Punch: Punch (39.1860)

October 20, I860.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

159

KISSING BY PROXY.

“ Verbena Villa, Tuesday.

0 my dear Punch,

“ Dear Old Pet,
—I dare say you re-
member that I wrote
to you tlie other day
to say how glad I was
to find that our dear
darling Prince of
Wales was getting
on so charmingly with
our cousins in Ame-
rica — though why
they ’re called our
cousins, when we talk
of ‘BrotherJ onat ran,’
and they talk of ‘Uncle
Bull,’ I’m sure I
really cannot for the
life of me determine.
But while I said how
pleased I was to find
how well the Prince
got on and how proud
we all should be of
him, you know I had
to add a word of sad
regret that the girls he
had to dance with
were such clumsy
partners, for the pa-
pers, you know, told

us what great awkward things they were; and how they wobbled in their waltzing; and how
the Prince had to turn dancing-master, and teach them how to hold themselves; and how, to
show how bored he was, he never once danced twice with any single one of them ! *

“ Well, from an extract I’ve been reading in thz Illustrated Neios, if seems at last the bad
behaviour of the girls has been enough to sour the sweet temper of the Prince; and l must
say I’m not surprised, and I don’t feel very sorry for it. The way they trod upon his toes,
no doubt, was painful in the extreme, and I’m sure an angel (only angels have no corns)
could not have borne it better. But patience has its limits, and at last the Prince, poor
fellow ! was so terribly imposed upon that he took on the offenders a most, terrible revenge. This
is what I read this morning to Papa, who now that Parliament is up will listen to the letters
of ‘ our own Correspondents,’ and any other tittle-tattle that I happen to pick out for him:—

“ At Guelph tbe Prince was sung to by twenty-nine young ladies, whom he rewarded by proxy, kissing
the daughter of the Mayor for them all.”

“ There now, wasn’t that a terrible revenge to take ! Only just conceive how shamefully the •
girls must have behaved, for the Prince so to ‘ reward’ them, as in irony we’re told he did.
The writer does not tell us what was their offence, whether they sang badly, or giggled, or
| threw slieepseyes at his Royal Highness. But whatever their fault was, they were most
| severely punished for it. Just conceive th z degradation of being kissed by proxy l as if one
! wasn’t pretty enough to be personally kissed ! I declare if I’d been one of the unhappy twcnty-
eight, I don’t think I could possibly have long survived the shame of it.

“ Of course it must be charming to be kissed by royal lips, and I must own that I envy
much the daughter of the Mayor of Guelph, who will delight to tell her grandchildren the
honour that was done her. Of course she will be viewed now as no ordinary match, and
may hold her hand up for the very highest bidders. A girl whose cheeks have been saluted
by a Prince, may expect to get a lord if not a marquis for her husband. To be sure, they
haven’t lords and marquises in Canada, and Miss Mayor may wait a iong while there before
she catches one. Still it must be a great pleasure to her to think how she was kissed in the
presence of the Court, and was singled out from such a number of competitors. Oh, how I
do wish I’d been she, and had that odious Julia Wriggleton to stand where she could see
me ! She’s got re— no, auburn hair, and watery sky-blue eyes, and such big feet and freckles,
that I’m quite sure and certain she’d have been one of the eiglit-and-twenty. I can't think
how cousin Charley can see any beauty in her; but I’m persuaded that the Prince would be
much too good a judge to do so.

“ It was too bad, I declare, that his Lordship—or should I say his Grace?—the Duke
of Newcastle allowed his Roval Highness to make eiglit-and-twenty enemies, at a place too
which is clearly named after his own family. But still I must repeat, I do so wish I’d been
Miss Mayor (or whatever else her name may be) and had had Miss Julia to stand and see
me do it!

“ Ever, Mr. Punch, your most attentive reader,

“ Georgiana Gushington.”

“ PS. I’m told that in Court circles they sometimes court by proxy. For the Prince of
Walks’s sake I hope it isn’t true. But if it is, one feels more reconciled to being born a
j common person!'

* This, Miss, was matter of Court etiquette, not liking. And the papers did net say the girls were
“wobbling waltzers.” It is your jealousy, young lady, which invents such cruel phrases.—Punch.

THE END OE THE SEA-SIDE
SEASON.

Our Ramsgate Correspondent writes to us
as follows:—“ If the ghost of Goldsmith were
to rise up at this time, with the wish to add a
line or two to his Deserted Village, he could not
well do better than take the train to Ramsgate,
and muse in ‘mournful numbers’ on its melan-
choly aspect. Everything and everybody soon
would clearly enough show him that the season
is all over. Even the poet Thomson, who wrote
four Books about the Seasons, could hardly find
materials to write two lines now about this.
The few visitors who linger sadly on the pier flit
noiselessly as though they were the ghosts of the
departed, and pass with downcast looks as
though ashamed of being seen there. They move
abour, with all the air of melancholy maniacs,
and if they stay much longer they will run the
risk of being carried off to private madhouses,
and clapped into strait waistcoats. The steam-
boats come in daily with nobody on board except
the crew and captain. The shilling-an-hour
boatmen have laid up their crafts iu winter
quarters, and have rigged their better halves
in bran new gowns and bonnets. The bathing
machines are all drawn up so high aud dry that
it seems to be a problem if they ever will be wet
again. Not a donkey brays defiance on the
beach: not a bath-chair now is visible, even
with a telescope. Not a wooden spade or sand-
heap is there by tbe sad sea waves; not an
organ, or a bagpipe, or a German band is audible.
All tbe minstrels with blacked faces have taken
themselves ‘off to Charlestown.’ or some other
locality; aud the Tyrolean Tenor who sings so
sentimentally and sweetly out of tuue, with one
eye closed in strong emotion and the other
looking out for coppers, has left us with his
wife aud small harmonium - playing son, and
is probably now singing to some at fresco
inland audience. More saddening fact still—
the vocal vender of crisp hardbake^ delicate
drops, and tempting toffy, has at one fell swoop
deprived us of his sweet songs and his sweet
stuffs, and has left us loliipopless to lament his
absence.

“ Paragon is a wilderness; grass is growing
in High Street, and hay, if there were sunshine,
might be made ou half the pavements. The
shopkeepers have mostly put their chains aud
shutters up, and are now engaged in counting
over their unholy gains and in sending con-
science money to the Income-Tax Collector.
The lodging-letters have emerged from their
coalcellars and dustbins, or whatever other holes
be in the summer-time their sleeping places. It
is believed that they would occupy the bed-rooms
which in summertime fetch five guineas a night,
but that they are haunted with the ghosts of
recent victims, who came, saw, and were fleeced,
and fleabitten into the bargain. The flys have
flown away, or else are hibernating in back
slums; the riding horses have returned to their
normal occupations, and are now drawing
bakers’ carts, or working in a circus. The hotel-
keepers have vanished to visit their estates, or
confer with Baron Rothschild about buying
up the Bank, as a safe way of employing some
cf their spare millions. In short, so dull is
Ramsgate, that the brigand’s occupation is, like
Othello's, gone. A cat or two are now the only-
beasts of prey left preyable. Even the fleas, it
is affirmed, have this week hopped the twig.
Their flight has been described as the Retreat
of the Ten Thousand.”

LATEST FROM ITALY.


To People about to Insure their Houses.—Don’t—until the offices manifest less

Assurance.

Why is Garibaldi like the Chevalier
Bayard and a cat in a bad humour ?

Because he is sans purr.