Vell, I guess dot now I’ll lay down till the morning.
Enter Mrs. Barrisnobe.
Schmidt. Veel, I do declare. I’ve been disturbed all night long with those black and white ghosts. I must get some sleep, for by and by that old woman will be coming up.
Mrs. B. (looking through the window). Well I never! There is that Dutchman sleeping now. I’ll just go and wake him up. (she approaches the bed) Hi, sir, you, here!
Schmidt. Vell, vot is de matter now?
Mrs. B. It is seven o’clock, sir.
Schmidt. Vell, I paid four dollars for this bed, and I have not had an inch of sleep out of it yet.
Mrs. B. Well, I only let you the bed for one night for four dollars.
Schmidt. Vell, you have let those ghosts and fellows trouble me all night, and I have not had four cents’ worth yet.
Mrs. B. It is an hour past six, sir.
Schmidt. Vell, what of that?
Mrs. B. I want you out of here.
Schmidt. Not till I’ve had four dollars’ worth.
Mrs. B. I’ll soon teach you what I mean. Here, Mary, Mary! Come up directly.
Enter Negress.
Mary. Yes, ma’am, I’m here.
Mrs. B. Fetch that man out of bed.
Mary. What! He in bed yet? I’ll soon make him clear. (exit, and re-enters with a broomstick, belabors the Dutchman all over, says) You get out of this bed, will you? Sharp, quick!
Schmidt (hustles quickly out of the bed). Vot! Me pay four dollars for that bed, and have no sleep on it all dis night?
Mrs. B. I let you that bed for one night for four dollars, and now it is time that you was about your business.
Schmidt. Vot’s that you are saying?
Schmidt. Four dollars for a bed! Then I takes it along with me. (he lays hold of and removes the bed, but Mary and Mrs. B. force it from him, and whilst they are depositing it below, he tugs at the bedstead, removing it, says) I’ll take this along. (Mary and Schmidt combat for the possession of it, to and fro from end to end of the stage. Mary at last succeeds in removing it below. Schmidt, however, remains, singing)
Mary (returns with a broomstick, vigorously belabors Schmidt, who is glad to beat a hasty retreat, saying) I never vill vant to take four dollars’ worth at dis hotel when I come dis way again. [Exit.
The Negro here pops his head above the stage, announces that the next show will take place in the course of fifteen minutes, with a change of programme.
SCARAMOUCH AND HIS FIDDLE.
Enter Scaramouch.
(Punch, alarmed at the appearance of Scaramouch, retreats round the corner of the stage.)
Scara. Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch!
Punch (approaching nearer). Mr. Scaramouch, what have you there?
Scara. This, Mr. Punch, is my fiddle.
Punch. Call that a fiddle?
Scara. Yes, it’s a real beauty.
Punch. If it’s a fiddle, why don’t you play a tune?
Scara. That is just what I’m going to do. Thum, thum. Tum, tum, tum. Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Punch. Surely you don’t call that a tune? Why, I could do better than that.
Scara. (gives Punch the fiddle). Then let me hear you.
Punch. Thum. Tum. Thum. Tum. (he strikes Scaramouch blows on the back of the head, saying) Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Scara. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Mr. Punch, I’ll have no more of that. [Exit Scaramouch.
Enter Polly, very gayly dressed.
Polly. Where is my father? my dear father!
Punch (aside). What a beauty!
Polly. Who killed my poor father? Oh! Oh! (cries.)
Punch. ’Twas I.
Polly. Oh! Cruel wretch, why did you kill my father?
Punch. For your sake, my love.
Polly. Oh, you barbarian!
Punch. Don’t cry so, my dear. You will cry your pretty eyes out, and that would be a pity.
Polly. Oh, oh! How could you kill him?
Punch. He would not let me have you, and so I killed him. If you take on so, I must cry too—Oh, oh! (pretending to weep) How sorry I am!
Polly. And are you really sorry?
Punch. Yes, very sorry—look how I cry.
Polly (aside). What a handsome young man. It is a pity he should cry so. How the tears run down his beautiful long nose! (aloud) Did you kill my father out of love of me, and are you sorry? If you are sorry, I must forgive you.
Punch. I could kill myself for love of you, much more your father.
Polly. Do you then really love me?
Punch. I do! I do!
Polly. Then I must love you!
(Then they embrace, kiss and dance. The whole scene, barring the dancing, seems modelled upon the interview between Richard III. and Lady Anne. Punch sings.)
