DOI Heft:
March 23, 1867
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16879#0120
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
113
March 23, 1867.]
|
I
i
HAPPY THOUGHTS.
(The Horse from Brett’s—Sporting—the Harriers.)
[Diary and Notes for “ Typical Developments.”—Byng’s place is cu-
riously situated. Some people say it’s in one country, some in another.
Byng himself is uncertain, but has a leaning towards Hampshire, as
savouring of the Forest (which is within a hundred miles or so), and of
old families. The Telegraphic Guide and the Postal Guide differ as to
the locality. Among its disadvantages may be reckoned the fact that
you can get to Byng’s by five different lines of railfrom London,
each one presenting some few lesser, some few greater, inconveniences.
On one line you go through as far as Stopford, then wait for the
half-past ten from Thistleborough, which, being an opposition, makes
itself as disagreeable as possible, arriving late, snobbishly, to show its
consequence, going beyond its mark, shunting backwards, grunting
forwards, coquetting with the platform, frightening the passengers who
are taking refreshment, and, in short, behaving generally in a very ill-
conditioned manner. On another line to Byng’s, you change three
times ; but you get there, on the whole, quicker than by the Stopford
Junction one. By this train you may calculate upon some difficulty
with your luggage. On a third you only change once, and then you
are taken out in an, apparently, totally contrary direction to that in
which you want to go. This causes anxiety, references to guide-books,
searching questions of guards and porters as to what the name of the
next station is (checking them by Bradshaw), and as to the time of
arrival at one’s destination. The fourth only has two trains in the day
which stop at Byng’s station. If you want to go down to Byng’s
either very early in the morning or very late at night, you can’t do
better than go by line No. 4. The fifth is uncertain, slow, safe, and
only stops if you give notice previously to the guard—which regula-
tion you discover after you’ve passed Byng’s station. I note all these
things, because in Typical Developments, Yol. XI., Book 16, when I
come to touch upon Geography and Geology, I shall be then able to
offer to the world some theories on the probabilities of iron veins, coal
strata, and chalk rock in this part of England. For this part unites in
itself the peculiarities of the low marsh of Essex, the gravelly soil of
Surrey, the woods of Hampshire, the rich meadows of Kent, the plains
of Leicestershire, and the downs of Sussex. And all this I note down,
having much leisure, and being very tired, but dreadfully wakeful at
night, after a day with the Dishling Harriers. And I note it down
for reasons as above stated, and also to account to myself for the varied
country through. which I have passed.—Diary.)
Morning.—Down to breakfast. Earlier than usual. Half-aunt making
tea. Milburd, as I enter, is asking “ How far it is ? ”
Byng replies, “ A mere trot over.”
Happy Thought.—Fridoline looking as bright as Aurora.
Happy Thought.—Don’t say it: keep it to myself. Aurora sounds i
like a roarer, and the ladies mightn’t like it.
“ So soon? ” I ask. Don’t I know ? “No, I don’t.” “Oh,” says
Byng, “we’ve found out the Dishling pack meets near here this
morning, and so we ’re going to have a run with them.”
Happy Thought.—Have a run without me.
“ I suppose he hasn’t been able to get a horse for me ? ” I ask this
with a tinge of regret in my voice. If he says he hasn’t been able, I
shall be sorry; if he says he has—why, I feel I must take my chance. ]
Happy Thought.—Lots of people ride, and never have an accident.
“ Hasn’t he ? ” he returns, heartily. His groom (confound him !) has
been up and down the village since five o’clock, and has hit upon a
very good one—about sixteen one—well up to my weight. “ Carry I
you, in fact,” says Milburd, “ like a child.” “ 1 suppose he’s not a
hunter, is he ? ”
Happy Thought.—If he’s not a hunter, of course I shan’t risk him
over fences and ditches.
My doubts are set at rest by the groom, who enters at that moment.
He informs me that “ The old mare was reg’lar hunted by Mr. Par-
sons, and with you (me) on his back, Sir, she’ll go over anything a’most.”
Fridoline exclaims, “ Oh, how delicious! Shall we have much
jumping ? It is such fun! ”
Milburd appears to know the country. “It’s all very easy,” he
says. “Into one field, pop out again” (this is his description), “into
another, over a hedge, little ditch, gallop across the open, little brook
(nothing to speak of), sheep-hurdle, and then perhaps we may get a
clear burst away on the downs.”
“I don’t care about downs: there’s no jumping there!” says
Fridoline.
Happy Thought— Keep on the downs.
I notice, on their rising from the table, that Milburd is in tops and
breeches, and that Byng is in breeches and black boots. Both wear
spurs.
Happy Thought. —I can’t hunt as I am.
