Punch: Punch (69.1875)

September 25, 1875.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

123

SOME WONDEEEUL WANTS.

The wants of our fellow-ereatures, some of them, claim our
sympathy. Others may contribute to our amusement. Subjoined
are a few of the latter kind, extracted from sundry both local and
London journals. The first of the series, for which thanks are due
to a country paper, might be imagined to have appeared in the
Medium, the Spiritualist, or some other of Mr. Punch's necromantic
contemporaries:—

IF Mrs. FRANK BEVEN wishes to see her Mother before she is
buried, she will come to her lodgings at once.—Address, &c.

In these days of "materialised" apparitions of the dead-alive at
"dark seances," to those at least who credit them, not the slightest
difficulty can present itself in the idea of a corpse walking to give
anyone wishing to see it a look in. The Ghost does indeed walk
now-a-days out of the theatre, and in the flesh, which naturally
occasions wags, especially if Scotchmen, to remark that Spiritualism
is all Walker.

A want rather unlikely to be readily supplied is experienced at—

HAETLEPOOL SCHOOL-BOARD.—WANTED, by the above Board,
a FEMALE INFANT PUPIL TEACHER, in her third or fourth year.
—Apply, not later than August 31st, 1875, to, fee.

A female infant pupil teacher in the third or even the fourth year
of her age would be an infant very much more precocious, probably,
than the world has for some time seen.

In another quarter there is—

WANTED, a ROAST COOK, also VEGETABLE MAID, thoroughly
experienced, for first-class Hotel by seaside.—Reply, stating age, wages
required, and where last employed, to, &c.

How a Roast Cook could want wages is a question which has not
occurred to the mind whence this requisition proceeded. It is
evidently in a frantic state. The postulant of a Roast Cook,
perhaps, labouring under the mental delusion that he is a native of
the interior of Africa, contemplates eating his Vegetable Maid,
boiled, together with his Roast Cook. Cooks would really seem to
be delicacies in the imagination of a certain insane class of adver-
tisers. Subjoined is another inquiry for an esculent Cook:—

WANTED, a PLAIN COOK, to Bake. Two Cows kept; no family.
—Address, &c.

The imaginary anthropophagist may be supposed to dream of
eating his baked Plain Cook without sauce.

A story has lately gone the round of the papers about a father
who rescued his child from the jaws of a crocodile; an incident
which, whether it occurred or not, nobody can be surprised to see
reported at this season. Perhaps the account of it put an idea into
the head of a party who announces a—

NURSE "WANTED. Four miles from Tonbridge. Two children.
Able to take a baby from the mouth. £16 and all found. Help given
in the Nursery. Address, &c.

Now that the better sex has so generally taken to swimming, it is
at least conceivable that a Nurse could emulate the exploit of taking
a baby from the mouth of an alligator.

A not uncommon want is expressed in an odd fashion by appa-
rently an eccentric man of letters :—

AE. I. 0. U.—A Man, possessing the Five Vowels, Ability, Energy,
• Industry, Originality, Usefulness, seeks a Situation of emolument and
trust.—Address, with particulars, &c.

Besides the five vowels, initials of the virtues abovenamed, there
are, as Llndley Mttbray says, sometimes W and Y. W stands for
Wisdom, which a man can hardly possess who expects any answer
to an application for a place so very indefinitely described as the
one which he means by a " situation of emolument and trust." It
is, however, too probable that he could add Y to his vowels—Y for
Yokel.

That same appellation may likewise be deemed applicable to the
gentleman who meditates marriage in the circumstances thus can-
didly stated:—

ARespectable Single Gentleman, age forty-seven, income £50 per
annum, would be glad to correspond with a Lady, with a view to mar-
riage.—Address 0 26, at the Printer's.

0 26, indeed ! A better thing than matrimony for 0 26 would be
the employment which he could doubtless obtain by replying to the
notification following:—

WANTED, a good-looking DONKEY, free from vice, to draw a Bath
Chair.—Apply, fee.

Or this situation might also suit the man of five vowels and vir-
tues, if the virtues are unqualified, and the advertiser is indeed
justly describable as a " donkey free from vice."

Let us conclude this string of wants with the want of a droll
individual who wants to sell a very extraordinary animal:—

JUST ARRIVED, a WILD BOAR, from the Brazils. Perfectly tame.
To be SOLD.—Apply on board, fee.

This is obviously an advertisement to which there would be a
peculiar impropriety in appending the notice that " No Irish need,
apply." Who indeed but an Irishman could expect to buy a tame
wild boar ? And, of course, if Pat came to be a customer for such
a bargain, he would find that he had to deal with a compatriot.

It is a pity that advertisements such as the foregoing are dispersed
throughout various newspapers. They would form pleasant reading
arranged altogether in a continuous column, which might be set
apart on purpose for them in an organ possibly to be established,
and turn out a success, under the title of the Colney Hatch Gazette.

SWEETS OF THE SEA-SIDE.

Shingleton, near Dulborough.

Sympathising Mr. Pun-ch,

With the desire of enjoying a few days of tranquillity and
a few dips in the sea, I have arrived and taken lodgings at this
" salubrious watering-place " (as the guide-books choose to call it),
having heard that it was quiet, and possessed of a steep, cleanly,
and bathe-inviting beach. As to the latter point, I find that fame
has not belied it; but surely with a view to tempt me into suicide,
some demon must have coupled the term " quiet" with this place.
Quiet! Gracious^ Powers of Darkness! if this be your idea of a
quiet spot to live in, I wonder what, according to your notion, need
be added to its tumult to make a noisy town. Here is a list of aural
tortures wherewith we are tormented, which may serve by way of
time-table to advertise the musical attractions of the place :—

1 a.m.—Voices of the night. Revellers returning home.

1'30 a.m.—Duet, " Io t'amo," squealed upon the tiles, by the
famous feline vocalists Mademoiselle Mutette and Signor
Catterwat/llni.

2 a.m.—Barc-arole and chorus, " Bow wow wow " (Bach), by the
Bayers of the Moon.

3 a.m.—Song without words, by the early village cock.

3'30 a.m.—Chorus by his neighbours, high and low, mingling the
treble of the Bantam with the Brahma's thorough bass.

4 a.m.—Twittering of swallows, and chirping of early birds,
before they go to catch their worms.

4'45 a.m.—Meeting of two natives, of course just under your
window, who converse in a stage-whisper at the tip-top of their
voices.

5 a.m.—Stampede of fishermen, returning from their night's work
in their heavy boots.

6 a.m.—Start of shrimpers, balrefooted, but occasionally bawling.

7 a.m.—Shutters taken down, and small boys sally forth and
shout to one another from the two ends of the street.

715 a.m.—" So-holes! fine fresh so-holes! "

7"30 a.m.—" Mack'reel! fower a shillun ! Ma-a-ack'reel! "

8 a.m.—Piano play begins, and goes on until midnight.

8*25 a.m.—Barrel-organ at the corner. Banjo in the distance.

9 a.m.—German band to right of you. Ophicleide out of time,
clarionette out of tune.

9'30 a.m.—" Pa-aper, mornin' pa-aper ! Daily Telegraft! "
9"45 a.m.—German band to left of you. Clarionette and cornet
both out of time and tune.