[Exeunt dancing.
Enter Punch, with a large sheep-bell, which he rings violently, and dances about the stage, shaking the bell and his head at the same time, and accompanying the music with his voice;—tune, “Morgiana in Ireland.”
Enter a Servant, in a foreign livery.
Servant. Mr. Punch, my master, he say he no like dat noise.
Punch (with surprise, and mocking him). Your master, he say he no like that noise! What noise?
Servant. Dat nasty noise.
Punch. Do you call music a noise?
Servant. My master he no lika de music, Mr. Punch, so he’ll have no more noise near his house.
Punch. He don’t, don’t he? Very well. (Punch runs about the stage, ringing his bell as loudly as he can.)
Servant. Get away, I say, wid dat nasty bell.
Punch. What bell?
Servant. That bell. (striking it with his hand.)
Punch. That’s a good one. Do you call this a bell? (patting it) It is an organ.
Servant. I say it is a bell, a nasty bell.
Punch. I say it is an organ. (striking him with it) What you say it is now?
Servant. An organ, Mr. Punch.
Punch. An organ? I say it is a fiddle. Can’t you see? (offers to strike him again.)
Servant. It is a fiddle.
Punch. I say it is a drum.
Servant. It is a drum, Mr. Punch.
Punch. I say it is a trumpet.
Servant. Well, so it is a trumpet. But bell, organ, fiddle, drum or trumpet, my master, he say he no lika de music.
Punch. Then bell, organ, fiddle, drum or trumpet, Mr. Punch, he say your master is a fool.
Servant. And he say, too, he will not have it near his house.
Punch. He’s a fool, I say, not to like my sweet music. Tell him so: be off. (hits him with the bell) Get along. (driving the Servant round the stage, backwards, and striking him often with the bell) Be off, be off. (knocking him off the stage. Exit Servant. Punch continues to ring the bell as loudly as before, while he sings and dances.)
Re-enter Servant, slyly, with a stick.
(Punch perceiving him, retreats behind the side curtain, and remains upon the watch. The Servant does the same, but leaves the end of the stick visible. Punch again comes forward, sets down his bell very gently, and creeps across the stage, marking his steps with his hands upon the platform, to ascertain whereabouts his enemy is. He then returns to his bell, takes it up, and, going quietly over the stage, hits the Servant a heavy blow through the curtain, and exit, ringing his bell on the opposite side.)
Servant. You one nasty, noisy, impudent blackguard. Me catch you yet. (hides again as before.)
(Enter Punch, and strikes him as before with the bell. The Servant pops out, and aims a blow, but not quickly enough to hit Punch, who exit.)
Servant. You scoundrel, rascal, vagabond, blackguard and liar, you shall pay for this, depend upon it.
(He stands back. Enter Punch, with his bell, who, seeing the Servant with his stick, retreats instantly, and returns, also armed with a bludgeon, which he does not at first show. The Servant comes forward, and strikes Punch on the head so hard a blow that it seems to confuse him.)
Servant. Me teach you how to ring your nasty, noisy bell near de gentil-men’s houses.
Punch (recovering). Two can play at that. (hits the Servant with his stick. A conflict—after a long struggle, during which the combatants exchange staves, and perform various maneuvers, Punch gains the victory, and knocks his antagonist down on the platform, by repeated blows on the head.)
Servant. Oh, dear! Oh, my head!
Punch. And oh, your tail, too. (hitting him there) How do you like that, and that, and that? (hitting him each time) Do you like that music better than the other? This is my bell, (hits) this my organ, (hits) this my fiddle, (hits) this my drum, (hits) and this my trumpet, (hits) there! A whole concert for you.
Servant. No more! me dead.
Punch. Quite dead?
Servant. Yes, quite.
Punch. Then there’s the last for luck. (hits him and kills him. He then takes hold of the body by its legs, swings it round two or three times, and throws it away.)
Enter an old Blind Man, feeling his way with a staff; he goes to the opposite side, when he knocks.
Blind Man. Poor blind man, Mr. Punch; I hope you’ll bestow your charity; I hear that you are very good and kind to the poor, Mr. Punch; pray have pity upon me, and may you never know the loss of your tender eyes! (listens, putting his ear to the side, and hearing nobody coming knocks again) I lost my sight by the sands in Egypt; poor blind man. Pray, Mr. Punch, have compassion upon the poor stone blind. (coughs, and spits over the side) Only a halfpenny to buy something for my bad cough. Only one halfpenny. (knocks again.)
