DOI Heft:
August 5, 1865
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16876#0055
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
43
August 5, 1863.
HORRIBLE SUSPICION.
Old Gentleman. “ Oh, Waiter, wht is it that a Dinner off the Joint is
Five Shillings, but if you only have Made Dishes and Soup, it’s Two
Shillings and Sixpence ? ”
Waiter. “ That, Sir, is on account of the very High Price of Butchers’
Meat just now, Sir.”
THERE AND BACK TOR THREE-AND-SIX.
A PRIVATE EXCURSION.—(Continued and Concluded.)
10 o'clock.-—I shall soon hear the sweet church-bells. I will attend the service.
The Landlord says I shan’t hear any church-bells, because there isn’t a church.
Not within four miles. Oh ! then I will go down to the beach, and think. If the
Landlady has got a book she can lend me, I will be much obliged. After some
search, she produces, with an apology for not finding a more modern work, a volume
ot miscellaneous poems called the Adieu, dated 1833.
1015.—The sound of wheels. Yisitors, eh? The Landlord says, “ Oh, yes.
People from Stanton on Sunday.”
“ Where a.re they going to ? ” I asked. “ Oh. they ’re coming here.” “ To
stay ? ” “ Till about five o’clock, or later. They dine here.”
“ Here are some people walking up the road to your gate.”
“ Oh, they: ’re Slawford folks,” says the Landlord, as if you could see them any
day of the week.
There was a table-d'hote at one, the Landlord told me. Would I join it ?
What, with the Stanton people, and folks from Slawford? No, thank you.
Slawford and Stanton must have emptied themselves to-day, for if the number
ot visitors to the Inn all came from those two places, “ To them,” said I, “ I ’ll
leave the Inn. For me the calm beach, and my book Adieu, date 1833, and my
thoughts.”
(What bad tobacco Slawford and Stanton is smoking !)
11 o'clock.—Beautiful day—calm sea. No one here. Slawford and Stanton
didn’t seem devotionally inclined, or they’d have been four miles away before
now. They won’t come down to the beach, though. I am right. Now for. my
Adieu. I open it at haphazard—“ Lines on a Daisy.” “ Meek and modest little
flower. Simplest offering of the hour. Blooming in obscurest shade ” (here I try
to arrange my hat, so as to protect myself from the sun, without giving it up to the
wind.) “ Meek and modest ”—No, I read that before. Oh—“Shade”—“Or, the
sunlit verdant glade, On the rock or”—here I begin to think. I am thinking.
I am still thinking. Delicious sensation! I am still thinking. I think there’s
something approaching. Am too lazy to turn. Think it’s a Slawford person, or
a Stanton, or—a—what’s that ? A growl—a low growl,
and a sniff! Two enormous black dogs—water-dogs. Wild,
perhaps! Fierce, certainly. I say “Poo’ fellow, then,”
but I think I’d better keep perfectly still. They are
sniffing and growling slightly. Thank goodness ! a whistle
summons them away.
Now, for my Adieu again. I’ve lost my place. No
matter—I ’ll think. I am thinking.
I am aroused by something falling on the tip of my
nose, which is just under the apex of the crown of my
wideawake. Odd. Bain? No. I think what it can be.
Another ! It’s a pebble! Two or three. I rise suddenly,
and see little boys scurrying away over the beach. I
shake my fist at them. Shouts of laughter, and a defiant
waving of spades. Where are their nurses ? Oh ! these
are the Young Limbs my Landlady spoke of. Villains !
I will go in, and get something to eat.
Slawford and Stanton are gorging, it being one o’clock,
and the table-d'hote. In consequence of this, no one attends
to me. In despair, I order bread-and-cheese and a glass
of ale. At intervals the maid brings a cloth, a spoon,
salt, pepper, mustard, a knife, a fork, another spoon (does
I she think that I eat cheese with a spoon ?), a wine-glass,
then a tumbler. Things remain at this stage until 1 ring,
when she recollects the bread. And on my again appealing
to her, she produces the cheese, Slawford having made a
pretty good hole in it, and, finally, the beer. This takes
altogether one hour.
! Why don’t Slawford and Stanton go out and enjoy the
i fresh air ?
I am not so calm and quiet as I had hoped to be. Pooh !
j I will go out and take a good walk over the sands, far
! away from Slawford, Stanton, wild dogs, and Young
j Limbs. This reminds me that I’ve left the Adieu on the
beach. I search, but it has disappeared. Very annoy-
ing ! Perhaps a keepsake of the Landlady’s. Dear me 1
I will go for my walk.
Why don’t Slawford and Stanton go out for a walk,
J instead of sitting indoors all day ?
