Punch (95.1888)

July 21, 1888.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 33

THE CHURCH HOUSE.

Amoxg the numerous plans already suggested, the one that we are
now enabled to place before the public seems likely to meet with the

most favourable consideration. It
shows, at all events, whatever be
its shortcomings, a laudable attempt
to supply a want, and to meet the
essential difficulties which prima
■"'acie present themselves.

[N.B.— Design quite original.
Nobody connected with Metropoli-
tan Board of Works need apply.]

AAA. Temporary Offices for ag-
grieved Parishioners.

B. Church Association Department.
Carefully walled-up inside, and no com-
munication, not even on business, with

C. S.P.G. Society, similarly protected.

D. General Entrance, communicat-
ing immediately with separate lifts up
to the different departments.

E. Extremely Low Evangelical.

F. Moderately Low.

G. Country-Gentlemanly Clergyman
Party. Fair-sized Flat.

H. Broad Church. Large windows,
with fine open views.

I. Moderately High. The windows
(—) become narrower at this elevation.

J. Ritualistic Storey.
K. Ultra-Ditto. Expensively furnished. Pegs for vestments.
L M. Attica for the use of the Rev. F. G. Lee and small party. Airy
situation, quite in nubibus.

N. Office of Mr. Haweis, with (N N) private staircase leading to (N N N)
Concert-hall and Fowl-house.

0. Office of Rev. S. Headlam, with (0 0) private staircase leading to
(0 0 0) well-appointed Theatre and Music Hall, and an exit to Trafalgar
Square.

Grounds arranged for Lawn Tennis Tournaments (for Bishops only); model
farms for Rural Deans; summer-houses for Pastoral Plays, &c, &c.

JULY JOTTINGS.

{Extracted last vieekfrom the Journal oj an al jresco Pleasure-seeker.)

Monday.—Go down on invitation to the Bilkerbury's place in
Surrey " to look at their roses and try their strawberries." Raining
heavily. Still start. Bilkerbury meets me at station with dog-cart.
Says he hardly thought I would come in such weather." Five-mile
drive. Pelting the whole way. Arrive drenched. Family depressed.
"Try" the strawberries at luncheon. Find them colossal, watery,
slug-eaten, and tasteless. Bilkerbury says it is the rain that has
done it, and that if I had only " come down last Tuesday week then
he could have shown me something like a strawberry." Ask about
the roses. Says thev are simply "mashed up" with the rain, and
that there's nothing left of them. Spend a dreary afternoon playing
backgammon with Mrs. B. Say 1 think I'll walk back to the
station. Bilkerbury nods and doesn't press the dog-cart. Miss my
way, and lose my train. Have to wait at the station three hours and
a half, in my damp clothes, for the next. Afraid I have caught cold.
Home at last. A very gloomy day.

Tuesday.—Off to Tippingford to play in the Home Eleven against
the Roving Batterbridge Juveniles. Pelting cats and dogs. Ground
like a sponge. Both Elevens boxed up in the tap-room of a small
local public-house drinking hot whiskey-and-water. After waiting
five hours and a half rain stops for a few moments, and the Captains
determine to begin the match. We win the toss, and go in. Owing
to the sloppy state of the wicket, we are all got out for eleven in five-
and-twenty minutes. Cats and dogs recommence. Further adjourn-
ment, and whiskey-and-water drinking. Weather not clearing, other
side decide to go out and have their innings, when it is discovered
that both our bowlers and five of the field have left for Town. Oppo-
sition Captain furious, and asks me whether I think I " belong to an
Eleven of Gentlemen." Point to the weather. Rival Umpire asks
" What that's got to do with it ? " and offers to fight me. Decline,
and beat a retreat, eventually getting up to Town, escaping notice in
the corner of a third-class compartment. Arrive dripping. Feet in
hot water. To bed miserable.

Wednesday.-—Glass still failing, and pelt continuous. Still, make
up my mind to start for the Featherplys' Water Pic-nic at Cookham.
Get there, and find the young people determined not to give it up.
Say they are sure it will be very jolly" if we only take umbrellas
and waterproofs enough. Am forced to start. Find myself rowing
bow in a kght suit of flannels drenched through with a driving rain
that is swept by a bitterly eold wind in pailfuls over my dripping
back. Spirited young lady, who is steering, expresses her opinion

that it is "great fun." After two hours of this, join other 4boats
under some dripping bushes, to have lunch. Everybody in an ill
temper. Get a soaked sandwich, and call attention to it. Comic
man asks me what else I expected at a "Water Party." No one
laughs. Should like to duck him. Start to return, wind risen to a
hurricane, rain coming down in a deluge. Take an extra hour-and-
a-half getting back. Hurry up to catch train without waiting to say
good-bye to Featherely. Feel too savage to do it. Am all over
aches and pains. Think, on the whole, it is the most disagreeable
day I have ever spent in my life. Go to bed, wondering whether I
shall be able to hobble through my part in the Open-air Pastoral Play
which I am booked for to-morrow.