Enter Punch, and receives one of the knocks, intended for the door, upon his head.
Punch. Hollo! you old blind blackguard, can’t you see?
Blind Man. No, Mr. Punch. Pray, sir, bestow your charity upon a poor blind man, with a bad cough. (coughs.)
Punch. Get along, get along; don’t trouble me: nothing for you.
Blind Man. Only a half-penny! Oh, dear! my cough is so bad! (coughs and spits in Punch’s face.)
Punch. Hollo! Was my face the dirtiest place you could find to spit in? Get away! you nasty old blackguard! Get away! (seizes the Blind Man’s staff, and knocks him off the stage. Punch hums a tune, and dances to it; and then begins to sing, in the mock Italian style, the following words, pretending to play the fiddle on his arm, with the stick)
Scene.—The Prison House.
Enter a Constable.
Constable. Leave off your singing, Mr. Punch, for I’ve come to make you sing on the wrong side of your mouth.
Punch. Why, who the devil are you?
Constable. Don’t you know me?
Punch. No, and don’t want to know you.
Constable. Oh, but you must: I am the constable.
Punch. And who sent for you?
Constable. I am sent for you.
Punch. I don’t want constable. I can settle my own business without constable, I thank you. I don’t want constable.
Constable. But the constable wants you.
Punch. The dickens he does! What for, pray?
Constable. You killed Mrs. Punch. You knocked her head off her shoulders.
Punch. What’s that to you? If you stay here much longer, I’ll serve you the same.
Constable. Don’t tell me. You have committed murder, and I’ve a warrant for you.
Punch. And I’ve a warrant for you. (Punch knocks him down, and dances and sings about the stage, to the tune of “Green grow the Rushes O.”)
Enter an Officer, in a cocked hat with a cockade, and a long pigtail.
Officer. Stop your noise, my fine fellow.
Punch. Shan’t.
Officer. I’m an officer.
Punch. Very well. Did I say you were not?
Officer. You must go with me. You killed your wife and child.
Punch. They were my own, I suppose; and I had a right to do what I liked with them.
Officer. We shall see that. I’m come to take you up.
Punch. And I’m come to take you down. (Punch knocks him down, and sings and dances as before.)
Enter Jack Ketch, in a fur cap. Punch, while dancing, runs up against him without seeing him.
Punch (with some symptoms of alarm). My dear sir, I beg you one thousand pardons: very sorry.
J. Ketch. Aye, you’ll be sorry enough before I’ve done with you. Don’t you know me?
Punch. Oh, sir, I know you very well, and I hope you very well, and Mrs. Ketch very well.
J. Ketch. Mr. Punch, you’re a very bad man. Why did you kill Mrs. Punch?
Punch. In self-defence.
J. Ketch. That won’t do.
Punch. She wanted to kill me.
J. Ketch. How?
Punch. With a stick.
J. Ketch. That’s all gammon. You must come to prison; my name’s Ketch.
Punch. Ketch that then. (Punch knocks down Jack Ketch, and continues to dance and sing.)
Re-enter Jack Ketch.
J. Ketch. Mr. Punch, there is your gallows and likewise—(retreats below.)
Punch. What do you call a likewise?
J. Ketch.[2] There is your coffin.
Punch. What that for, I wonder? Oh, dear, I see now: what one fool I was! That is large basket for the fruit be put into. (he takes up coffin, runs with it two circles round the stage and slams it down on to Ketch’s head, depositing it with a bang down on to the stage.)
J. Ketch (adjusting the rope of the gallows). Mr. Punch, step this way and have some dinner!
Punch. Much obliged Mr. Ketch, but I have already taken dinner.
J. Ketch. Come, then, and have some nice ice-cream.
Punch. Thank you, Mr. Ketch, I don’t take ice now; it is too cold.
J. Ketch. Then come and have a good supper.
Punch. I never eat suppers; they are not wholesome.
J. Ketch. Then step this way and be hanged.
Punch. I’ll be hanged if I will.
J. Ketch. Come directly.
Punch. I can’t; I’ve got one bone in my leg.
J. Ketch. And you’ve got one bone in your neck which must soon be broken; but no more delay, Mr. Punch; put your head through this loop.
Punch. Through there? What for?
J. Ketch. Aye, through there. (he holds the loop open.)
Punch. What for? I don’t know how.
J. Ketch. It is very easy: only put your head through here.
Punch. What, so? (poking his head on one side of the noose.)