A delicious breeze springs up. This is bracing. It
blows across the sands. I fancy it is blowing the sand up.
I am sure it is. Gracious ! quite a simoom 1 I turn up
my coat collar and down the brim of my hat. If I turn
back, I shall have it in my face. Never mind, after all it
is not so bad as a storm of rain would be. (Perhaps this is
the reason why Slawford and Stanton didn’t come out.)
In another half-hour the wind has gone down. Pleasant
walking, now. I will walk out to that rocky point, and
think.
Good gracious 1 Thunder and lightning! Hail! Ice-stones 1
I must keep on running. Dear me ! what a long way I’ve
come from the beach by the Inn. Perhaps this is the
reason why Slawford and Stanton, knowing the signs of the
weather, stayed indoors.
I see some other person on the beach. No—two
donkeys belonging to a lot that the “ Young Limbs ” drive
over the sands. Only donkeys could be out such a day as
this on the sands.
On returning, I have to pass in front of three windows
of the hotel, whereat are congregated the Slawford folk
and the Stanton people, male and female. They jeer me as
I pass. I mentally despise them. I wish I hadn’t gone out.
I am wet literally to the skin, and having come down
for this day only, have, improvidently, brought no change.
The Landlord can’t lend me anything, and I wouldn’t have
anything of Slawfords or Stantons as a gift. So 1 go to
bed for the rest of the day, and when the blind has been
mended, I have nothing to do but to watch the Pig. I
don’t like to ask for a book, having lost the Adieu, so I
devote myself to the Eastern Counties Railway Time-table
and the Pig. The Pig won’t come out because of the rain,
so I must ].ut up with watching the Stye. I dine in bed,
smoke in hed, and meditate on the Pig. When it is so
dark that I can no longer see the Pig or the Railway
Guide, I ring, to ask if my things are dry. The Cham-
bermaid is of opinion that “they none of ’em won’t be dry
till to-morrow morning; and as for the boots, she don’t
think they ’ll ever do again.”
Slawford and Stanton filled the place with the fumes of
brandy and bad tobacco, and left late.
I awoke, with a headache, on Monday morning. My
clothes were dry; so, having apologised for the loss of
the Adieu (the good lady almost cried—it was a keepsake),
I returned to Town, having for once and a way had enough
of Fort Shrngle.
43
August 5, 1863.
HORRIBLE SUSPICION.
Old Gentleman. “ Oh, Waiter, wht is it that a Dinner off the Joint is
Five Shillings, but if you only have Made Dishes and Soup, it’s Two
Shillings and Sixpence ? ”
Waiter. “ That, Sir, is on account of the very High Price of Butchers’
Meat just now, Sir.”
THERE AND BACK TOR THREE-AND-SIX.
A PRIVATE EXCURSION.—(Continued and Concluded.)
10 o'clock.-—I shall soon hear the sweet church-bells. I will attend the service.
The Landlord says I shan’t hear any church-bells, because there isn’t a church.
Not within four miles. Oh ! then I will go down to the beach, and think. If the
Landlady has got a book she can lend me, I will be much obliged. After some
search, she produces, with an apology for not finding a more modern work, a volume
ot miscellaneous poems called the Adieu, dated 1833.
1015.—The sound of wheels. Yisitors, eh? The Landlord says, “ Oh, yes.
People from Stanton on Sunday.”
“ Where a.re they going to ? ” I asked. “ Oh. they ’re coming here.” “ To
stay ? ” “ Till about five o’clock, or later. They dine here.”
“ Here are some people walking up the road to your gate.”
“ Oh, they: ’re Slawford folks,” says the Landlord, as if you could see them any
day of the week.
There was a table-d'hote at one, the Landlord told me. Would I join it ?
What, with the Stanton people, and folks from Slawford? No, thank you.
Slawford and Stanton must have emptied themselves to-day, for if the number
ot visitors to the Inn all came from those two places, “ To them,” said I, “ I ’ll
leave the Inn. For me the calm beach, and my book Adieu, date 1833, and my
thoughts.”
(What bad tobacco Slawford and Stanton is smoking !)
11 o'clock.—Beautiful day—calm sea. No one here. Slawford and Stanton
didn’t seem devotionally inclined, or they’d have been four miles away before
now. They won’t come down to the beach, though. I am right. Now for. my
Adieu. I open it at haphazard—“ Lines on a Daisy.” “ Meek and modest little
flower. Simplest offering of the hour. Blooming in obscurest shade ” (here I try
to arrange my hat, so as to protect myself from the sun, without giving it up to the
wind.) “ Meek and modest ”—No, I read that before. Oh—“Shade”—“Or, the
sunlit verdant glade, On the rock or”—here I begin to think. I am thinking.
