Punch: Punch (11.1846)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

167

THE SNOBS OF ENGLAND,

by one of themselves,

CHAPTER XXXIV.—A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS.

We had the fish, which, as the kind reader may rememher, I had brought down in
* delicate attention to Mrs. Ponto, to variegate the repast of next day ; and cod and oyster
sauce, twice laid, salt cod and scolloped oysters, formed parts of the bill of fare ; until I began
to fancy that the Ponto family, like our late revered monarch George II., had a fancy for
-stale fish. And about this time the pig being consumed, we began upon a sheep.

But how shall I forget the solemn splendour of a second course, which was served up in
great state by Stripes in a silver dish and cover, a napkin twisted round his dirty thumbs
and consisted of a landrail, not much bigger than a corpulent sparrow.

" Whose is the large red house just outside of
the town ? "

" What! the chateau-calicot ? he, he, he ! That
purse-proud ex-linen-draper, Mr. Yardley, with
the yellow liveries, and the wife in red velvet ?
How can you, my dear Mr. Snob, be so sati-
rical. The impertinence of those people is really
something quite overwhelming.

" Well, then there's the parson, Doctor
Chrtsostom. He's a gentleman, at any rate."

At this Mrs. Ponto looked at Miss Wirt.
After their eyes had met and they had wagged
their heads at each other, they looked up to the
ceiling. So did the young ladies. They
thrilled. It was evident I had said something
very terrible. Another black sheep in the
Church ? thought I, with a little sorrow ; for I
don't care to own that I have a respect for the
cloth. '• 1—I hope there's nothing wrong ? "

" Wrong ? " says Mrs. P. clasping her hands
with a tragic ah.

" 0 ! " says Miss Wirt, and the two girls,
gasping in chorus.

" Well," says I, " I'm very sorry for it. I
never saw a nicer-looking old gentleman, or a
better school, or heard a better sermon."

" He used to preach those sermons in a sur-
plice" hissed out Mrs. Ponto. "He's a Posey-
ite, Mr. Snob."

" Heavenly powers ! " says I, admiring the
pure ardour of these female theologians ; and
Stripes came in with the tea. It's so weak
that no wonder Ponto's sleep isn't disturbed by it.

Of mornings we used to go out shooting. We
bad Ponto's own fields to sport over (where we
got the fieldfare), and the non-preserved part of
the Hawbuck property : and one evening, in a
stubble of Ponto's, skirting the Carabas woods,
we got among some pheasants, and had some
I real sport. I shot a hen, I know, greatly to my
delight. " Bag it," says Ponto, in rather a
hurried manner, " here's somebody coming."
So I pocketed the bird.

" You infernal poaching thieves !" roars out a
man from the hedge in the garb of a gamekeeper.
" I wish I could catch you on this side of the
hedge. I'd put a brace of barrels into you, that
I would."

" Curse that Snapper," says Ponto, moving
off; "he's always watching me like a spy."

" Carry off the birds, you sneaks, and sell 'em
to London," roars the individual, who it appears
was a keeper of Lord Carabas. " You '11 get
six shillings a brace for 'em."

" You know the price of 'em well enough, and
so does your master too, you scoundrel," says
Ponto, still retreating.

" We kills 'em on our ground," cries Mr.
Snapper. " We don't set traps for other peo-
ple's birds. We 're no decoy ducks. We 're
no sneaking poachers. We don't shoot 'ens,
like that ere Cockney, who's got the tail of one
a-sticking out of his pocket. Only just come
across the hedge, that's all."

" I tell you what," says Stripes, who was out
with us as keeper this day, (in fact he's keeper,
coachman, gardener, valet, and bailiff, with
Tummtjs under him,) "if you'll come across, John
Snapper, and take your coat off, I 'le give you
such a wapping as you've never had since the last
time I did it at Guttlebury Fair."

" Wap one of your own weight," Mr. Snapper
ker in St. Martin s Lane : where he j -j ,*. lV ,' . , • . ,

may be told to her credit, that out of ! said, whistling his dogs, and disappearing into
■.cy at Pentonvilie; and furnished her i the wood. And so we came out of this contro-

'e her when he was at the Board of • t i ^ j. t i____ ±~ ii

■ou would fancy that her Papa was a 1 vers3 rather victoriously ; but I began to alter
the Gazette. j my preconceived ideas of rural felicity.

) that little mouthful o- an
t the Marsala with a solem-
•armecide's dinner to Shac-

nfortable country town, with
the church whither we went,
nonumented gothic pew) and
' wondered we were not enli-
;reens, and asked about them,
th the attorney's family, as
Of course not," I answered,

Iaria's life—really a learned
one's medical man to one's

and the

itinued, tossing up her head.
; the Kingwoods don't come
son,—positively nobody."