J. Ketch. No, no, here!
Punch. So, then? (poking his head on the other side.)
J. Ketch. Not so, you fool.
Punch. Mind who you call fool: try if you can do it yourself. Only show me how, and I do it directly.
J. Ketch. Very well; I will. There, you stand just there and mind don’t you move. (he places Punch against the side-post of the stage) Remember that you are not to move.
Punch. Oh, no; I’ll never move.
J. Ketch (about to put his head through the loop, noticing a little movement in Punch, says) Ah, you moved.
Punch. Oh, no; I never moved.
J. Ketch. Now, Mr. Punch, you see my head, and you see this loop. Put it in so. (putting his head through the noose.)
Punch. And pull it tight—so! (he pulls the rope forcibly down, and hangs Jack Ketch) Huzza! Huzza!
J. Ketch (wriggling his arms and body vigorously about). Golly, golly, Mr. Punch, what are you doing? Leave go the end of that rope.
Punch. Not if I knows it. I say, old boy, how do you feel? (Ketch ceases his struggling, and dies. Punch leaves his body hanging and calls) Joey! Joey!
Enter Joey.
Joey. Why, Massa Punch, ye have been and hung the sheriff.
Punch. I know it. He wanted to hang me, and so I hung him.
Joey. Was that so? Well, what are we to do with him now?
Punch. Take him down.
Joey. That is so, Massa Punch. We will take his dead body down. (they take him down, and remove the gallows.)
Punch. Put him in his coffin.
Joey. Good, Mr. Punch. But why, massa, they have not made the coffin long enough!
Punch. Double him up.
Joey. Ah! that is so. We will double him up. But, Massa Punch, he’ll not go in the coffin now.
Punch. Well, ram him down. (Punch fetches his club, and tucks him down and in.)
Joey. And, massa, what will you do with him now?
Punch. Take him below. Lift.
Joey. Oh, yes, massa; take him below—I lift (Punch lifts his end of the coffin several inches above the stage; but Joey is dancing at the other end.)
Punch. Why don’t you lift?
Joey. Oh, yes, massa; me lift my end up. (but he still fools at lifting as before, whilst Punch raises his end high up.)
Punch. I say—are you going to lift?
Joey. Oh, yes, massa; we’ll both lift.
Punch. Lift, will you? (Punch fetches his club, and gives Joey three cracks on the head; repeats) Lift, will you?
Joey. Oh, yes, yes, Massa Punch! me will lift now—right away now. (they raise the coffin, and carry it twice from end to end of the stage, singing) Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust! [Exeunt, with coffin.
Re-enter Punch, who sings:
(Goes off, and returns with a stick. He dances about beating time on the front of the stage, and singing to the tune of “Green grow the rushes O”)
Enter the Demon. He just peeps in at the corner of the stage, and exit.
Punch (much frightened, and retreating as far as he can). Oh, dear! Oh, Lord! Talk of the demon, and he pops up his horns. There the old gentleman is, sure enough. (a pause, and dead silence, whilst Punch continues to gaze at the spot where the Demon appeared. The Demon comes forward) Good, kind Mr. Demon, I never did you any harm, but all the good in my power. There—don’t come any nearer. How you do, sir? (collecting courage) I hope you and all your respectable family well? Much obliged for this visit. Good-morning! Should be sorry to keep you, for I know you have a great deal of business when you come to this city. (the Demon advances) Oh, dear! What will become of me!
(The Demon darts at Punch, who escapes, and aims a blow at his enemy; the Demon eludes it, as well as many others, laying his head on the platform, and slipping it rapidly backwards and forwards, so that Punch, instead of striking him, only repeatedly hits the boards.)
Punch. He, he, he! (laughing) He’s off! He knew which side his bread buttered on. He one deep, cunning devil.
(Punch is alarmed by hearing a strange, supernatural, whirring noise, something like the rapid motion of fifty spinning wheels, and again retreats to the corner, fearfully waiting the event.)
Re-enter the Demon, with a stick. He makes up to Punch, who retreats round the back of the stage, and they stand eyeing one another, and fencing at opposite sides. At last the Demon makes a blow at Punch, which tells on the back of his head.
Punch. Oh, my head! What is that for? Pray, Mr. Demon, let us be friends. (the Demon hits him again, and Punch begins to take it in dudgeon, and to grow angry) Why, you must be one very stupid demon not to know your best friend when you see him. (the Demon hits him again) Be quiet, I say, you hurt me! Well, if you won’t, we must try which is the best man—Punch or the Demon.