I am still thinking. Delicious sensation! I am still thinking. I think there’s
something approaching. Am too lazy to turn. Think it’s a Slawford person, or
a Stanton, or—a—what’s that ? A growl—a low growl,
and a sniff! Two enormous black dogs—water-dogs. Wild,
perhaps! Fierce, certainly. I say “Poo’ fellow, then,”
but I think I’d better keep perfectly still. They are
sniffing and growling slightly. Thank goodness ! a whistle
summons them away.
Now, for my Adieu again. I’ve lost my place. No
matter—I ’ll think. I am thinking.
I am aroused by something falling on the tip of my
nose, which is just under the apex of the crown of my
wideawake. Odd. Bain? No. I think what it can be.
Another ! It’s a pebble! Two or three. I rise suddenly,
and see little boys scurrying away over the beach. I
shake my fist at them. Shouts of laughter, and a defiant
waving of spades. Where are their nurses ? Oh ! these
are the Young Limbs my Landlady spoke of. Villains !
I will go in, and get something to eat.
Slawford and Stanton are gorging, it being one o’clock,
and the table-d'hote. In consequence of this, no one attends
to me. In despair, I order bread-and-cheese and a glass
of ale. At intervals the maid brings a cloth, a spoon,
salt, pepper, mustard, a knife, a fork, another spoon (does
I she think that I eat cheese with a spoon ?), a wine-glass,
then a tumbler. Things remain at this stage until 1 ring,
when she recollects the bread. And on my again appealing
to her, she produces the cheese, Slawford having made a
pretty good hole in it, and, finally, the beer. This takes
altogether one hour.
! Why don’t Slawford and Stanton go out and enjoy the
i fresh air ?
I am not so calm and quiet as I had hoped to be. Pooh !
j I will go out and take a good walk over the sands, far
! away from Slawford, Stanton, wild dogs, and Young
j Limbs. This reminds me that I’ve left the Adieu on the
beach. I search, but it has disappeared. Very annoy-
ing ! Perhaps a keepsake of the Landlady’s. Dear me 1
I will go for my walk.
Why don’t Slawford and Stanton go out for a walk,
J instead of sitting indoors all day ?
A delicious breeze springs up. This is bracing. It
blows across the sands. I fancy it is blowing the sand up.
I am sure it is. Gracious ! quite a simoom 1 I turn up
my coat collar and down the brim of my hat. If I turn
back, I shall have it in my face. Never mind, after all it
is not so bad as a storm of rain would be. (Perhaps this is
the reason why Slawford and Stanton didn’t come out.)
In another half-hour the wind has gone down. Pleasant
walking, now. I will walk out to that rocky point, and
think.
Good gracious 1 Thunder and lightning! Hail! Ice-stones 1
I must keep on running. Dear me ! what a long way I’ve
come from the beach by the Inn. Perhaps this is the
reason why Slawford and Stanton, knowing the signs of the
weather, stayed indoors.
I see some other person on the beach. No—two
donkeys belonging to a lot that the “ Young Limbs ” drive
over the sands. Only donkeys could be out such a day as
this on the sands.
On returning, I have to pass in front of three windows
of the hotel, whereat are congregated the Slawford folk
and the Stanton people, male and female. They jeer me as
I pass. I mentally despise them. I wish I hadn’t gone out.
I am wet literally to the skin, and having come down
for this day only, have, improvidently, brought no change.
The Landlord can’t lend me anything, and I wouldn’t have
anything of Slawfords or Stantons as a gift. So 1 go to
bed for the rest of the day, and when the blind has been
mended, I have nothing to do but to watch the Pig. I
don’t like to ask for a book, having lost the Adieu, so I
devote myself to the Eastern Counties Railway Time-table
and the Pig. The Pig won’t come out because of the rain,
so I must ].ut up with watching the Stye. I dine in bed,
smoke in hed, and meditate on the Pig. When it is so
dark that I can no longer see the Pig or the Railway
Guide, I ring, to ask if my things are dry. The Cham-
bermaid is of opinion that “they none of ’em won’t be dry
till to-morrow morning; and as for the boots, she don’t
think they ’ll ever do again.”
Slawford and Stanton filled the place with the fumes of
brandy and bad tobacco, and left late.
I awoke, with a headache, on Monday morning. My
clothes were dry; so, having apologised for the loss of
the Adieu (the good lady almost cried—it was a keepsake),
I returned to Town, having for once and a way had enough
of Fort Shrngle.