Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99, August 30, 1890. by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99, August 30, 1890.
ROBERT'S LITTLE HOLLERDAY.
My hollerday, or sum of it, was spent in Hopen Spaces. Hif anybody as
has got two eyes in his hed, and a hart in his buzzom, wants for to
see what can be done with about 40 hakers of land--witch the most
respecfool Gardiner told me was about the size of the Queen's Park at
Kilburn--let him go there on a fine Summer's Arternoon, and see jest
about five thowsen children a playing about there, all free, and
hindependent, and appy, with two fountings to drink when they're ot
and thirsty, and a nice littel Jim Nasyum to climb up and down. They
ain't allowed to play at Cricket coz there ain't not room enuf, but
I did see two bold littel chaps, about six a peace, a breaking of the
Law, and a playing at the forbidden game, with a jacket for the wicket
and a stick for a Bat, and the kind-arted Gardiner hadn't got hart
enuff to stop 'em.
He told me as how, when the Copperashun fust took possesshun of it,
it was nothink but a Baron Swomp, but that, what with the spending of
lots of money, and the souperintending genus of Major MAKENZIE, in
two years it was maid to blossom like a rose. I spent a werry plessant
arternoon there, and drove home in style on the Box Seat of a reel
Company's Bus. The nex day I went to Higate Wood, another of the grate
works of the good old Copperashun. And lawks, what a difference! No
swarms of children a playing about on the grass, but lots and lots
on 'em a racing about among the hundreds of trees, and their warious
fathers and mothers a looking on with smiling faces and prowd looks.
There is one place in the werry middle of the Wood where no less than
sewen parths meets, and there the Copperashun Committee has bilt up a
bewtifool Founting, and a long hinskripshun in praise of Water, tho
I shood dout if they speaks from werry much pussonal xperience. I was
told as how, when they fust hopened the Founting, the Chairman made a
bewtifool speech, and ended by saying, "Water, brite Water for me, and
Wine for the trembling Debborshee," and then they all went off to a
jolly good dinner.
With that artistick taste as so distinguishes 'em, they have crissened
the place where the seven roads meets, "The Seven Dials." There was
crowds of peeple there, all enjoying of themselves in a nice quiet
way, and altogether it was a werry werry nice site.
The werry next day I started in the warm sunshine for pretty West Ham
Park, and had a leetle adwenture as ushal, for jest as I got there who
shoud I meet but the rayther sillybrated Parson of the Parish--tho'
judgin by aperiences I shoud have took him for the Bishop of
ESSEX--and seeing me in my new Hat and my best black Coat, he werry
naterally took me for a inquiring Wisitor, and told me all about the
good deed of the Copperashun in saving the Park for the good of the
Peeple. There was some werry little chaps a playing Cricket as before
despite of the Law, and they had a reel bat too, and one on 'em,
seeing me a looking on apruvingly, gave the ball such a tremenjus blow
that he got a tooer, so I called out braywo!
There seemed a lot of washing going on jest outside the Park, the
white shirts and settera, flustering gaily in the breeze. But, as the
Poet says, "they're allus Washing somewheres in the World!" The common
peeple was orderd to walk on the footpaths, but a gardiner told me as
them orders was not ment for such as me. I had a most copious Lunch
for tuppense in the helegant Pawillion, and being in a jowial and
ginerus mood, I treated six of the jewwenile natives to a simmeler
Bankwet. Then there is the sillibrated Band as the Copperashun
perwides twice a week, on which occasions reserwed seats is charged
a penny each. The werry adwanced state of the musical taste of the
nayberhood may be judged by the fact, that at a Concert close by, a
"Ode to a Butterfly" was to be played on a base Trombone!
The Gardiner told me as there was such a crowd of children on larst
Bank Hollerday that there was hardly room to move about, tho' the Park
is 80 hakers big; but as I am told that such a space wood hold
about 80 thousand, quite cumferal, I thinks as he must have slitely
xadgerated.
ROBERT.
