Punch: Punch (56.1869)

June 12, 1869.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

245

MORE HAPPY THOUGHTS.

,—-f N London.—The pro-
gress of my book,
Typical Developments,
Vol. I., brings me
up to town to find
a publisher. Mil-
burd, whom I meet
accidentally, says,
“ A publisher would
jump at it/’ I ask
him what publisher ?
He says, in an off-
hand way, “ Oh, any
publisher,” but
doesn’t volunteer
any particular infor-
mation on the sub-
ject. Boodels, 1 re-
member, published a volume of poems a year or two since.

Happy Thought.—To write to Boodels, and ask what publisher
jumped at his poems.

Odd that my wife doesn’t enter into my work. We have been
married three years. I read her the first chapter of Book I. during the
honeymoon. Since that time I have sometimes said, “ Now, I ’ll read
you some more,” or have selected some passage that has struck me as
peculiarly happy. She has generally been busy. One evening, on my
opening the manuscript, she said she didn’t want to be bothered. I
told her I didn’t think it was kind of her. She replied, that rather
than I should think her unkind, she’d listen. I returned, “ Oh, but
don’t, if you’d rather not.” She said that though she’d rather not,
yet she would, to please me. I didn’t want to he cruel, so I said,
“Never mind.” She confesses she’d like to see it when it was in
print. Before we married I thought that Fridoline cared for litera-
ture. She doesn’t: except for novels.

Her mother, Mrs. Symperson, is staying with us at my cottage, in
a lovely situation.

Happy Thought.—To come up to London to look for a publisher.
Also might sec the Academy, and the Opera, and dine with some
fellows at the Club.

Happy Thought.—Not to say anything about this, as of course I
don’t know that I am going to do it: only mention the publisher.
They say they shan’t be dull without me; and as I haven’t been away
lor a holiday—I mean away from home—for some time, my wife thinks
it will do me good.

Happy Thought.—To say it’s not a holiday—it’s business. Going
to London, in fact, on business. My mother-in-law suggests that we
should all go. All means herself principally. I point out that I shall
only be away, probably, for a day or two. Better to say “probably,” in
case 1 should stop three weeks. I add that I shall be engaged the
whole time, and not be able to attend to them. Fridoline says,
“ Yes, better wait till we can all go away to Brighton. Baby will want
change of air soon.”

Happy Thought.—To agree at once. Brighton, by all means, for
baby, at some time or other. 1 consider this to be the condition of my
getting away now. My own opinion privately is that Brighton may
wait. Baby is always having a rash, and always wanting, so they say,
to go to Brighton.

1 leave the cottage (Asphodel Cottage it is called—that is, Friddy
would call it Asphodel) in the lovely situation, and go up by the 4'40
to town.

Happy Thought.—Take my cheque-book.

In the Train.—It occurs to me that going to a hotel in town is
expensive. I’ll drive to Bob Willis’s, in Conduit Street. Willis
asked me whenever I wanted a bed in town to come to him.

In Conduit Street—1 jump out and ring. I know Willis welL a
good fellow—always glad to see me. Willis is a sort of fellow who’d
do anything for you. I foresee how I ’ll dash past the servant, rush
up-stairs, and say, “ Willis, old boy, here’s a lark : I ’ve come to stay

with you.” And Willis will jump up, and order the bed, and-

Tim door opens. The maid. “ Is Mr. Willis in?” “Mr. Who,
Sir ?” the maid asks. “ Willis.” “ No one of that name here,” she
says, as if she expected me to try another name, as that wouldn’t do.
I ask her “ if she’s quite sure ? ” On second thoughts, this question
was absurd, as of course she’d know who was living in the house. 1
am perplexed. I say, “ Oh, he’s not here, eh ? ” to myself.

Happy Thought— Perhaps he’s next door.

The maid says, “ Yes, perhaps next door.” She shuts hers, and I
go to the next door bell. I don’t know why, but I fancy the cabman
doesn’t think much of me after this failure. Perhaps his idea is, that
it, ’s a dodge of mine for not paying the fare. It’s stupid of him if be
thinks that, because he’s got my portmanteau and my hat-box, and my

bag with the MS. of Typical Developments in it. I’ve heard of swindlers’
portmanteaus filled with stones. He may think mine a swindler’s port-
manteau, but even in that case it would be worth more than two-and-
sixpence—his fare, at the outside. Besides, there’s Typical Develop-
ments, worth thousands, perhaps : only, not to a cabman.

Next door opens ; I put the question diffidently this time ; in fact, I
beg her pardon first, and then request to be informed if “ anyone of
the name of Willis lives here ? ” “ Yes, Sir.”

Ah, capital! here we are ! Down come my things. Here, cabman,
half-a-crown. He is indignant, and says he’s been waiting about more
than half-an-hour. I dispute it. He says, “ Look here: it was six
when you took me at the Station, now it’s seven.” It might have
been six—it is seven.

Happy Thought. — Always look at your watch when you take
a cab.

Sixpence makes very little difference : pay him.

“ Which floor are Mr. Willis’s rooms ? ” Second. I rush up. I

bound into the room. “ Hallo, old boy-” In another instant I

am begging somebody’s pardon (whom I don’t know) who was lying

on the sofa half asleep. I explain that I thought Willis was-

He cuts me short courteously. They have a room together.

Happy Thought.—Like Box and Cox.

I don’t say this, but think it. Willis may be in by eight, or if
not by eight, not till twelve. Would I like to wait ?

Happy Thought.—Say I ’ll come back about nine; and first go and
get some dinner. I add that I think that will be my best course.

The stranger (Willis’s partner—the Cox of the firm) politely agrees
with me that that will perhaps be my best course. He doesn’t offer
me any dinner there. I hate inhospitality. I mean if anybody, a
perfect stranger, but still a friend of the partner of my rooms, came in,
I should press him to take something—sherry and a biscuit. I say,
however, that I’ll leave my things here (this will give Willis a hint
of what I mean by coming at all), and I will return when I’ve dined.
The stranger {Cox) replies, seriously, “ Very good,” and is evidently
getting bored by me. I retire.

Happy Thought.—At all events I’ve found out where Willis lives.
Must dine somewhere. Where ? At my Club, or somebody else’s
Club.

Turning into Regent Street, I come accidentally upon Wigtiiorpe.
He is delighted to see me. I am to see him. I think (to myself) that
I ’ll ask him to come and dine with me at my Club. I think it over
while I’m walking with him, and he’s telling me a story about what
he did last week in Devonshire. He stops suddenly to ask me if I
don’t think that (whatever it was he was saying) a capital idea? I
reply, “ Yes,” and put off giving him my invitation until I see what he
is going to do. He asks me what I’m going to do to-night.

Happy Thought.—To reply, cautiously, that I’ve got to go and see
Willis. He says that he’s sorry for this, as he should have liked me
to dine with him. I say I can, with pleasure. “ Or, stop,” he says,
suggestively, “ suppose 1 dine with you

Happy Thought.—Too late to order dinner at my Club. Very incon-
venient. Fix it for another day. Say I ’ll write to him. “ Very well,
then,” he says, “ we ’ll dine together, and you shall have a French
dinner.” “Capital. Agreed.” We walk off together to a French
dinner.

SPORTS FOR MODERN ATHLETES.

Athletic sports of all descriptions appear to be (as elsewhere
recorded) so much the order of the day, that we should not be
astonished if the prize which is obtained for the throwing of the
hammer should be followed by another soon for throwing of the
hatchet. Nor would it much surprise us if the casting of the caber
were thought of more importance by certain clerkly rivals than the
casting of accounts. If a prize be ever offered for prowess in the feat
of outrunning the constable, we trust that all young athletes will
abstain from competition for it. In a similar conception, the sport
of running up a hill may be innocuous enough, but there is peril in
the pastime of running up a bill. Be it remembered likewise, that
the athletic feat of jumping to conclusions may, in certain cases, be
practised with impunity, but the sport of drawing the long bow is
certainly more dangerous, and it had better be avoided by every civil
clerk.

Keep the Money at Home.

“ Oriental Bazaar, at the Queen’s Eooms, Hanover Square, on behalf of the
Palestine Christian Union Mission to the Arabs.”

Has not a word dropped out here ? Ought it not to be “ to the Street
Arabs ” ? Too many of them may be found in London, looking as
though they_ sorely needed attention from some Mission or other.
Cannot Arabia wait until heathen London shows a little more improve-
ment ?

Vol. 56.

8-2