Punch (48.1865)

April 22, 1865.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

167

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S’cetb,

QNCE more, those who worked for so many years with him who is
gone would make a brief mention of John Leech. This time, it is
for the sake of those whom he best loved, those for whom his splendid
faculties were ever employed, those whose proudest inheritance is his
name. The entire collection of his Sketches for the works with which
he enriched the pages of this journal, is now prepared for public sale.
A private view will be afforded on Wednesday, the 19tb, and the Sale, at
the rooms of Messes. Cheistie and Manson, King Street, St. James’s,

will begin on Tuesday, the 25th of the present month. On the exterior
of this number of Punch the auctioneers supply all details.

We insert this paragraph only as a tribute of that regard which does
not willingly omit the slightest demonstration. Who is not eager to
have a memorial of John Leech, who will not feel doubly gladdened in
its possession by the knowledge that the purcnase has added to the
store which it was the labour of John Leech’s life and love to set
aside for those nearest his heart P FM stre< mh ApriL

HOUSEHOLD HORRORS.

OW delightful, when first married,
’Twas in lodgings while we tarried,
Ne’er by those vexations harried
Which we’re now entangled in ;
But the prospect of addition
To our married life’s fruition
Us out of our blest position
Drove, housekeeping to begin.

Then we first knew what were taxes,
And each local rate, that waxes
Ever greater, on its axis
As this planet rolls away,

And were plagued out of our senses
By all manner of expenses.

Which, on various pretences,

We were called upon to pay.

Then on us the tribulation
Came of servants ; depredation,
Insolence, intoxication.

Followers also did abound ;

Oft a Guardsman in a lobby,

Down the area oft a “ Bobby,”

Cold meat being that man’s hobby,
Ever and anon we found.

But the miseries that tried us,

Most of all that did betide us,
Comfort and repose denied us,

And unsettled our affairs.

Were the constantly accruing,

Each on other fast ensuing,

Endless jobs that wanted doing;
Alterations and repairs.

Smelling drain, or chimney smoking,
Damp, through this or that wall soaking.
How unspeakably provoking!

Water-pipe or boiler burst;

Ironmonger, painter, plumber,

Carpenter, with noise and lumber
Pained our eyes and broke our slumber :
But the bricklayers were the worst.

Knocking, hammering, bricks and mortar,
Through long days that we wished shorter,
Rubbish, dust, in every quarter
Were the torment of our souls ;
Scaffolding our home surrounded.
Hodmen’s, plasterers’ shouts resounded,
Like strange demons, in confounded
Babel, while they clomb the poles.

O that we could build, like turtles,

In the cedars, or the myrtles.

With the foliage to avert ills
Erom our snug and quiet nest,

Which would never want repairing :

Then, for masons never caring.

We, domestic pleasures sharing.

Might enjoy our home in rest.