Punch (52.1867)

February 23, 1867.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 73

THE REJECTED DESIGN FOR THE NEW LAW COURTS.

“ One anonymous architect has sent in a frantic design, which the Commissioners have not chosen to exhibit.”—Times, Feb. 11, 1867.

HAPPY THOUGHTS.

Next Day at Station.—My practical joke. No change. Milburd
has to pay the cab; after which he has no change, only a cheque, and
I have to pay the railway fares for both. So ends my practical joke.

Very cold travelling.

Happy Thought.—Sixpence to guard. Hot-water bottle.

Jolly place to go to is Byng’s. One needn’t (1 say) take down dress-
clothes ; no ladies or dinner parties. You can go down as you are. “ As
I am ” means a light-coloured shooting coat, waistcoat to match, and
warm comfortable trousers, rather old, and a trifle shabby perhaps, but
as Milburd says, “ anything will do for the country in winter.”

We reach the station. No flys. We stamp up and down for half
an hour warming our feet. It is half-past five, lie dines at half-past
six. However no dressing; hot water and dine as we are. Milburd
tells me he always dresses for dinner for comfort’s sake, and adds,
“ that it’s always safer to bring your evening clothes with you when
you ’re going on a visit.” I reply, “ Oh, I don’t know.” No fly. No
porter to send. If Milburd will watch the luggage, I, who know the
country and where the Inn is, will walk on and get a fly sent down to him.

I do so. Fly is ready. I ’ll walk on to the house. Another practical
joke of mine. Milburd will have to pay the fly. If he has no change
the butler will have to do it, and Milburd must settle with him. I
know the short cut, and can go in by the yard-door.

Brisk walk. Up a lane. See the lights.

Think I hear Milburd’s fly quite in the distance. Great fun. I’ll
be there before him, and then what good trick can we play on him ?

Here’s the yard-door. Open! No bell needed. It’s very dangerous
to keep a door like this so unguarded. There ought to be a dog or trap.

Happy Thought— I ’ll tell Byng he ought to have a dog.

There is a dog. An inch more to his chain and he’d have pinned me :
how dangerous ! I must creep along, keeping close to the wall. He
is plunging and barking wildly in front of me : I can just see his form.
I hear the fly driving up by the front way : I wish I’d come by that.
The dog is still plunging, dashing, and barking.

Happy Thought.—To sav, “ Poor old boy, then—poor old man !”

He is growling, which is more dangerous. 1 try a tone of the
deepest compassion, “ Poor old fellow, then; poor old chap ! ”

He is trying 1o break his chain : if he breaks his chain I am done.
Shall 1 call for help ? it’s so absurd to call for help. I am in an angle

of the wall, if I move to the door where I came iu he can reach me; if
I move off along the wall he can reach me. I don’t exactly see where
he can’t reach me. “ Poor fellow—poor boy ! ” He is literally furious !

Happy Thought— Climb the wall.

1 try climbing the wall: if I fall back, he’s safe to catch me. Any
movement on my part sends him wild : how wonderful it is that they
have not been attracted in-doors by his noise.

“ Poor old boy ! ” I hear him shaking his kennel with rage. He
will have a convulsion, go mad, and break the chain. If 1 ever get out
of this, I swear I’ll never try a short cut to a house again. At last a
light. The cook at the door—the kitchen door. “ What, do I want ?”
she asks. I reply, “ Oh, nothing, I was just walking in the short way,
and the old dog doesn’t quite know me.” The butler luckily appears,
he addresses me by name, and orders, with authority, Growler to get
down, which Growler does, sulkily.

I say, as if he was leaving me pleasantly, “ Poor old boy !—sharp dog
that.” It, ’s a bad example to let people see you’re at all afraid of an
animal. He growls from his kennel, and we enter the house.

Mr. Milburd has arrived, and my luggage. Will I go into the
drawing-room ? there’s tea in the drawing-room, as we don’t dine till
seven to-day. I take off my wraps with a feeling of being at home.
Old Byng comes out to greet me. He says, “I’ve got a surprise for
you.” I wish I’d got a surprise for him, it’s his birthday. “ Many
happy returns,” I give him heartily. He says, “Such a surprise. I
knew you wouldn’t come if there were ladies.” What does he mean ?
We walk to the drawing-room. I follow him : I am prepared to have a
good laugh at Milburd about paying the fly^ and then-

Ladies ! six ladies ! 1 all seated round the fire taking tea. Milburd
standing on the rug, a young man on a small chair, an elderly gentle-
man deep in a book. Six ladies ! ! 1

Unhappy Thought.—No dress-clothes.

I am introduced, vaguely. 1 don’t hear any one’s name, and try to
give a different sort of bow to each, which fails. After the intro-
duction, silence. My host goes and talks to elderly lady with worsted.

Happy Thought.—Look at photograph-book on table. Quite a refuge
for the conversationally destitute is a photograph-book. Think I ’ll
speak to elderly gentleman ; what about ?

Happy Thought.—Ask him howr the weather’s been here ? As he
says, “ I beg pardon, what?” the door opens, a seventh lady enters—
Miss Fridoline Stmperson !!! No evening dress-clothes !