The half-uncle (who is not going—the coward !) says it won’t matter
—there’s little or no riding required with harriers. He pretends to
wish he could join us—old humbug ! I wish he could. I should like
to see him popping out of one field, into another, over a hedge.
Byng has been considering. He has got by him an old pair of cords,
but no boots.
Happy Thought— Can’t hunt without boots. Great nuisance. Better
give it up. Don’t stop for me.
A Happy Thought occurs to Milburd—Patent leggings, fasten with
springs. Antigropelos.
I try them on. They do fit me ; at_least, I imagine so (meaning the
hunting breeches), though, never having worn hunting breeches before,
I’ve got a sort of idea that they ’re not quite the thing. So very tight
in the knee. His leggings are patent antigropelos, which go over my
stockings and boots. When I am dressed, I walk down-stairs, or
rather, waddle down-stairs, and can’t help remarking that “This is just
the sort ot dress for riding in,” or, by the way, for sitting in; but
walking is out of the question. [I wonder if they do fit.]
Fridoline, who looks so bewitching in her habit that I could fall
down on my knees and offer her my hand at once—(My knees ! I don’t
think they do fit; and I question whether this costume exhibits the
symmetry of form so well as the modern style)—Fridoline says that
I look quite military. (She means it as a compliment, but it isn’t; be-
cause I want to look sportsmanlike). In antigropelos, if like anything,
I resemble the Great Napoleon—from the knees. Milburd says I
ought to have spurs. I object to spurs. I feel that without spurs I’m
tolerably safe ; but if there’s a question of a spill, spurs will settle it.
That’s my feeling about spurs. I only say, “ Oh, don’t trouble your-
self.” ^ Byng is going to fetch them : “I can get on just as well without
spurs.” The groom says, “ She won’t want spurs,” which awakens me
to the fact of the beast being now at the hall-door. A bright chestnut,
very tall, broad, and swishing its tail; with a habit of looking back
withoutturning its head (which movement is unnatural), as if to see if
anyone is getting up. I ask is this mine ? I feel it is. It is. I can’t
help saying jocosely, as a reminder to others to excuse any short-
comings in horsemanship on my part, “ I haven’t ridden for ever so
long ; I’m afraid I shall be rather stiff.” If stiffness is all I’ve to fear,
I don’t care. I wish we were coming home instead of starting. “ Will
I help Fridoline up ? ” I will; if only to cut out Milburd, and not
lose an opportunity. What a difficult thing it is to help a lady on to
her horse. After several attempts, I am obliged to give in.
Happy Thought.—I must practise this somewhere. Private lesson
in a riding school. I feel I’ve fallen in her estimation. I feel I’m no
longer the bold dragoon to her. I apologise for my feebleness. She
says it doesn’t matter. Misery! to fail and be feeble before the woman
you adore.
“ DODM
Dod’s Parliamentary Companion, 1867. Whittaker & Co.
Pufe it! We should rather think that we would puff it, not that it
needs puffing, for it is simply a necessary of life to an/ person who
goes out to dinner. Many sensible people carry it in their pockets,
and as soon as they have taken stock of the party, before going down,
manage a quiet peep at the biography of the Members of Parliament
who may be in the room. We know a case in which a young gentle-
man secured a capital marriage by means of Dod, from having
contrived to read up the political history of the father of a young
lady whom he led to the table and has since led to the altar. We
know of another case in which similar knowledge, so obtained, was so
ably used in talk with an M.P.’s wife that a gentleman obtained an
invitation to unlimited shooting in one of the best counties. He who
is not up in his Dod, in these days, is unfit for any society whatever.
We have carefully perused the volume, and have discovered only one
mistake—the Garrick Club is said to be in New King Street, but that
street now takes its name from the distinguished club itself. We find
everything that one can want to know about the Legislative Wisdom.
It just occurs to us, however, that in the next edition it might be well
to add a word as to the kind of dinners given by each Member—thus,
“Dinners at home. Bather stuck up, but capital wine.” “Gives
dinners at his club; good ones.” “ Seldom gives dinners, but his wife’s
dances are things to get to.” “ Awfully stingy, but very ready to dine
out.” “Excellent dinners, but too many parsons.” “Tolerable
dinners; advertised wine.” With this addition to our political know-
ledge, Dod’s Parliamentary Companion wonld be perfect.
Scotch and. Irish.
At a meeting of the Cupar Volunteers, held the other evening, the
members of that gallant corps, with Captain Hogarth at their head,
declared themselves willing to be sent to Ireland, and aid in suppressing
the Fenian rebellion. Scotland’s liegemen might be trusted to give a
good account of Ireland’s traitors. As yet, the snake of Irish treason
is “scotched, not killed;” but a corps of Scottish Volunteers would
scotch it effectually. _
The Burglar’s Companion.—How to bone anything locked up.
