The day is approaching, and may even now be within measurable distance, when the Music Halls of the Metropolis will find themselves under yet more stringent supervision than is already exercised by those active and intelligent guardians of middle-class morality, the London County Council. The moral microscope which detected latent indecency in the pursuit of a butterfly by a marionette is to be provided with larger powers, and a still more extended field. In other words, our far-sighted and vigilant County Councilmen, perceiving the futility of delaying the inspection of Variety Entertainments until such improprieties as are contained therein have been suffered to contaminate the public mind for a considerable period, are determined to nip these poison-flowers in the bud for the future; and, unless Mr. Punch is misinformed, will apply to Parliament at the earliest opportunity for clauses enabling them to require each item in every forthcoming performance to be previously submitted to a special committee for sanction and approval.

The conscientious rigour with which they will discharge this new and congenial duty may perhaps be better understood after perusing the little prophetic sketch which follows; for Mr. Punch's Poet, when not employed in metrical composition, is a Seer of some pretensions in a small way, and several of his predictions have already been shamelessly plagiarised by the unscrupulous hand of Destiny. It is not improbable that this latest effort of his will receive a similar compliment, although this would be more gratifying if Destiny ever condescended to acknowledge such obligations. However, here is the forecast for what it is worth, a sum of incalculable amount:—

POETIC LICENCES.

A VISION OF THE NEAR FUTURE.

Scene—A Committee-room of the L. C. C.; Sub-Committee of Censors, (appointed, under new regulations, to report on all songs intended to be sung on the Music-hall Stage,) discovered in session.

Mr. Wheedler (retained for the Ballad-writers). The next licence I have to apply for is for—well, (with some hesitation)—a composition which certainly borders on the—er—amorous—but I think, Sir, you will allow that it is treated in a purely pastoral and Arcadian spirit.

The Chairman (gravely). There are arcades, Mr. Wheedler, I may remind you, which are by no means pastoral. I cannot too often repeat that we are here to fulfil the mission entrusted to us by the Democracy, which will no longer tolerate in its entertainments anything that is either vulgar, silly, or offensive in the slightest degree. [Applause.

Mr. Wheedler. Quite so. With your permission, Sir, I will read you the Ballad. [Reads.

"MOLLY AND I.

"Oh! the day shall be marked in red letter——"

The Chairman. One moment, Mr. Wheedler, (conferring with his colleagues). "Marked with red letter"—isn't that a little—eh? liable to——You don't think they'll have read Hawthorne's book? Very well, then. Go on, Mr. Wheedler, please.

Mr. W. "'Twas warm, with a heaven so blue."

First Censor. Can't pass those two epithets—you must tone them down, Mr. Wheedler—much too suggestive!

Mr. W. That shall be done.

The Chairman. And it ought to be "sky."

Mr. W. "When amid the lush meadows I met her,
My Molly, so modest and true!"

Second Censor. I object to the word "lush"—a direct incitement to intemperance!

Mr. W. I'll strike it out. (Reads.)

"Around us the little kids rollicked,
Lighthearted were all the young lambs——"

Second Censor. Surely "kids" is rather a vulgar expression, Mr. Wheedler? Make it "children," and I've no objection.

Mr. W. I have made it so. (Reads.)

"They kicked up their legs as they frolicked"——

Third Censor. If that is intended to be done on the stage, I protest most strongly—a highly indecorous exhibition! [Murmurs of approval.

Mr. W. But they're only lambs!

Third Censor. Lambs, indeed! We are determined to put down all kicking in Music-hall songs, no matter who does it! Strike that line out.

Mr. W. (reading). "And frisked by the side of their dams."

First Censor (severely). No profanity, Mr. Wheedler, if you please!

Mr. W. Er—I'll read you the Refrain. (Reads, limply.)

"Molly and I. With nobody nigh.
Hearts all a-throb with a rapturous bliss,
Molly was shy. And (at first) so was I,
Till I summoned up courage to ask for a kiss!"

The Chairman. "Nobody nigh," Mr. Wheedler? I don't quite like that. The Music Hall ought to set a good example to young persons. "Molly and I—with her chaperon by," is better.

Second Censor. And that last line—"asking for a kiss"—does the song state that they were formally engaged, Mr. Wheedler?

Mr. W. I—I believe it omits to mention the fact. But (ingeniously) it does not appear that the request was complied with.

Second Censor. No matter—it should never have been made. Have the goodness to alter that into—well, something of this kind. "And I always addressed her politely as "Miss." Then we may pass it.

Mr. W. (reading the next verse).

"She wore but a simple sun-bonnet."

First Censor (shocked). Now really, Mr. Wheedler, really, Sir!

Mr. W. "For Molly goes plainly attired."

First Censor (indignantly). I should think so—Scandalous!

Mr. W. "Malediction I muttered upon it,
One glimpse of her face I desired."

The Chairman. I think my colleague's exception is perhaps just a leetle far-fetched. At all events, if we substitute for the last couplet,

"Her dress is sufficient—though on it
She only spends what is strictly required."

Eh, Mr. Wheedler? Then we work in a moral as well, you see, and avoid malediction, which can only mean bad language.

