Punch (55.1868)

46

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 1, 1868.

MRS. PUNCH’S LETTERS TO HER DAUGHTER.

Y Dear Child,—At this season of the year, when
those who can afford it leave the green nooks of England, and fly from one
end of the Continent to the other, with enjoyment exactly proportionate to
the expenditure, it may be as well to give you my thoughts on Travel.
Your Father has little inclination for the favourite British sport of riding a
steeple-chace across Europe, with the cream of one’s country-people, in
the dog-days ; but shall his wife and daughter on that account be deprived
of pleasure? Never, never—so pack up your finest clothes, my Judiana,
buy the biggest chignon you can get, and with maid, courier, and boy in
buttons, let us set off on our travels.

Do you ask whither we go ? Naive, Miss Punch ! As if it mattered in
the least so loim as we find plenty of fine ladies and gentlemen there, and
if a baronet ana his lady, or an Honourable Miss Came-in-with-the-Con-
queror, will not the place be a Paradise of the first water?

.Formerly, I confess, people used to travel for the sake of studying fo-
reigners, and the ways of foreigners. My Grandfather took his family
from one end of France to the other in a private coacli-and-four, and they
did not pass through a village without learning how the folks lived there,
what education they had, and so on. But the fashion is wholly altered
now, and you and I must submit to being whirled from Calais to Paris in
crowded carriages till our limbs are agonised with cramp, and our brains
dizzy, and our senses—nowhere : and not grumble, because the Grand Hotel
du Louvre is like an Inferno this hot weather, peopled with those polyglot
imps in black swallow-tail coats, the waiters, poor wretches !

Nor, why should we grumble indeed, because we are whirled on in the
same way to Geneva, and perhaps farther, window-blinds down all the time,
carriage packed to the last inch with rugs and bags, and no fellow-travel-
lers but English, who are frigid and unyielding as to elbow-room, as the
locomotive Englishman or Englishwoman is sure to be. We stop some-
where and eat nothing, and thus gaining heaps of new experiences and
information, cattle on to our journey’s end.

“ Why do people travel, then ? ” asks my ingenuous Judiana ? There
are a hundred reasons why, all cogent and plain enough to be understood
by a mind as innocent in the ways of the world, as that of Miss Punch.

1st. Travel is the best means of studying the manners and customs of
the English.

2nd. Travel is the best means of making acquaintances of superior rank
to our own.

3rd. Travel may be recommended to those who “ from circumstances over
which they have no control,” cannot stay in their own country.

4th. Travel is an admirable method of giving one’s daughtei'3.
what may be called an Opportunity.

5th. Travel is an admirable field for flirts of both sexes.

6th. Travel is the fashion.

These are a few of the reasons why people should travel,
though their name is Legion.

If a foreign tour a la mode, is a probation to fathers and mothers,
it is some recompense to. have got one’s eldest daughter engaged,,
to have made the acquaintance of old Lady Bigname and her
inestimable Jeamses, to have one’s sons lolling about cafes, and1
losing money at cards with that young Lord Fitzvagarond—•
(what matters it how a lord behaves?) to have screwed down
the domestic staff at home to the minimum of board wages, and
the hotel-keeper to the minimum of Pension prices, so retrieving-
the extravagance of the London season.

And then for mothers, there is the especial gratification o£
seeing how sweet their girls look in rechauffe toilettes, and how
much admiration they get! Dressed in the flimsiest, flashiest
style, ribbons streaming, chignons, a miracle ! and abundantly
using the liberty allowed them, what an astounding impression
our young ladies must create upon the minds of foreigners. The-
manners of that portion of our sex are so perplexing, that I am
afraid wre have things said of us that are lar from being true,,
and no wonder.

Prepare for your travels, therefore, my child, for it is highly
desirous that you should go abroad and see what your country-
people are like. We will go, and conquer. Perhaps the happy
fates may lead us to some Swiss Arcadia, where the Ranz aes
Faclies is heard on the heights, and the glaciers shine in the
sun, and the pine-woods are green—and the Upper Ten Thousand
of our adored country most do congregate. Let us take with
us an abundant and fashionable toilette, a courier glib of speech,,
and of immaculate honesty, our maid for comfort, and our But-
tons, for the look of the thing—and how will hotel-keepers and
waiters bow down before us.

Oh ! for a flunkey—but that is a dream of Elysium in which I
dare not indulge. Let us be thankful for the Buttons, and tell
nobody that he is a newspaper boy hired for the occasion.

Your ambitious Mamma,

Mrs. Punch.

THE CHURCH IN DANGER.

Tiie following are a few of the alarming and disastrous cala-
mities which a large proportion of the Peerage, the clergy, and
the county families, and an excited section of the ladies residing^
in market-towns and rural districts are confident will be the-
certain result of the Disestablishment of the Irish Church:—

Scarcity of Foxes,

Stoppage of Banks,

An inferior description of Sherry (bad enough already),

Decay of County Balls,

Increased consumption of Tobacco,

Demoralisation of Curates,_

Alarming spread of Poaching,

Indifference to the office of Rural Dean,

Decline of Croquet,

General neglect of Gloves,

Disease amongst Grouse, _

Servants more and more independent,

N o Railway Dividends,

Black Beetles,

The Fires of Smithfield,

Disuse of Powder by Male Domestics,

Cheap Claret,

Short Sermons,

The elevation of Mr. Bright to the Peerage, and
The Setting of England’s Sun for Ever.

Racy Bit of Foreign Nev/s.

A week or so back, a rather novel race took place between a
One-Horse Car and a Velocipede; the former was driven by a-
Monsieur Car-rere, and the latter propelled by a Monsieur.
Car-canade. Comical names under the circumstances. They
started from Castres—it ought to have been Car-tres—but it
wasn’t. Their destination was Toulouse, though their object was-
to win. However, the gentleman with the horse came in first.
A spectator, who had recently seen Mazeppa, was so impressed'
with the rapidity of the winner, that lie shouted out, in the lan-
guage of the soul-stirring drama in question,

“ Again he urges on his wild Carrere 1 ”