Thursday.—No change in weather. Worse, if anything. Never-
theless, start for Sir Harry Pottifer's place in Kent, to take part
in a Pastoral Drama, written specially for the occasion by himself,
entitled the Apotheosis of Pan, or Sunshine in Arcady. I am to
play Bacchus. Rain coming down in torrents. Find all the players
protesting against giving the thing in " such weather." Sir Harry
insists that we must, as Royalty is expected. Turn out, grumbling,
and begin. Seeing that Venus has got on a waterproof, I put on an
Ulster, and the Chorus of Wood Nymphs, taking the hint, execute a
" sylvan dance " in goloshes, wraps, and umbrellas. Sir Harry is
hurt. Says he didn't think we would mind " a little wet, just for
once," and that, of course, if we are going "to play the fool in that
sort of fashion," we may,,as well "give up the whole thing."
After a hot altercation on the lawn, held in a roaring wind in the
midst of blinding sleet and rain, Pan absolutely declining to appear,
even in his "Apotheosis," unless enveloped in a coachman's overcoat,
a compromise is arrived at, and it is ultimately settled that we are to
finish the Open-air Pastoral Drama as well as we can in the back
drawing-room. Do this. It falls decidedly flat. Royalties leave
before it is over. Sir Harry grumpy, and almost rude. Take my
departure, vowing nothing ever again shall persuade me to go in for
a Pastoral Drama. Arrive at my Chambers, feeling that, spite the
Ulster, my scanty get-up as Bacchus has given me a severe chill.
To bed, shivering, and wishing I hadn't stood so long on the lawn in
sandals.

Friday.—Feel that the sandals have done it, and that I have cer-
tainly got a chill. Head splitting. Aches all over. Glass hesi-
tating. Think it really looks like clearing. Give three feeble cheers.
Wonder whether I can manage to get down to the Spinkleby's
Garden Party to-day, and put in an _ appearance at the Champion
Bicycle Tournament to-morrow. Think I'll see Doctor. Do so.
Shakes his head and makes me telegraph to put them both off. Explain
my symptoms. Tells me I may think myself lucky if I ;get off
without rheumatic fever. Says Monday set it up. Tuesday de-
veloped it. The Water Pic-nic on Wednesday brought it to a head,
and that Bacchus yesterday evidently finished me. Orders me wet
towel to my head 'and gruel. Toss about in a troubled sleep dream-
ing I am pursued by a demon Clerk of the Weather, who is playing
on me continually with a four-inch hose of a sixteen horse-power
engine of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade.

Saturday.—Glass gone up amazingly. Sunshine once more. No
use. Comes too late. Still m bed. Wet towel still round my head.
Still taking gruel. On the whole, an irritating ending to a beastly
week.____■__

NOTES PICKED UP IN THE COURT OF THE L.C.J.

11-15 a.m.—Fairly punctual. Must not go to sleep until all my
friends are settled. ,

11-30 p.m.-^hink there is no more room on the Heneh. Have given
orders I am not to be disturbed. _

12 Noon".—Opening for the Plaintiff still going on. Wonder if
Counsel will last until luncheon interval. Pleasant voice—does not
disturb me at all. , ...

1-30 p.m.—Force of habit! Woke up m time to suggest that the
usual mid-day adjournment should take place.

2 p.m.—Find that address to the Jury is not concluded. Very well.

4 p.m.—Force of habit again ! Woke up to the minute. Some
witnesses I find have been examined

4-30 p.m.—Adjourned Court. ShaU be interested to find what I
have been trying to-day. Sure to see it in the Times to-morrow!

The Summer of 1888.

{Old Time.)
I remember, I remember

How this Summer fleeted by,
With its warmth of a December,

And its smiles of Janu-a-ry.

A Motto which certain Architects of the Board of Works acted
on :—" One must draw the line somewhere." And they did. And
that line wasn't a right line.