(Here commences a terrific combat between the Demon and Punch; in the beginning, the latter has much the worst of it, being hit by his black adversary when and where he pleases. At last the Demon seems to grow weary, and Punch succeeds in planting several heavy blows. The balance being restored, the fight is kept up for some time, and, towards the conclusion, Punch has the decided advantage, and drives his enemy before him. The Demon is stunned by repeated blows on the head and horns, and falls forward on the platform, where Punch completes his victory, and knocks the breath out of his body. Punch then puts his staff up the Demon’s black clothes, and whirls him round in the air, exclaiming: “Huzza! huzza! the Demon’s dead!”)
Scene.—The Sea, with waves in motion.
Enter Negro.
Negro. Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!
Dutchman. What was that you were saying?
Negro (points across the sea). Don’t you see that ’ere?
Dutchman. Yaw! I see the sea.
Negro. Yah; but I mean that ’ere—right o’er there.
Dutchman. Yaw! so now I do; but, lor, I’ve no telescope. What do you think it is?
Negro. Big ship! big ship! Maybe a man-o’-war.
Dutchman. Do you think she’s a-coming this way?
Negro. I do.
Enter Irishman.
Irishman. Arrah, my boys, glad you’re here. Have you seen a steamship come along?
Dutchman. Vell, yes; von in the distance—right over there.
Irishman. Arrah, that is good! My old lady will be pleased now.
Dutchman. Vy, Paddy, vot great event is on now?
Irishman. Nothing, only my wife made me send over to old Ireland for her mother to come on, and she hurried me off this morning to look out for the good ship.
Dutchman. I congratulate you, my boy. Going to have a mother-in-law to take care of thee.
Irishman. Arrah, my friend, you try to strike me hard; but, you bet, I’ll make it warm if the old lady don’t provide me with a latch-key.
Dutchman. Never mind for this von leetle bit o’ chaff, Come with me, and take a little refreshment.
Irishman. But I have to wait for the ship.
Dutchman. That yon ship vill not be here for von whole hour yet. Come, now; thou hast time.
Irishman. Arrah, well said! But what are those black clouds I see?
Dutchman. See yon ship taking in her canvas. Hurry, before we are taken in the storm ourselves. [Exeunt.
(The waves of the artificial sea are now set in motion. Ship enters at the left side, and slowly sails twice across. On its third sail the ship is met by a Steamer, coming in an opposite direction. Voices are heard—“Hard a-port! Where are you coming to?” The Ship and Steamer collide together; voices are again heard—“We are sinking! Get out the life-boat!” The sails of the Sailing[3]Ship become ruffled up, and the Ship gradually sinks beneath the waves—the Steamer passes along uninjured.)
Enter Dutchman.
Dutchman. Yaw, yaw, that vessel is now no more.
Irishman. Arrah, I say, is that ship come in yet?
Dutchman. Ship come in! Vot, have you not heard the news?
Irishman. News! What news?
Dutchman. That ship has sunk—gone to the very bottom.
Irishman. What! With all on board?
Dutchman. Yes; all are drowned.
Irishman. Then my wife’s mother is gone, too. (he puts his hands up to his face and cries.)
Dutchman. Vot! Crying because you’ve lost your mother-in-law?
Irishman. No, friend, it is not that; but maybe when I tell my ole woman she’ll be arter going frantic, and clubbing my head off.
Dutchman. Nonsense! I’ll come with you, and gradually break the sad, sad news. [Exeunt.
Scene.—The Prison-House.
Enter two men who fix the Judge’s bench in the hole used for the gallows. Prisoners’ pen in the centre; Lawyers’ table on the left of stage. [Exit.
Judge enters—takes his stand at the bench.
Judge. I have to inform my learned friends that the judge that should have been here, by the advice of his physician has left this day for Europe, and I will hold Court until his return.
Lawyer. What! A black Justice to hold Court?
Judge. Yes; I sit here to-day.
Lawyer. I object to your jurisdiction.
Judge. The Court overrules your objection, and fines you ten cigars for contempt of Court. Call the docket. Is it large? Where are the officers?
Enter Court Officer.
Officer. Your Honor, there are several cases set down for trial.
Judge. Call the first that is guilty.
Lawyer. Michael Doolittle.
Officer. Michael Doolittle. (goes for him, and marches him into the pen.)
