Punch (47.1864)

July 9, 18G1,

PUNCH OR THE LONDON CHARIVART

19

A poet I, an organ he ;

Is this our quarrel and no more ?

I drive a rival from the door ;

Two of a trade can ne’er agree.

Or am I hard, as Ayrton holds,

Denying prisoned area-belles
The only joy that gloom dispels
Of days sore vexed with toils and scolds ?

Ah !—no : ’tis that I love too well
The music that those orgaus slay;

’Tis that my glance too oft will stray,
Pleased with some blooming area-belle,

Unwilling that her eyes should err,

Prom the policeman drawn aside,

Or Grenadier, his country’s pride,

To that black whiskered foreigner

"Who grins and grinds, and grinds and grins,
And. in the area’s smile elate
Defies the first-floor’s rage and hate,

And, if I seize him, kicks my shins!

TWELVE THOUGHTS

FOR THOSE TEMPTED TO TRAVEL.

ivers Railway people,
with an artfulness
which cannot be too
much condemned,
are now exciting
families, especially
the ladies, with ideas
of travelling during
the recess. Tempt-
ing little pamphlets,
describing routes,
and offering Return
Tickets, the price
put in shillings to
look smaller, are
being sent _ into
houses, with disturb-
ing results. To coun-
teract this agency,
Mr, Punch begs to
submit to the heads
of families a few
considerations which
Paterfamilias will do
well to urge upon
those who wish him
to yield to Railway
blandishment.

Why it is so much better to Stop in Town.

You can see after the cleaning of your house, dusting your books,
and so on, and you will have such nice leisure for doing those large
windows with the clever imitation of coloured glass.

You can walk so comfortably in the Parks and Kensington Gardens,
and have your choice of chairs, as there will be no disagreeable crowd,
and no dust from carriages.

You can have orders, or even boxes, for any theatres that may be
i open, as the managers will be only too glad to see you.

You can study geography, and improve yourself so much, by engaging
all your travelling friends to write to you to tell you what they are
seeing, and you can follow them—on the map.

You can promenade Regent Street so agreeably, and if there is not
much in the shop windows at that season, so much the better, as you
will not be tempted to purchase what you don’t want.

You will feel so much more comfortable, watching over your own
premises, instead of leaving them to servants who will have in followers,
and perhaps set the house on fire.

You can have your children home from school for the Michaelmas
holidays, and even an extra week, during which you can examine them
carefully as to their progress, and take them to the British Museum,
and that of Practical Geology, also to the Thames Tunnel.

You can walk with your male relatives into parts of London which
you have never seen, as Whitechapel, Ratcliffe Highway, and Bow, and
you will gain quite new ideas of the enormous size of our noble
Metropolis.

You will avoid those long, cold, dull evenings in the country, and
especially by the sea-side, when you are tired out, can’t get a new book,

and are ashamed to have a fire, and you can spend them in the comfort
or your own house.

You can fetch up such a deal of reading which you have never had
time to manage during the Season, and besides, can resolutely set your-
self to Alison, Hallam, Hume and Smollett, and other really
instructive writers.

You can see a great deal of your poor and unpresentable relations,
and ask them to tea, hear all their quarrels and grievances, and advise
them as to the bringing up their children, and otherwise discharge the
duties of consanguinity.

And you cannot think how much more you will enjoy a country
holiday in 1865 if you omit taking one in 1864, besides that when your
friends return to town you will have so much more leisure to listen t o
all their narratives of travel, having none to bore them with in return.
So

Don’t Go Out of Town this Autumn.

CROQUET.

IV.

The turf whereon the Croquet players meet,

Should be by scythe and roller kept so neat.

That not e’en “ fairy troops which nimbly play,

And by the springs dance out the summer day,”

(In which quotation I do scent a pun
Where Brown of Devon, sure, mtended none.)

Could for their Almack’s wish a better floor.

Give as its length, one hundred feet, no more.

And sixty-five for width: this will be found
A general scale for every Croquet ground.

How through the spaces ’twixt the trees, that keep
The garden border-land, at every peep,

A varying landscape may our praise excite;

How, so to fix th’ artistic fine of sight
That, true perspective’s rules thus well applied,

The eye may catch new wonders on each side,

Until enchanted by this magic scene,

We own a Chatsworth in a bowling green;

How such harmonious colours to collect.

As may but aid the general effect,

How a fit spot, from shadows free to find,

Patent to Sun, impervious to the YYind,

How to make boundless seem contracted space
In what ethereal term ’twere best to place
The point where vanishes each airy line,

Be that Thy task, Sir Joseph, ’tisn’t mine.

v.

A nervous arm, cool head, and steady aim.

These the essentials of the Croquet game.

The corpus sanum and mens sana too

Are both required. Yet, ’twixt me and you,

As to mens sana—why, there was a match
At Croquet, t’other day, at Colney Hatch ;

But this, whatever Croquet’s foes may say, !

Proves naught: the hatchers did but play at play.
Behold young Rackety whose very first
Cry in the morning’s “ Let me quench my thirst 1 ”
He ’ll doze while healthy gamesters seek the field,

His shaking hand the mallet could not wield;

Up on the sofa stretched he takes his nap,

While the light novel tumbles from his lap.

Thus to beguile the Summer hours he tries,

A burden to himself, a sport for flies !

For this poor wretch with enervated arms,

Our manly Croquet hath no sort of charms .

If I’ve digressed you will admit I’ve shown
How high is our sweet pastime’s moral tone

VI.

When my capricious Muse to details stoops,

She ’ll tall us of the mallets, balls, and hoops,

The pegs, the colours and the marking clips.
Hearken! once more she’s opening her lips.

Sing, sing my Muse ! she won’t—this is distressing,
The lady does require so much pressing.

“ Here’s the piano, now we hope you ’ll sing;

Choose for yourself; oh, any little thing! ”

She smiles, and shakes her head—“ Oh ! if she might
Be held excused but merely for this night,

She’d take it as a favour.” What we can’t
Refuse, ’tis our best policy to grant;

And therefore, Miss, you ’re free. But our esteem
You ’ll lose, save you next week resume your theme.