Use a skeleton key.
113
March 23, 1867.]
|
I
i
HAPPY THOUGHTS.
(The Horse from Brett’s—Sporting—the Harriers.)
[Diary and Notes for “ Typical Developments.”—Byng’s place is cu-
riously situated. Some people say it’s in one country, some in another.
Byng himself is uncertain, but has a leaning towards Hampshire, as
savouring of the Forest (which is within a hundred miles or so), and of
old families. The Telegraphic Guide and the Postal Guide differ as to
the locality. Among its disadvantages may be reckoned the fact that
you can get to Byng’s by five different lines of railfrom London,
each one presenting some few lesser, some few greater, inconveniences.
On one line you go through as far as Stopford, then wait for the
half-past ten from Thistleborough, which, being an opposition, makes
itself as disagreeable as possible, arriving late, snobbishly, to show its
consequence, going beyond its mark, shunting backwards, grunting
forwards, coquetting with the platform, frightening the passengers who
are taking refreshment, and, in short, behaving generally in a very ill-
conditioned manner. On another line to Byng’s, you change three
times ; but you get there, on the whole, quicker than by the Stopford
Junction one. By this train you may calculate upon some difficulty
with your luggage. On a third you only change once, and then you
are taken out in an, apparently, totally contrary direction to that in
which you want to go. This causes anxiety, references to guide-books,
searching questions of guards and porters as to what the name of the
next station is (checking them by Bradshaw), and as to the time of
arrival at one’s destination. The fourth only has two trains in the day
which stop at Byng’s station. If you want to go down to Byng’s
either very early in the morning or very late at night, you can’t do
better than go by line No. 4. The fifth is uncertain, slow, safe, and
only stops if you give notice previously to the guard—which regula-
tion you discover after you’ve passed Byng’s station. I note all these
things, because in Typical Developments, Yol. XI., Book 16, when I
come to touch upon Geography and Geology, I shall be then able to
offer to the world some theories on the probabilities of iron veins, coal
strata, and chalk rock in this part of England. For this part unites in
itself the peculiarities of the low marsh of Essex, the gravelly soil of
Surrey, the woods of Hampshire, the rich meadows of Kent, the plains
of Leicestershire, and the downs of Sussex. And all this I note down,
having much leisure, and being very tired, but dreadfully wakeful at
night, after a day with the Dishling Harriers. And I note it down
for reasons as above stated, and also to account to myself for the varied
country through. which I have passed.—Diary.)
Morning.—Down to breakfast. Earlier than usual. Half-aunt making
tea. Milburd, as I enter, is asking “ How far it is ? ”
Byng replies, “ A mere trot over.”
Happy Thought.—Fridoline looking as bright as Aurora.
Happy Thought.—Don’t say it: keep it to myself. Aurora sounds i
like a roarer, and the ladies mightn’t like it.
“ So soon? ” I ask. Don’t I know ? “No, I don’t.” “Oh,” says
Byng, “we’ve found out the Dishling pack meets near here this
morning, and so we ’re going to have a run with them.”
Happy Thought.—Have a run without me.
“ I suppose he hasn’t been able to get a horse for me ? ” I ask this
with a tinge of regret in my voice. If he says he hasn’t been able, I
shall be sorry; if he says he has—why, I feel I must take my chance. ]
Happy Thought.—Lots of people ride, and never have an accident.
“ Hasn’t he ? ” he returns, heartily. His groom (confound him !) has
been up and down the village since five o’clock, and has hit upon a
very good one—about sixteen one—well up to my weight. “ Carry I
you, in fact,” says Milburd, “ like a child.” “ 1 suppose he’s not a
hunter, is he ? ”
Happy Thought.—If he’s not a hunter, of course I shan’t risk him
over fences and ditches.
My doubts are set at rest by the groom, who enters at that moment.
He informs me that “ The old mare was reg’lar hunted by Mr. Par-
sons, and with you (me) on his back, Sir, she’ll go over anything a’most.”
Fridoline exclaims, “ Oh, how delicious! Shall we have much
jumping ? It is such fun! ”
Milburd appears to know the country. “It’s all very easy,” he
says. “Into one field, pop out again” (this is his description), “into
another, over a hedge, little ditch, gallop across the open, little brook
(nothing to speak of), sheep-hurdle, and then perhaps we may get a
clear burst away on the downs.”
“I don’t care about downs: there’s no jumping there!” says
Fridoline.
Happy Thought— Keep on the downs.
I notice, on their rising from the table, that Milburd is in tops and
breeches, and that Byng is in breeches and black boots. Both wear
spurs.
Happy Thought. —I can’t hunt as I am.