Mr. W. (doubtfully). With all respect, I submit that it doesn't scan quite so well——

The Chairman (sharply). I venture to think scansion may be sacrificed to propriety, occasionally, Mr. Wheedler—but pray go on.

Mr. W. (continuing).

"To a streamlet we rambled together.
I carried her tenderly o'er.
In my arms—she's as light as a feather—
That sweetest of burdens I bore!"

First Censor. I really must protest. No properly conducted young woman would ever have permitted such a thing. You must alter that, Mr. Wheedler!

Second C. And I don't know—but I rather fancy there's a "double-intender" in that word "light"—(to colleague)—it strikes me—eh?—what do you think?——

The Chairman (in a conciliatory manner). I am inclined to agree to some extent—not that I consider the words particularly objectionable in themselves, but we are men of the world, Mr. Wheedler, and as such we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that a Music-hall audience is only too apt to find significance in many apparently innocent expressions and phrases.

Mr. W. But, Sir, I understood from your remarks recently that the Democracy were strongly opposed to anything in the nature of suggestiveness!

The Ch. Exactly so; and therefore we cannot allow their susceptibilities to be shocked. (With a severe jocosity.) Molly and you, Mr. Wheedler, must either ford the stream like ordinary persons, or stay where you are.

Mr. W. (depressed). I may as well read the last verse, I suppose:

"Then under the flickering willow
I lay by the rivulet's brink,
With her lap for a sumptuous pillow——"

First Censor. We can't have that. It is really not respectable.

The Ch. (pleasantly). Can't we alter it slightly? "I'd brought a small portable pillow." No objection to that!

[The other Censors express dissent in undertones.

Mr. W. "Till I owned that I longed for a drink."

Third C. No, no! "A drink"! We all know what that means—alcoholic stimulant of some kind. At all events that's how the audience are certain to take it.

Mr. W. (feebly).

"So Molly her pretty hands hollowed
Into curves like an exquisite cup,
And draughts so delicious I swallowed,
That rivulet nearly dried up!"

Third C. Well, Mr. Wheedler, you're not going to defend that, I hope?

Mr. W. I'm not prepared to deny that it is silly—very silly—but hardly—er—vulgar, I should have thought?

Third C. That is a question of taste, which we won't dispute. I call it distinctly vulgar. Why can't he drink out of his own hands?

The Ch. (blandly). Allow me. How would this do for the second line? "She had a collapsible cup." A good many people do carry them. I have one myself. Is that all of your Ballad, Mr. Wheedler?

Mr. W. (with great relief.) That is all, Sir.

[Censors withdraw, to consider the question.

The Ch. (after consultation with colleagues). We have carefully considered this song, and we are all reluctantly of opinion that we cannot, consistently with our duty, recommend the Council to license it—even with the alterations my colleagues and myself have gone somewhat out of our way to suggest. The whole subject is too dangerous for a hall in which young persons of both sexes are likely to be found assembled; and the absence of any distinct assertion that the young couple—Molly and—ah—the gentleman who narrates the experience—are betrothed, or that their attachment is, in any way, sanctioned by their parents or guardians, is quite fatal. If we have another Ballad of a similar character from the same quarter, Mr. Wheedler, I feel bound to warn you that we may possibly consider it necessary to advise that the poet's licence should be cancelled altogether.

Mr. W. I will take care to mention it to my client, Sir. I understand it is his intention to confine himself to writing Gaiety burlesques in future.

The Ch. A very laudable resolution! I hope he will keep it. [Scene closes in.

It is hardly possible that any Music-hall Manager or vocalist, irreproachable as he may hitherto have considered himself, can have taken this glimpse into a not very remote futurity without symptoms of uneasiness, if not of positive dismay. He will reflect that the ballad of "Molly and I," however reprehensible it may appear in the fierce light of an L. C. C. Committee Room, is innocuous, and even moral, compared to the ditties in his own rÉpertoire. How, then, can he hope, when his hour of trial strikes, to confront the ordeal with an unruffled shirt-front, or a collar that shall retain the inflexibility of conscious innocence? And he will wish then that he had confined himself to the effusions of a bard who could not be blamed by the most censorious moralist.

Here, if he will only accept the warning in time, is his best safeguard. He has only to buy this little volume, and inform his inquisitors that the songs and business with which he proposes to entertain an ingenuous public are derived from the immaculate pages of Mr. Punch. Whereupon censure will be instantly disarmed and criticism give place to congratulation. It is just possible, to be sure, that this somewhat confident prediction smacks rather of the Poet than the Seer, and that even the entertainment supplied by Mr. Punch's Music Hall may, to the Purist's eye, present features as suggestive as a horrid vulgar clown, or as shocking as a butterfly, an insect notorious for its frivolity. But then, so might the "songs and business" of the performing canary, or the innocent sprightliness of the educated flea, with its superfluity of legs, all absolutely unclad. At all events, the compiler of this collection ventures to hope that, whether it is fortunate enough to find favour or not with Music-hall "artistes," literary critics, and London County Councilmen, it contains nothing particularly objectionable to the rest of the British Public. And very likely, even in this modest aspiration, he is over-sanguine, and his little joke will be taken seriously. Earnestness is so alarmingly on the increase in these days.