Punch: Punch (69.1875)

160

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 23, 1875.

THE RIDING LESSON.

Biding Master (to Sub, who is qualifying himself for the Punjaub Cavalry). " If Yer 'Ead was only turned the other way,
what a Splendid Chest you'd 'ave, Mr. Bowdeib ! "

"OUR REPRESENTATIVE " IN INDIA.

Dated (en route) Oct. 11, Brandypaunee, India.

Sra,—"When the subject of H.R.H.'s visit to_ India was first on
the tapis (this is not an Indian word), the question you naturally,
yet artfully, asked, in my presence, was, " Who will go for us ?"
There was no response. Silence may speak consent; and I (hitherto
Your Representative) was silent. So also was the rest of the party.
Enfin (again not an Indian word), to quote the Immortal Bard, the
rest was silence. Then came the rumour that the Prince wouldn't
go. /knew that the Prince would go. I remembered the ancient
song, which said, "HI had a donkey wot wouldn't go,"—but we
had a Prince who had said he would go, and go he meant to, and
go he decided to, and gone he has!

Going ! going !! gone!! !

But not there yet.

Now where's the fluster ? Everywhere. Every newspaper
Editor rushinsr to me ; my room besieged from dewy morn to foggy
eve, Editors, Proprietors, everywhere at my doors, at my windows,
all beseeching me and crying out, " You 're the man we want! Come
out of your ambush ! Name any terms you like ! India and back
for five millions. Only do go."

" Gentlemen," I replied, seated at my rosewood desk, in my
damask dressing-gown with silk tassels, and the smoking-cap of her
work on my glossy locks, " Gentlemen, I cannot. I am another's.
My word is my bond—better than Turkish, more durable than
Khedives. The seance (not an Indian word) is dismissed."

They left, blowing their noses to conceal their emotion. It was a
touching sight. I put my pince-nez (French word, not Indian) to
my eyes, and took a sip of chocolate to conceal my emotion.

Then, Sir, I came to you.

In five minutes it was settled. I was to go as Your Representative
in India—as Agent in advance, to let you know how the boilers of
the Serapis were getting on, and make things generally pleasant for
the Royal party.

Of course the Public will be fed from time to time with accounts
of .[what is doing on board, and then will come " how gallantly, how

merrily," &c, we passed the day on the broad expanse of ocean.
You will hear how (also to be found in the song of The Admiral)
41 strange things came up to look at us"—to take a sight at us—
" the monsters of the deep." Of all this you will be duly informed.
But where the interest must commence is in the Second Act of the
Drama, with the arrival of the Prince on Indian soil. Till then,
the saucepan of journalism can only be kept simmering—then it
must boil over.

But this climax it is my aim to anticipate, that is, to a certain
extent. By the time you have printed and published this I shall
have arrived in India. I, Your Representative, will be on the spot,
rehearsing the Indian Rumjams, Rajahs, Burrumpooters (trouble-
some fellows these Burrumpooters—always have been), and my first
telegram, which you can append to this letter, will put you au
courant (French, not Indian, this—but I'm a master of both
languages, and have sincere friends in both countries) with my
doings, and will give the Public some sort of idea of what the Prince
will have to expect when he is welcomed here by the swarthy
natives.

You may depend upon me for genuine local colouring^ Indian
ink shall not be spilt in vain by me. Of course this erudition and
labour can't be done for nothing, and Your Representative expects
something considerably extra for the local touches, Indian phrases,
&c, &c.

I have obtained introductions to the best society, and special
information on every subject from the intelligent Regent! Rttmmun,
now a resident in London—a worthy and noble Indian, who is
amassing a colossal fortune. He takes care of the pence, and lets
the pounds look after themselves. He is a Parsee-monious gentle-
man. [ Vide Foot-Note.']

I am, with real Indian warmth,

Your Representative.

P.S. (by Telegram).—10 a.m. Only a Rajpoot and a Kitmagar
have come to rehearsal. Thermometer 150° in the shade. Regi-
mental native band in attendance. I'm now talking to a distin-
guished Tom-Tom, who is their hereditary leader. He is what they
call here a Chittabae Jugmul,—but I've a little forgotten my