! Have no heart to recall myself to them. I go, for the first time since my accident, to a convenient brass knob, in which I would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery that I have a totally new head– a china one! I, who used to look down on china dolls! It is a very decent head, in its way; quite neat and inoffensive, with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down like the golden locks I once had. I am glad – yes, glad now – that Joseph has gone, and the home he used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were here, he would not know me either. Now I can live single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and devote myself to doing good!

October.– Have entered on my new career. Am organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming" in the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the Dutch Doll in a shocking state of destitution – nothing on her but a piece of tattered tissue-paper! To think that my evil example and her own senseless extravagance have brought her to this! Gave her one of my old tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal myself. Feeling very sad and lonely: think I shall have to keep a mouse – I must have something to love me!

October 15.– Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's old house. I see a new doll, with a small but worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, watching me as I pass the windows. Shall call and leave a scripture brick. It may do him good.

October 16.– Have called… Never heard worse language from the lips of any doll! Came across my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still what I have heard the nursery governess describe as an "oblate spheroid." Of course, he did not recognise me.

December.– Have seen a good deal of the Doll with the worldly moustache lately. From certain symptoms, do not despair of reforming him – ultimately. He seems softening. Yesterday he told me he did not think he should live long. Yet he has a splendid constitution – the best porcelain. He is dreadfully cynical – seems so reckless about everything. If I could only reclaim him – for Joseph's sake!

This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories it recalled, ah me! Can he have disgraced himself and been "broke"? And am I responsible?

Christmas Eve.– Am sitting in my corner, my mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the Walking Postman comes up with a letter – for me! It is from the Wicked Doll! He is very ill —dying, he thinks – and wishes to see me. How well I remember that other message which Joseph – but Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds! Well, I will go. It will be something to tell my Diary.

Christmas Day.– Something indeed! How shall I begin my wondrous incredible tale? I reached the Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green door stood open – I went in. "Ha, ha! trapped!" cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked Doll! His letter was a ruse– he was as well as I was – and I – I was shut up there in that lonely house, entirely at his mercy!.. It was a frightful position for any doll to be placed in; and yet, looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it so very much.

"Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized entreaties. "Long, long ago, when I was young and innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched me, kid and bran! I told my love – she mocked at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life of the first doll I could entice into my power. You are that doll. You must die!"… "I am quite prepared," I told him – "do your worst!" which seemed to confuse him very much. "I will," he said, "presently – presently; there is no hurry. You see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, "in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last good action) I got my head smashed, and received the substitute I now wear, which, as you will observe, is that of an unmitigated villain. And it's no use having a head like that if you don't live up to it —is it, now? So – as I think I observed before – prepare for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any more —do it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. I began to feel safer – it was so obvious that he hadn't the faintest notion what to do. "She treated me abominably," he said feebly; "any doll would have been annoyed at the heartless way in which Gloriana – "

I could contain my feelings no longer.

"Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), "you ridiculous old goose, don't you know me? I am Gloriana, and I have found you at last!" And with that I flung myself into his arms, and told him everything. I think he was more relieved than anything. "So you are Gloriana!" he said. "It's dreadfully bewildering; but, to tell you the honest truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I don't understand how it's done. So I tell you what we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to your new head, I won't try to live up to mine!" And so we settled it.

Postscript. December 31.– We are to be married to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there will always be a corner for him in our new home. I am very, very happy. To think that Joseph should still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely as her once lovely features have now become! But Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading every word I write) stops me here to assure me that I am lovelier than ever in his eyes. And really – I don't know – perhaps I am. And in other persons' eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't intend to give up society just because I happen to be married!

ELEVATING THE MASSES

(A Purely Imaginary Sketch.)

Argument – Mrs. Flittermouse, having got up a party to assist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme.

Mrs. Flittermouse's Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected with Philanthropy.

Mrs. Flittermouse (imploringly). Now, please, everybody, do attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all talking about something else. (Apologies, protests, constrained silence.) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin with?

The Dowager Lady Dampier. My dear Fritilla, I have no suggestion to offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't want to be elevated, and – if they did – entertaining them is not the proper means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you.

Mrs. Flitt. Oh, but I think we could do so much to give them a taste for more rational and refined amusements, poor things, to wean them from the coarse pleasures which are all they have at present. Only we must really decide what each of us is going to do.

Mrs. Perse-Weaver. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the best —

Cecelia. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in public. I know I should break down!

Lady Damp. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your part to attempt it.

Mrs. P. – W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You won't break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. They wouldn't notice anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get accustomed to a platform, too. Of course she will play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse!

Mrs. Flitt. It will be so good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a real audience, you know – poor people are so easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. (She makes a note.) Now we must have something quite different for the next – a reading or something.

Lady Honor Hyndleggs. A – nothin' humorous, I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know.

Mr. Lovegroove. Might try something out of Pickwick. "Bob Sawyer's Party," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of Dickens.

Miss Diova Rose. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so fearfully common; still – (tolerantly) I daresay it might amuse – a – that class of persons.

Mrs Flitt. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as high as possible – and well, I think not Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove. Tennyson might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' pieces.

Mr. Lovegr. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.

Mrs. Flitt. Why – a – really, it's so long since I – and I'm afraid I haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at Barn-end. But I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay they would have a copy somewhere.

Miss Sibson-Gabler. Surely Tennyson is rather – a – retrograde? Why not read them something to set them thinking? It would be an interesting experiment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene in the Doll's House. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath of fresh air to them!

Mrs. P. – W. Oh, I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember, Cecilia, my taking you there? And Corney Grain played Noah. To be sure – we were quite amused by it all.

Miss S. – G. (coldly). This is not amusing – it's a play of Ibsen's.

Mrs. Flitt. Is that the man who wrote the piece at the Criterion – what is it, The Toy Shop? Wyndham acted in it.

Lady Damp. No, no; Ibsen is the person there's been all this fuss about in the papers – he goes in for unconventionality and all that. I may be wrong, but I think it is such a mistake to have anything unconventional in an Entertainment for the People.

Mrs. Flitt. But if he's being talked about, dear Lady Dampier, people might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better leave Ibsen open, then. Now, what shall we have next?

Miss Skipworth. I tell you what would fetch them – a skirt-dance. I'll dance for you – like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on a regular platform, and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.

Mr. Kempton. Oh, I say, you can give her a stone and a beatin' any day, give you my word you can. She doesn't put anythin' like the go into it you do.

    [Miss S. accepts this tribute with complacency.

Mrs. Flitt. A skirt-dance will be the very thing. It's sure to please the people we shall bring over for it – and of course they'll be in the front rows. Yes, I must put that down. We ought to have a song next. Mrs. Tuberose, you promised to come and sing for us – you will, won't you?

Mrs. Tuberose. Delighted! I rather thought of doing a dear little song Stephan Otis has just brought out. It's called "Forbidden Fruit," and he wrote it expressly for me. It goes like this.

    [She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite expression and tenderness.

"Only the moon espies our bliss,
Through the conscious clusters of clematis,
Shedding star-sweet showers.
To-morrow the world will have gone amiss —
Now I gaze in your eyes, love, I thrill to your kiss —
So let us remember naught but this:
That To-night is ours!
Yes, this passionate, perilous, exquisite night —
Is Ours!"

Several Voices. Charmin'… Otis puts so much real feeling into all his songs … quite a little gem! &c., &c.

Lady Damp. I should have thought myself that it was rather advanced – for an East-End audience —