The half-uncle (who is not going—the coward !) says it won’t matter
—there’s little or no riding required with harriers. He pretends to
wish he could join us—old humbug ! I wish he could. I should like
to see him popping out of one field, into another, over a hedge.
Byng has been considering. He has got by him an old pair of cords,
but no boots.
Happy Thought— Can’t hunt without boots. Great nuisance. Better
give it up. Don’t stop for me.
A Happy Thought occurs to Milburd—Patent leggings, fasten with
springs. Antigropelos.
I try them on. They do fit me ; at_least, I imagine so (meaning the
hunting breeches), though, never having worn hunting breeches before,
I’ve got a sort of idea that they ’re not quite the thing. So very tight
in the knee. His leggings are patent antigropelos, which go over my
stockings and boots. When I am dressed, I walk down-stairs, or
rather, waddle down-stairs, and can’t help remarking that “This is just
the sort ot dress for riding in,” or, by the way, for sitting in; but
walking is out of the question. [I wonder if they do fit.]
Fridoline, who looks so bewitching in her habit that I could fall
down on my knees and offer her my hand at once—(My knees ! I don’t
think they do fit; and I question whether this costume exhibits the
symmetry of form so well as the modern style)—Fridoline says that
I look quite military. (She means it as a compliment, but it isn’t; be-
cause I want to look sportsmanlike). In antigropelos, if like anything,
I resemble the Great Napoleon—from the knees. Milburd says I
ought to have spurs. I object to spurs. I feel that without spurs I’m
tolerably safe ; but if there’s a question of a spill, spurs will settle it.
That’s my feeling about spurs. I only say, “ Oh, don’t trouble your-
self.” ^ Byng is going to fetch them : “I can get on just as well without
spurs.” The groom says, “ She won’t want spurs,” which awakens me
to the fact of the beast being now at the hall-door. A bright chestnut,
very tall, broad, and swishing its tail; with a habit of looking back
withoutturning its head (which movement is unnatural), as if to see if
anyone is getting up. I ask is this mine ? I feel it is. It is. I can’t
help saying jocosely, as a reminder to others to excuse any short-
comings in horsemanship on my part, “ I haven’t ridden for ever so
long ; I’m afraid I shall be rather stiff.” If stiffness is all I’ve to fear,
I don’t care. I wish we were coming home instead of starting. “ Will
I help Fridoline up ? ” I will; if only to cut out Milburd, and not
lose an opportunity. What a difficult thing it is to help a lady on to
her horse. After several attempts, I am obliged to give in.
Happy Thought.—I must practise this somewhere. Private lesson
in a riding school. I feel I’ve fallen in her estimation. I feel I’m no
longer the bold dragoon to her. I apologise for my feebleness. She
says it doesn’t matter. Misery! to fail and be feeble before the woman
you adore.
“ DODM
Dod’s Parliamentary Companion, 1867. Whittaker & Co.
Pufe it! We should rather think that we would puff it, not that it
needs puffing, for it is simply a necessary of life to an/ person who
goes out to dinner. Many sensible people carry it in their pockets,
and as soon as they have taken stock of the party, before going down,
manage a quiet peep at the biography of the Members of Parliament
who may be in the room. We know a case in which a young gentle-
man secured a capital marriage by means of Dod, from having
contrived to read up the political history of the father of a young
lady whom he led to the table and has since led to the altar. We
know of another case in which similar knowledge, so obtained, was so
ably used in talk with an M.P.’s wife that a gentleman obtained an
invitation to unlimited shooting in one of the best counties. He who
is not up in his Dod, in these days, is unfit for any society whatever.
We have carefully perused the volume, and have discovered only one
mistake—the Garrick Club is said to be in New King Street, but that
street now takes its name from the distinguished club itself. We find
everything that one can want to know about the Legislative Wisdom.
It just occurs to us, however, that in the next edition it might be well
to add a word as to the kind of dinners given by each Member—thus,
“Dinners at home. Bather stuck up, but capital wine.” “Gives
dinners at his club; good ones.” “ Seldom gives dinners, but his wife’s
dances are things to get to.” “ Awfully stingy, but very ready to dine
out.” “Excellent dinners, but too many parsons.” “Tolerable
dinners; advertised wine.” With this addition to our political know-
ledge, Dod’s Parliamentary Companion wonld be perfect.
Scotch and. Irish.
At a meeting of the Cupar Volunteers, held the other evening, the
members of that gallant corps, with Captain Hogarth at their head,
declared themselves willing to be sent to Ireland, and aid in suppressing
the Fenian rebellion. Scotland’s liegemen might be trusted to give a
good account of Ireland’s traitors. As yet, the snake of Irish treason
is “scotched, not killed;” but a corps of Scottish Volunteers would
scotch it effectually. _
The Burglar’s Companion.—How to bone anything locked up.
Use a skeleton key.