* * * * *
A STRIKING NURSERY RHYME.
_(With a Moral.)_
Tilbury, Tilbury Dock!
The men struck--on a rock;
For their U-ni-on
Said, "Wrong you have done!"
Tilbury, Tilbury Dock!
Tilbury, Tilbury scare!
This "Striking" seems in the air.
Conciliation
Should free the nation
From Tilbury, Tilbury scare!
* * * * *
THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST.
AT THE SEA-SIDE.
[Illustration]
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--When I last wrote to you I was anticipatorily
revelling in the sea-bathing, tennis tournaments, pier band, and
evening promenades of Flatsands. Alas! that I must confess it,
but, after a fortnight's visit to that "salubrious spot" (_vide_
highly-coloured advertisements), I give it as my opinion that
Flatsands is a failure; and I think that, when you have listened to,
or rather perused, my tale of woe, you will agree with me that it is a
place to be avoided at all costs.
On the difficulties and length of my journey thither (I changed five
times, and spent nine hours in doing so), I will not dwell, neither
will I lay stress on the fact that, when I did at last reach my
destination, a prospect void of either Aunt, or conveyance of any
kind, met my view, or that a heavy sea-mist had gathered, and was
falling in the guise of penetrating, if fine, rain. After parleying
with the station-master for some time, I ascertained that the station
'bus never put in an appearance in wet weather, and that I could
not get a closed fly, because the Flatsands' conveyances were all
pony-traps, and therefore hoodless. He, however, directed me towards
Balmoral, which was my Aunt's address, and told me that ten minutes'
walk would take me, and that my luggage should be sent after me, on a
truck.
After some difficulty, for the sea-fog was very thick, I discovered
Balmoral, but not my Aunt. The truculent-looking proprietor of the
house, who answered the door, condescended to inform me that my
relative "was the difficultest lady he'd ever had to do for. And that
she'd left two days a-gone." But where she had betaken herself to,
he either would not or could not tell me. "You'd best try along this
row," he said, and then slammed the door in my face. Having nothing
better to do, I followed his advice, and "tried along the row." I rang
at Osborne, Sandringham, and Windsor. I knocked at Claremont (the bell
was broken there), and walked boldly into Marlborough House, for that
royal residence in particular was devoid of all ordinary means of
heralding one's approach. I was just giving up my quest in despair,
when through the rain, which was now falling heavily, I spied a small
stucco villa standing shrinkingly back behind a row of palings, which,
in spite of their green paint, looked more like domestic fire-sticks
than anything else. The somewhat suggestive name of Frogmore was
inscribed on the small gate, and I remembered that I quite shivered as
I walked up the sloppy path, with my usual inquiry ready to hand.
This time, though, I was right, and when, a few minutes later, I was
sitting before a roaring fire, imbibing hot tea, and listening to
my Aunt's account of her latest complaint (did I tell you she was
hypochondriacal?) I felt that really and at last I was in for a
pleasant visit.
The evening proved a short one, for Aunt retired at nine, for which I
was not sorry, as by that time the atmosphere of the sitting-room was
distinctly stuffy, and neither dinner, nor the fumes of the invalid's
hot-and-strong "night-cap" improved it. Next morning I sympathised
with her on the fact that, soon after she had gone to bed, the
young lady on the drawing-room floor (for two other families shared
Frogmore's roof with us) had begun to sing, and had continued her
performances till midnight; but I found my commiseration wasted, for
she said that it had soothed her, which was considerably more than
it had done me. After breakfast--which was late, on account of Aunt's
health--I proposed a stroll on the Promenade, or an inspection of the
tennis courts. "Bless my soul!" cried Auntie, "a person in my state
of health does not go to places all over promenades and tennis courts.
You won't find any such things at a nice quiet resort like Flatsands."
