Punch: Punch (69.1875)

190

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[November 6, 1875.

THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER TO MR. PUNCH.

'I'/Qfj fie, Mr. Punch !

/ i4-'j. , That you should

/ j oin in the Chorus

///// of Commination

/y^// which perpetu-

ally assails me !
> Still I know your

V forte is fairness,

^_f^> and your foible

indulgence; your
motto " Strike,
but hear ! " And
A° \ I think I can say

«^ v J a few words for

~S myself, if you

will listen.

" Clerk of the
"Weather" you
call me. Well,
pa^1" ~—- I should like to
•* see ^ne mu-n<iane

S^^BK^^r.": clerk who could
""j^-pflfc^"-" " successfully con-
pZT^-'. » - trol so much as

|t the smallest sub-

"L —— branch in my

3 ■ establishment.

The department
of Spring Shower8
_ in your dot of

\fp" " ~ ^ an island alone,

—=^ JjL \,_---- ^r-^ — would, I suspect,

'-."T* // \ "i=~~=- e -—^^ ^ drive your astu-

*~z~zz f 'S^r~ \ "f" test Bank Direc-

* // „_^ tor to distraction

^-~2 ~* ^/f #~^fe. < . - * in the twirling of

F__ a meridian. And

v- \ „ \ consider what J

Wv' / \ have to look after!

v \. ^ , ' But, of course,

~" ^ ^ * sso^ >\ast \ nobody does con-

sider : blind abuse
comes so much

easier. Of course it doesn't much matter. You may rave till all is blue—in Tyndall's
sense—and not stay a seemingly superfluous rain-drop, divert a too torrid sun-ray, or ruffle
my equanimity. Indeed, you may thank your lucky stars that I am impervious to abuse
as to entreaty, and do not put the reins of my power into the hands of every pseudo-Phaethon
of the moment. But I have compassion on the sufferers from meteorological miseries,_of
which, I confess, you Islanders have a Benjamin's portion, and mean to give mortals a hint
or two through their sagest representative—yourself! You know what unthankful rule is,
and are familiar with the manners and customs of well-tended but recalcitrant donkeys.

Look here, then! Why not try and work with me, instead of railing at me f _ E. g.
I supply the rain—more than you appear to relish sometimes—you provide the cistern,
the watercourse, the sluice, the umbrella, and the waterproof. I furnish the material,
you the means of utilisation, distribution, defence or prevention, as the case may be.
Carry this partial co-partnership out on the large scale, and there you are. Twig ? The
rain I send must fall on the just and the unjust, the thirsting plain, and the thronged
promenade, the turnips, and the turnip-growers, who want it, and the ripening ears and
holiday pleasure-seekers, who do not. A Local-Sun-and-Shower-Distribution Company,
Limited, is not possible in my realm. I have the round "World to look to, not Little Peddlington

only. But Little Peddlington can help
itself if it will.

The fact is, you monocular mortals suffer
far more from drought and deluge, damp
and dirt, discomfort and disease than there
is any necessity for. Why ?—For want of
forethought, providence, ingenuity. Pre-
vention of a large portion of the woes you
attribute to the vagaries of the Clerk of the
Weather are "within the resources of
Science," as the newspapers say. Let
human ingenuity, which, after so many
rain-discomforted generations, achieved
the [Gingham and the Macintosh, set to
work on the great scale at the task of
adaptation, utilisation, self-protection, and
the Chronic Grumbler's occupation will be
pretty nearly gone. You have not half
exhausted the sweet utilities of the Conduit
and the Tank; nor, in spite of your much-
mouthed proverb, do you really cultivate
the useful art of providing for or against a
Rainy Day. You bear, grumblingly, all
the evils incidental to the alterations of
draught and deluge, from damp feet to
drowning, from scorched noses to sun-stroke
and water-famine, when by timely provi-
sion and intelligent economy you might
strike a normal balance between plentiful
lack and unmanageable superfluity, dodge
discomfort, shun disaster, and minimise
loss.

You don't expect me to play the part of
universal Sangster, street-cleaner, hy-
draulic engineer, and sanitary inspector,
do you ? If you won't play those very
practicable roles yourself, blame your own
unwisdom, not the "Weather. Grumbling
at the Weather is about as wise as tilting
at windmills. _ Set your vanes to the wind,
and it will grind your corn for you; direct
and store your floods, and they will serve
instead of swamping you; rightly manage
your streets and subways, and my rains
will be not much less welcome or more
worrying on the flags than on the furrows.
Whether they result in refreshment or
rheumatism depends largely on yourselves.

Here be a few examples out of many
possible ones. Verbum sap., my dear
Punch. Sorry to incommode you, I'm
sure ! Would gladly find you a weather-
proof private Paradise—a bright little isle
of your own, where north-easters never
wandered, and St. Swithin was unknown—
if you would accept it. But I know you
would not. The World and 85, Fleet Street
cannot spare you. Noblesse oblige, eh P
But do just tell the stupids and the savants
what I say.

How large, of weather-woes which men endure,

The part that sumphs may cause and skill might
cure!

No more time now. There's another
"tap" requires turning on. Au Reser-
voir !

Yours pluvially,

The Clerk of the Weather.

[Mr. Punch gladly prints this commu-
nication. Even if his accustomed courtesy
did not constrain him, the maxim. Fas
est et ab hoste doceri, would move him to
compliance with the C. of the W.'s request.
Wisdom may derive a few wrinkles even
from a special-pleading Jupiter Pluvius.]

Rhymes for the Month.

Remember, remember

The fogs of November,
And wrap up your thorax (or chest);

Beware of bronchitis,

Avoid laryngitis, _
And money in sealskin invest.