DOI Heft:
October 19, 1867
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0167
1
156
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 19, 1867.
A FEW FRIENDS.
(FROM MT PHOTOGRAPH BOOK.)
TABLEAU V.— MY FUNNY FRIEND.—(Continued.)
Y Funny Friend
at once attempts
to ingratiate him-
self with my Great
Aunt by express-
ing his pleasure at
seeing me. He
says, “ I am so
glad to see Little
Billy again, ”
which my Aunt
doesn’t quite un-
derstand, as my
name isn’t Billy.
“That’s only my
fun,” he explains
to her, “ I always
call him Little
Billy, because his name’s Adolphus,” and he goes on to say
that in his opinion 1 ought to have been christened Little Billy,
a notion which my Great Aunt resents as savouring of vulgarity.
He is ready for the objection with a quotation. “ What’s in a
name F ” says Grigg, “ A Thingummy by any other name would
smell like a What’shisname, as the poet says.” My Aunt accepts this
as the saying of a Poet (she is fond of poetry), and drops the subject.
Has Mr. Mac Grigg,—she is still unsteady as to his title, so I say,
“ Mr. Grigg, Aunt,” which amendment my Aunt adopts, and resumes,
addressing me—“ has Mr. Grigg seen his room yet ? ” then turning to
him, she politely expresses her regret that there was not a bed for him
in our house. I think he is a little annoyed at this, though he only
laughs, and says it doesn’t matter. My Great Aunt then retires, after
expressing, in a stately manner, a hope that she will see him at dinner,
to which he replies, that he shall certainly be there. When she has
gone, Grigg exclaims, “ I say, old boy, I’m so confoundedly hungry.
I’ve scarcely had any breakfast.” I tell him we ’re going to lunch at
one. “ One ! ” he cries, and says he can’t wait till then, it being now
only half-past ten. I don’t wish to be inhospitable, but I don’t like to
give Mrs. Buzzyby so much trouble He wants to know who Mrs.
Buzzyby is? I explain. Upon which he says, with great contempt,
“ Hang Mrs. Buzzyby ! ” He laughs at me for being, as he says, afraid,
of a Landlady. I am a little annoyed at this. I tell him I am not
afraid, but only I do not like giving more trouble than I can help.
“ Well,” he objects, “ but you can’t help this. Here, let’s ring and
have her in. I ’ll touch her feelings.” Before I can say a word he
has rung savagely. I say to him, “ Don’t ring like that.” . Whereupon
he asks me, if I’d like him to ring like this, and does it again in a
different fashion. After this he wants to know if I ’ll have any more,
and announces his last ring as “ This style two-and-six, in three ,
lessons.” On my begging him to be quieter, he puts his finger to his j
lips, and says, in a whisper, “ Hush ! they come ! ” and hides behind j
the arm-chair, expressing his intention of saying “ Boh ! ” to Mrs.
Buzzyby when she enters. They don’t come, however, as Mrs. Buz-
zyby is up-stairs at the top of the house making the beds. The little
waiting-maid, hearing the peremptory summons (I always give one
gentle, quiet, pull, and then only when I know Mrs. Buzzyby is not
otherwise engaged), rushes up-stairs, tumbling on the first landing in
her excitement, and bringing out my Aunt, who imagines nothing less
than fire, to fetch Mrs. Buzzyby.
While I am considering the best manner of addressing my Landlady
when she appears, Grigg is busy with pen, ink, and paper. At all
events, thank goodness, he is quiet. Mrs. