Punch (67.1874)

November 14, 1874.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

203

“ She’ll do. I’ve got my cheque-book
here. And if you ’ll lend me a saddle, I ’ll
buy him, and ride home.”

I hesitate. It’s my first effort at horse-
dealing, and I did not expect this enor-
mous success. Oughtn’t I to offer him on
trial ? Oughtn’t I to say, ‘ ‘ My dear fellow,
you’d better ride him to-day, and if he
suits, send me the money to-morrow ” ?

No; why should I ?

Happy Thought.—Jelfer’s old enough
to take care of himself.

“Or, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” says
Jelfer. “I’ll give you half the money,
and swop my Grey with you—the one you
saw me on the other day. I don’t want to
keep two, and I haven’t got work enough
for the old Grey. You must have a horse,
and it would he a bargain for you.”

Now what does this mean? I know
Jelfer’s horse, and admire it. I have
often thought that -Jeleer’s Grey would
suit me. I shouldn’t mind the exchange
with the money, only it is but fair that I
should ask the question:

“ The Grey’s not been down, has he ? ”

“ Been down ! ” he exclaims. “ You
couldn’t throw him down if you tried.”

He is so hearty, that I am satisfied.

“You know him,” he adds, carelessly,
“ and there he is.”

_ As Jelfer doesn’t ask any further ques-
tions about mine, I won’t ask any more
about his. I confess that I would rather
he did not make any more inquiries.

“Splendid goer, my old Grey,” he says, as
he writes out the cheque. “ He only wants
work, and you can give him that. There ! ”
The money has passed. Gazelle is no
longer my property. Jelfer mounts him,
and promises to send his Grey this evening.

I have my misgivings. All that puzzles
me now, is, which has got the worst of it—
Jelfer or myself ?

Jelfer, I think, because I’ve got Jel-
fer’s cheque. Certainly, it’s only half the
money I asked, but the Grey is coming to-
night.

When the Grey comes, I shall know.

At present all I hope is that Jelfer will
get home safely. For my part, I wouldn’t
ride that Chestnut of mine for ten miles on
a hard road, with up and down-hill, and
occasional stones, not for two hundred
pounds down.

That’s my private opinion about the
Chestnut I’ve just sold to Jelfer.

“ Cool.”

Here is a bona-fide advertisement—cut
rrom a religious newspaper:—

WILL ANY LADY RECEIVE for three or
six months, immediately, a LADY, of
refined and agreeable manners, accustomed to
good society, musical, good reader; without re-
muneration, except laundress. A Christian
family desired; good references. Unforeseen cir-
cumstances breaking up a refined home. Would
prove a great comfort to any delicate lady during
the winter months.

Such “comfort,” we presume, to be set
against the more material comforts which
this refined and agreeable Lady wishes to
obtain in return for the valuable privilege
of her company. “ Without remuneration,
except laundress,” means, we suppose,
that the Lady will pay her own washing-
bill ; but perhaps it means she won’t, and
that the only payment she requires for her
society is the amount of her washerwoman’s
weekly charge.

A Goon Cry for (Strong-Mended)
Women —“ Bicycles and Bloomers! ”

TIGER-KILLERS AND TIGERS KILLED.

S the Fox in England, so the Tiger in India may be regarded
in two characters, as game or as vermin. There is the
slight distinction that the Indian Man-eater destroys
people instead of poultry, and that hunting him involves,
perhaps, a higher per-centage of accidents to life and limb.
But just as fox-hunters look on killing a fox, otherwise
than in the legitimate fashion, as one of the meanest, if
not the most heinous, forms of murder, there are tiger-
hunters in India who think the Man-eater should be sacred
from all deaths except the regular sporting one, by bullet

just as in the wilder departments of France they appoint
official wolf-slayer, must look “ fishy,” to say the least of it. For the Government tiger-
killer is not confined to the bullet. He may, without lese loyaute to his brother hunters or
his game, use strychnine or corrosive sublimate, and poison his quarry, instead of shooting
him as in private shikar-duty bound. Nay, we read of a Mr. Croom, of Madras, as having
invented a suit of tiger-armour of stout buckram set with strong nails, in which to face
the Man-eater without danger.

It is true Mr. Croom has as yet declined to put himself in his armour into the jaws
of a tiger, but believing in his panoply, as did Don Quixote in his helmet, he has no doubt
whatever that, if he did, it would be more trying to the tiger than to him.

A Captain Caulfield is now the official tiger-killer for the Madras Presidency, and we
hear great things of his prowess. Among other incidents he reports is one in which, a Man-
eater having been disturbed in his repast on a native he had killed, the body was baited
with strychnine, and, the brute returning to his meal, eat and died.

Old tiger-hunters will naturally be disgusted by this sort of thing. Que voulez-vous ?
They shoot foxes in France ! It is so natural to savages to think of themselves rather than
the game they are bound to protect for the noble sportsman. And, after all, what are the
Indians but savages P This treatment of their noblest game—the tiger—shows it, we should
say, more conclusively than either the cremation of widows or their self-immolation under the
ear of Juggernaut. t _

THE CARLISTS AND THE CHANCELLOR.

Have the Carlists borrowed an idea from Bismarck ? Their late operations seem to
indicate a design to work by means of Blood and Irun.