Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas

I'll keep my eye on Joseph in the orchard.

    [She invites him with a gesture to follow.

Joe (earnestly). Nay, Mother, here I'll stay till you have done.
Temptation it is ever best to shun!
Joe's M. So laudable his wish, I would not cross it —
(Mysteriously.) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon closet!

Chorus. Away we go tripping,
From boughs to be stripping
Each pear, plum, and pippin
Pomona supplies!
When homeward we've brought 'em,
Those products of Autumn,
We'll carefully sort 'em
(One of our old Music-hall rhymes),
According to size! [Repeat as they caper out.

[Joe's Mother, after one fond, lingering look behind, follows: the voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance. Stage darkens: the last ray of sunset illumines key of jam-cupboard door.

Joe.

At last I am alone! Suppose I tried
That cupboard – just to see what's kept inside?

    [Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination.
There might be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake,
For such a prize I'd laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!

    [Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn.
And yet (hesitating) who knows? – a pill … perchance – a powder!
(Desperately.) What then? To scorn I'll laugh them – even louder!

[Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud clang, revealing Interior of Jam Closet (painted by Hawes Craven). Joemounts chair to explore shelves.

"How sorry I am, He ate raspberry jam, And currants that stood on the shelf!" —Vide Poem

Joe (speaking with mouth full and back to audience).

'Tis raspberry – of all the jams my favourite;
I'll clear the pot, whate'er I have to pay for it!
And finish up with currants from this shelf …
Who'll ever see me?

The Demon of the Jam Closet (rising slowly from an immense pot of preserves).

No one – but Myself!

[The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare (courteously lent by the Lyceum Management from "Faust" properties); weird music; Joeturns slowly and confronts the Demon with awestruck eyes. N.B. —Great opportunity for powerful acting here.

The Demon (with a bland sneer). Pray don't mind me– I will await your leisure.
Joe (automatically). Of your acquaintance, Sir, I've not the pleasure.
Who are you? Wherefore have you intervened?
The Demon (quietly). My name is "Jim-Jam;" occupation – fiend.
Joe, (cowering limply on his chair). O Mr. Fiend, I know it's very wrong of me!
Demon (politely). Don't mention it – but please to come "along of" me?
Joe (imploringly). Do let me off this once, – ha! you're relenting,
You smile —
Demon (grimly). 'Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!

    [Catches Joe'sankle, and assists him to descend.

Joe. You'll drive me mad!
Demon (carelessly). I may– before I've done with you!
Joe. What do you want?
Demon (darkly). To have a little fun with you!
Of fiendish humour now I'll give a specimen.

    [Chases him round and round stage, and proceeds to smear him hideously with jam.

Joe (piteously). Oh, don't! I feel so sticky. What a mess I'm in!
Demon (with affected sympathy). That is the worst of jam – it's apt to stain you.

    [To Joe, as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his crime.

I see you're busy – so I'll not detain you!

[Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors close with a clang; all lights down. Joestands gazing blankly for some moments, and then drags himself off stage. His Mother and John, with Pear-and-Plum-gatherers bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back of Scene, in faint light of torches.

    Re-enter Joebearing a candle and wringing his hands.

Joe. Out, jammed spot! What – will these hands never be clean?

Here's the smell of the raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this little hand … (Moaning.) Oh, oh, oh!

[This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such profane literature.

Joe's Mother. Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!
See – stains on all his fingers, and his thumbs!
"What Joe was about, His mother found out, When she look'd at his fingers and thumbs." —Poem again.
Nay, Joseph – 'tis your mother … speak to her!

Joe (tonelessly, as before). Lady, I know you not (touches lower part of waistcoat); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have jam in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone, lay me in a plain white jelly-pot, with a parchment cover, and on the label write – but come nearer, I have a secret for your ear alone … there are strange things in some cupboards! Demons should keep in the dust-bin. (With a ghastly smile.) I know not what ails me, but I am not feeling at all well.

[Joe's Mother stands a few steps from him, with her hands twisted in her hair, and stares at him in speechless terror.

Joe (to the Chorus). I would shake hands with you all, were not my fingers so sticky. We eat marmalade, but we know not what it is made of. Hush! if Jim-Jam comes again, tell him that I am not at home. Loo-loo-loo!

All (with conviction). Some shock has turned his brine!