Punch (55.1868)

168

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[October 17, 1868.

PUNCH’S HANDBOOK FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

CLIFTON.

and a desire to link his cognomen with the invention, he selected as
his crest a barrel of powder, supported by two musketeers, and sur-
mounted by himself m the act of firing, and took for his motto the
Shakspearian quotation, “ Watts in an aim.”

spring, but also cele-
spot, and the waters

Clieton is not only remarkable for its warm
brated for its mild winter. It is a very charming

are so good for several com--

plaints that one seldom
hears any complaints of the
waters, their efficacy being
taken on credit, which is
more than they are them-
selves, having to be paid
for by the drinker, who,
however, feels that he is
getting something for his
money, there being a white
sediment and a warmth
about the draught that
must be considered cheap
at a penny, though for our
part we prefer a bun at the
neighbouring pastrycook’s.

The comprehensive manner
in which toys, bathing,
mineral ornaments, camera
obscuras, and confectionery
are included in the one
comer of Clifton, shows a
genius for concentration on
the part of somebody which
should, and no doubt does,
reap an ample reward.

Buns, baths, and Bristol
diamonds are always ready
at the Hotwells.

Those who do not favour
superstition will receive
somewhat of a shock in
examining the annals of
Clifton. Two remarkable
dreams are inseparably as-
sociated with its history.

The first was dreamt by one
William Gagg, a broker
(broken slumbers, you ob-
serve—much obliged), who,
in 16S0, dreamt that lie
drank of the Clifton water,
and that it agreed with him.

He woke. He did drink the
Clifton water—it did agree
with him. Clifton was made
from that moment. We

entertain our own view of '-

the case, but have no wish to disturb the equa-
nimity of those confiding customers to the
present proprietor’s pump-room. This was one
of the dreams. The other one occurred to Mrs.

Watts, wife of William Watts. This person
was a plumber, and it is not surprising that
his wife’s mind wandered on the leads. The
metal took the form of shot, and it struck her
(a notion—not. the shot) that if molten lead
were dropped into water, it would assume a
round shape, and save any quantity of expense
and labour. She must have been in a very
heavy slumber, but she woke up before the
morning light, and telling her husband the
subject of her dream, he continued the conver-
sation by dropping the subject; and though at
first lie questioned the experiment, he soon
found it answer, and sold his wife’s discovery
for ten thousand pounds ; so that fortune not
only came to her in her sleep, but followed in
her wake. We wish we could close the story at
this point, leaving poor Watts with money in
lots because of his shots. Alas ! he might have
made a million (he started as a plum-er), but
he took a mania for building, and commenced
a terrace, which turned the tables on its pro- —
jector, and finished him. Such is the mutability of human affairs ! He
is now forgotten; but in searching the local archives we have come
across the fact that, on acquiring his money through the shot discovery,
with a laudable appreciation of the use to which that article is applied,

BUXTON.

{To be read aloud in the manner of the

MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

Mamma {referring to Paterfamilias, who generally bathes about this time). “ Oh !
look, Alice ! I can see the dear Old Boy’s Head quite distinctly ! ”

is a heavy
his Head
as

Man, it is

IS HARDLY
THIS.

TRUE J EOT
AS LARGE

Popular Comedian from whom
it takes its name).—
Look here, you know, I
don’t exactly know why it’s
called Buxton you know,
but it is called Buxton, and
it’s a sper-lendid place, I
say it’s a supple-ended per-
lace. There’s the new town
down below, and there’s the
old town up above, and
there’s the crescent in the
middle, and there’s the old
Market Cross in the market
place, only it isn’t a cross
and it isn’t a market place,
because they’ve built a new
Market Hall close by, and
there’s hot and cold baths
and a pump-room, where
you can make yourself well
if you’ve got the rheuma-
tism, and where you can
make yourself ill if you
haven’t, and a beautiful ter-
raced promenade, where the
band plays in the middle,
and the people walk up and
down, when they ’re not
doing the same in the Hall
Gardens, where there’s a
river with fish in it, and a
new Grand Hotel, like the
Loover; I repeat for all the
world like the Loover, and
there’s several others, ex-
pensive some of ’em, Bothers-
more economical, as is-
usually the case, not for-
getting Spring Gardens,
which is a clean little street
leading to some of the most
magnificent scenery you
ever clapt your eyes on, with
a winding road leading to
Bakewell, and hanging rocks-
on each side enough to make
a fellow fall in love with
that clever old gal Nature,
who was very properly de-
scribed by the immortal Squeers, I say the
im-mortal Squeers, as a “rum un,” and a lot of
other places in the neighbourhood,. Poole’s
Hole, where a party by the name of Poole,
who was not related to the author of Paul
Pry, or the swell tailor in Saville Row, but
was another sort of individual—I say In-
dividual altogether—altogether—used to hide
himself when lie felt it wise to retire into the
bosom of his family, and there’s Solomon’s
Temple, on a lofty hill which I don’t care about
climbing myself, but have no desire to prevent
you, and there’s excursions to Haddon Hall,
which is a fine sort of old tumbledown kind
of shop, which wouldn’t make a bad scene, and
I shall suggest it to O’Connor, if I don’t forget
it, and Chatsworth, which is the sort of
establishment which if everybody had his
deserts, you ought to be possessed of at this
moment, John Baldwin, because you would
appreciate it, and there’s the shops, and the
billiard-room, and the ball-room, where they
give entertainments; and there’s the donkey-
carriages, and the darlings in the latest fashions,
and the doctors, and a—that’s all.

A TRUISM TOR THE TIMES.

The Ritualists ought to be Romanists by Rites.

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