Punch (49.1865)

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[September 30, i860.

DISTRESSING INFANT NIGHTMARE,

FOUNDED ON THE LEGEND OF “ BANBURY CROSS.”

THE CLERK.

I Come from haunts of Coutts and Hoare,
From counting-house and alley,

I hear the City monster roar,

I traverse Holborn Valley.

By Ludgate Hill I hurry down,

Or slip along the byeways,

By twenty pumps that slake the Town.

And fountains on the highways;

Till home I go, at half-past five,

The Surrey side the river,

For men may ride and men may drive,

But I walk on for ever.

I grumble over miry ways,

I heed the shoeblacks’ trebles,

I enter doors of noiseless baize,

I wear a pair of pebbles.

With many a cheque to banks I go,

To clerks both fresh and sallow ;

And many a forenoon I bestow
On linseed, hemp, and tallow.

I whistle, whistle, when I hail
The Surrey side the river,

For men may drive, and ride by rail,

But I walk on for ever.

I pass by boys with pewter pots,

And luncheons under covers,

I see the eggs with splotchy spots
That might be happy plovers.

I slip away at noon to dine
Where chops so many swallow,

I order one from off the loin,

And one all hot to follow.

And out again, till home I go,

The Surrey side the river,

For men may ride and men may row,

But I walk on for ever.

GREAT EVENTS IN OUR DAILY LIFE AT
SHRIMPSIDE.

Seeing the Children bathe.—One little shrimp so fond of the water
that we named him the “ sea-urchin.”

Seeing the Children dig.—As much pleased with their spades as we
are with our clubs ; and filling their barrows with a satisfaction only
equalled by that of grave archaeologists opening tumuli.

Tapping the weather-glass.—As great a nuisance in the house as the
baby in the drawing room, which steadily refused to go to sleep under
an hour and every known lullaby. The landlady had the calmest of
tempers—set fair. It was never stormy in the kitchen.

Going to the Flagstaff to see in what- quarter the wind was.—Not vain
enough to think we could detect delicate shades of difference, such as
N.N.E. and N.N.W., only revealed to pilots and coast guardsmen.

High Water.—The finest tides at two in the morning. Remarkable
fact that the tides are always pitifully low when we are at the sea. A
week before we come they are unusually high, and a fortnight after we
are gone the waves wash over the pier, and throw their spray in at the
Terrace windows. A similar fatality befals us as to amusements. The
Mammoth Circus bills are still on the walls; the great conjuror gave
his last performance three nights before we arrived, the sisters Sofho-
nisba and Esmeralda will appear in their unrivalled entertainment
the Friday after we leave. To ebb back to the tide, avoid all
persons who ask troublesome questions about the influence of the moon
on the tides, and the exact meaning of the terms “spring” and “neap.”
Woe betide us, if we are ever pressed for this information by the Civil
Service Commissioners.

Taking an Observation of the Cambrian Hills.—Almost as great a
nuisance as the weather-glass and baby, for when we had a fine bright
day we were not suffered to enjoy it, being invariably told that the
Cambrian mountains were so distinctly seen, that the next day was sure
to be wet; and so it was from the milk in the morning till the milk at
night.

Going to see the Shrimps caught, and ordering a supply for private con-
sumption. Fating that supply. Who did get all the large ones ?

To the News-room.— As the Times did not. arrive until evening, and

there was then a brisk competition for its possession, we, who are
averse to a paper-war, felt thankful to get a glimpse of the supple-
ment the first day, and were placidly content with the local pH per,
which one of the subscribers to the room persisted in calling The Daily
Currier. We heard afterwards that he was in the leather trade.

To the Circulating Library —We left without obtaining the third
volume of any one of the four novels we read consecutively.

To the Station to see the Train come in.—With much compassion for
those arriving, and curious study of the meeting between husbands and
wives who had been parted ever since 9'30 a m. Certain little hampers
brought by the gentlemen, objects of great interest to the ladies—almost
as much looked after as the dear husbands themselves.

To the Crescent.—To see the moon rise (when not cloudy).

To the Terrace.—To see the sun set (when not rainy).

To the Green—Ho hear the band play. The era in our marine chro-
nology ; but only occurring periodically, once a week. It was the
Olympiad from which every event dated. We had roast ducks the
day before the band played last week, and the day but one after the
Chifswings came over to tea from Gardenbright; and don’t you
remember those particularly fine shrimps we had the evening the band
played, the first week we came, when Percy Yere was conspicuously
attentive to Penelope ?

The Day of our Arrival, and oh! ruddiest of all Red-Letter Rays, the
Day of our Departure.—For though Shrimpside is strongly to be recom-
mended as a retreat not infested with excursionists, nor donkey-ridden,
but capital for children, reasonable in its tariff, and free from blind men
playing the accordeon : it was a little too quiet.

Milk-Paley’s Evidences.

Several Correspondents in the penny papers are complaining in the
most sour spirit about the high price of milk. They do not like paying
fivepence a quart for it. However, they have already their own remedy;
they are not compelled to take it in. It is purely a question of milk
can, or milk shan’t. _

To Friends.—Is General Prim a Quaker?