I felt a little dashed, but replied "that perhaps she was right,
and that it was a nice change to be without tennis; and that, as to
promenades, they were quite superfluous where there was a pier, and
a good band." "A pier, child!" she screamed. "You won't find any such
abominations as piers here, or German bands either. Do you think that
_I_ should come anywhere where there was a pier?" I felt the smile
on my face becoming fixed, but I mastered my feelings sufficiently to
murmur something about bathing before lunch.
"You can't bathe here," snapped Aunt--"they don't allow it. The shore
is too dangerous. But you can come out with me, if you like, to the
tradespeople--I see my bath-chair coming along the road."
And that, _Mr. Punch_, is how I spent my fortnight at Flatsands.
Walking by the side of my Aunt's chair, and giving orders to the
tradespeople in the morning; walking beside the same chair and blowing
up the tradespeople for not having carried out the orders, in the
afternoon; sitting in a hot room from five to nine o'clock, then lying
awake till midnight, listening to the drawing-room young lady singing
Italian and German songs out of tune, and with an English accent.
Three things only occurred to in any way vary the monotony of my
existence. The first was the arrival of the singing young lady's
brother. He was seventeen, and his lungs were as thick as his boots.
He tobogganed down-stairs on a tea-tray the first day he arrived; the
second day he passed me in the hall and asked, with a grin, "if I
was one of the mummies in this old mausoleum?" the third day he left,
saying that the place was "too jolly beastly slow" for him. The second
event was the sudden extraordinary mania that Aunt (did I tell you
she was rich?) took for the singing lady. I discovered, much to my
chagrin, I must say, that often, instead of going to bed at nine, as
I believed she did, she used to ensconce herself in the drawing-room,
and there sit and listen to indifferent music till all hours. It was
this second event which brought about the third excitement. For having
been a little imprudent one night, in the matter of "night-caps," or
careless as to draughts, my Aunt was taken seriously ill. At least she
chose to think herself so, though I now have vague suspicions that the
singing lady knew more about it all than she cared to tell. All I know
is that the doctor was sent for, and that, after a long confab in the
sick room, he came to me and ordered my immediate return home. "Your
poor Aunt requires perfect quiet," he said.
Having no choice in the matter, I packed my boxes; not exactly with
reluctance, but still with an uncomfortable feeling of being
wanted out of the way. Aunt's last words to me rather confirmed my
suspicions. "Ah! you are off, are you? Well, I may pull through this
time--I think I feel better already." Then, with a pecking kiss, and
an inaudible remark anent the ingratitude of relations, she dismissed
me. As I left the house I distinctly heard that singing creature run
up-stairs and into Aunt's room.
On the way back to town I decided that she (Aunt I mean) was
right--relations are _disgustingly_ ungrateful.
Yours, much hurt,
THE ODD GIRL OUT.
* * * * *
TO THE CHAMPION (CRICKET) COUNTY.
_"Skilful Surrey's sage commands."_
There is a cue from WALTER SCOTT!
(_Not_ Surrey's "WALTER.") _Punch_ claps hands,
And sings out, "Bravo, SHUTER'S Lot!"
* * * * *
THEATRICAL PROBABILITIES.
New pieces by HENRY AUTHOR JONES, author of _Judah, The Deacon,
&c.:--The Archbishop; The Salvationist, or Boothiful for Ever! The
Rural Dean_ (a pastoral play); _The Chorister_, a stirring drama,
showing how a Chorister struggled with his conscience. Of course the
Rev. Mr. WILLARD will have the principal part in each piece. Then
there will be special nights for the Ministers of all denominations.
There will be a _Matinee_ of _Precedence_, to which Cardinal MANNING
and all his clergy will be invited. After the play is over, the Right
Reverend Dr. WILLARD will preach a sermon to the Cardinal, on his
duties generally.
As long as only the orthodox witness these performances all will go
well. But what a first night that will be when the Right Reverend Dr.
WILLARD and the Reverend HENRY AUTHOR JONES find that some play has
been produced in the presence of an audience composed entirely of
Dissenters! _Absit omen!_ This may never happen if only serious
persons in orders, or rather with orders, are admitted.
* * * * *
---> NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
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