Judge. What is the charge?
Lawyer. Highway robbery.
Judge. Highway robbery! What is that?
Lawyer. Stealing from the person—taking the prosecutor’s watch—his golden time-keeper.
Judge. Prisoner, what have you to say in mitigation of the sentence of the Court, pertaining to this heinous, serious charge?
Prisoner. I was guilty, your Honor, but that ’ere man (points to the prosecutor) came alone, and placed himself in my way.
Judge. Prisoner, is that your only defence? Were you hungry—were you hard up?
Prisoner. Had not one dime to rub against another.
Judge. The decision of this honorable Court is——
Lawyer (interrupting). Your Honor, so far from being hungry, he had on him—his person—a massive silver watch and a diamond ring.
Judge. What! Prisoners wear diamond rings?
Lawyer. Just the truth, your Honor.
Judge. Prisoner, look on the Court. You, having pleaded guilty to this most heinous, serious charge, the Court decides that you be taken back to jail, the diamond ring confiscated for the Court’s own use, you to deliver up both watches to the prosecutor, and be by him sentenced to work at hard labor as many days as he may see fit. [Exit Prisoner.
Judge. Call the next case.
Lawyer. The next, your Honor, is an outfall betwixt a butcher and a baker.
Judge. A cat-fall between a butcher and a baker! How did that happen?
Lawyer. An outfall, your Honor—a misunderstanding—a fight.
Judge. Let them come into Court.
Officer (calls). Herman Kahlesole and William Paul. (he brings them in and places in pen.)
Judge. What is this grave charge all about?
Lawyer. Nothing grave, your Honor. It appears that this butcher, on leaving his store, stepped on a piece of fat, and fell with a quarter of beef. Paul, the baker, laughed at him. The butcher got angry, and so they set to punching one another’s heads.
Judge. What! Punch one another’s heads after the spill of a quartet of beef?
Lawyer. Just the history, Judge. I am instructed to recommend them to the merciful consideration of the Court.
Judge. Kahlesole, you have heard the charge against you, and the recommendation of your counsel. Are you ready to bury the hatchet?
Butcher. Vat! Mine ax? Nein, nein.
Judge. I mean to make peace and shake hands.
Butcher. Vell, vell, I will; but dot goesh against mine constitution. (they shake hands and depart.)
Judge. What is the next charge?
Lawyer. Intoxication.
Judge. Inoculation! Is that anything good to eat?
Lawyer. No, your Honor; I said intoxication—too much whisky.
Judge. Oh! I do comprehend. Call the wine-barrel in.
Officer (calls). Oscar Hubbs, this way in.
Judge. Hubbs, you were found drunk last night. What have you to say?
Hubbs. As long as the fox runs, he gets catched at last.
Judge. Does the fox ever have a ten-dollar note?
Hubbs. Sometimes; but not now.
Judge. You can go this time; but don’t get into this fox-hole again. [Exit Hubbs.
Judge. What is the next charge?
Lawyer. Bigamy.
Judge. Bigger than me! How—in bad deeds?
Lawyer (chuckling with laughter). No; bigamy—a man that has married six wives.
Judge (in astonishment). Six wives! Are any of them in Court?
Lawyer. Yes; there are four here.
Judge. So the remaining two have gotten him here to be kept out of the four’s way. I condemn the prisoner to be given up to the custody of the four, and if either is like mine at home, he will have punishment enough. Call the next case.
Officer (calls and shows into pen). Timothy Garpickle.
Judge. What is the charge?
Lawyer. Robbing hen-roosts.
Judge. Robbing her roasts! Roast what?
Lawyer. Hen-roosts—taking away the eggs and young chickens.
Judge. Prisoner, what have you got to say to the charge?
Prisoner. Guilty.
Judge. Clear him out; we’ll stand no blarney fooling here. The Court and learned counsel will take a recess for luncheon. [Exit Lawyer.
(Voices are now heard from without. Two men, with sticks, enter, and demand an interview with the Judge. The Officer attempts to disarm them of their weapons. A lively fight ensues, during which the stage is cleared of its Lawyers’ table, Prisoners’ pen and Judge’s box. The fight continuing, the Judge and Court Officer at last succeed in causing the two pugilists to beat a hasty retreat.)
The above Drama has been arranged for acting on the Punch and Judy stage. For the parlor acting Drama, which is on a more extended scale, send 15 cents to the publisher, for a copy of the “Dutch Justice.”