Punch (48.1865)

April 1, 1865.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

129

a sheep-fold, with a wooden railing near it, a very desperate leap in
fact; the huntsman who rode in front or me jumped over, and a sudden

inspiration prompted me to
follow. I held my breath
and went at it; in going
over all my past existence
revealed itself to me as in a
single flash, and when we
got on the other side, I
found I was still following
the huntsman, and still on
Goliath. I will own to you,
Betty, that I was as much
surprised as if your Mother
had sent me a fifty-pound
note for my birthday. I
patted the faithful Goliath's
neck, and vowed that hunt-
ing and leaping should
henceforward be my only
relaxation. Why did my
I Mother, in her too careful

^ solicitude, bring me up in

ignorance of this exciting,
daring amusement.

Well this hare was caught
(without doubling) and 1
was in at the death; had. I
chosen I could have ridden
before any one else, or in-
deed in advance of the
hounds themselves, but Mr. Jones prevented me. I asked him if I
might not have the brush to send to you, Betty ; but he explained to
me that hares have not got one, and I now recollect he was right.

He now proposed that we should return to Brighton, and as I fancied
I was feeling rather sore, I acceded, though with regret. The ride
home was not by any means so pleasant as everything else had been;
Goliath adopted for the return a kind of jog-trot which was very dis-

the saddle, and when I alighted, upheld by Mr. Jones’s hand on my
collar, (he is a very strong man), I felt as if I was only resting on the

tressing. I seemed to grow less and less, and he to become quite
camel-like • indeed I was conscious of very ungrateful feelings towards
Goliath, which increased in intensity until we reached the stables and
dismounted; that is Mr. Jones dismounted first, and then dismounted
me; for, dear Betty, I was utterly incapable of lifting

my leg across

ground by means of a pair of empty trousers, which would have yielded
had they not been coated with dried mud.

This wore off, of course, and I was able to follow him into the house;
Didn’t I eat a lunch, and didn’t I eat a dinner after! I swore eternal
friendship to Mr. Jones, and so far from feeling any fatigue I offered
to run a race with anybody, and here I am in my bed-room writing
to thee; and recollect, Betty, I hereby solemnly declare that in future
all my energies shall be devoted to keeping a hunter, and hunting him
(in boots); you shall hunt, your Mother shall hunt, the twins shall
learn to hunt before they learn to read.

Good night, good night, beloved. I’m so sleepy, but not at all tired;
I must have a natural gift for field sports.

From the Same to the Same.

Dearest Wipe, Brighton, Sunday.

You must leave everything, and come immediately to the bed-
side of your possibly dying husband. My constitution is irrevocably
shattered. I am surrounded by people who laugh at my woes. The
very Doctor, whose mission is to heal the sick and assuage bodily
anguish, does not even preserve a decorous gravity when I detail my
symptoms. Oh ! none but you, Betty ; no hand but yours can soothe
these fearful sufferings. I cannot move a limb without tortures. I am
doubled in two, Betty; my poor legs are worn away to the bone. Oh
never, never more shall leg of mine bestraddle the back of a brutal
horse. May they both fall off ’ere I again participate in such barbarous
sport as yesterday’s. I am expiating the fate of the hare who doubled.
She is out of her misery at least.

Oh, Betty, wife, helpmate! leave twins, Mother, everything, and
come; your Mother even would compassionate me now. Come, oh
come, to your

Wretched, penitent, and utterly excoriated.

Husband.

THE BAKERS’ CLUB.

Clubs for working men are becoming the fashion, and nobody wishes
them “God speed” more heartily than Bunch. The Cabmen have
theirs; and even the Costermongers have theirs. We are not informed
whether they have insisted on the protection of the black-ball and the
ballot, which is found necessary to keep West-end clubs what they ought
to be. And now the journeymen Bakers have theirs. And why not ?
Surely those who make the staff of life have the best right to make a club.
There is no more over-worked, ill-cared for, and industrious body of
workmen in London than the journeymen bakers, whose club, with
a daring defiance of the small wits, has just been opened in Rolls
Buildings, Eetter Lane. Perhaps the site was chosen with a double
reference to ‘ breakfast bread ’ and the slavish toil and confinement
to which the journeymen bakers were condemned that London might-
have its hot rolls regularly. Indeed, if the new Club wants arms we
cannot think of more appropriate ones than a Roll and a Eetter, im-
proper, charged saltire-wise. But the Bakers’ Club wants a lift;

£250 would set it fairly on its legs. Let everybody who has been in the
habit of eating hot rolls for breakfast, and has thereby impaired his own

health, as well as that of the journeymen bakers, give a shilling, or
even a penny, to this good cause, and the trick is done. Such contri-
butions might more fairly be called “ conscience money,” than the
arrears of Income-Tax which one now sees so often paid under that
name to the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

GREAT FALL IN CRINOLINE.

Mademoiselle PIausmann, the daughter of the potent Prdfet de la
Seine, was married the other day ‘ without a vestige of Crinoline.’
Does the daughter mean to assert her empire over steel and stiffening,
as the father asserts his over moellons and mortar ; Mademoiselle defying
the dress-makers as Monsieur defies the dwellers in Paris P If so,
we must regard this daring act as simply a symbolic expression of the
pride of the PIausmanns, which sets its heel even on fashion, as the
German Emperor trampled Priscian underfoot with “Fgo sum Imperator
Romanus, et sum super grammaticam.” Or does Mademoiselle

Hausmann mean to imply that her Crinoline is out of place now she has
been transformed from a Hausmann into a “ Haus-frau,” or “ House-
wife ” in plain English ?

Vol. 48.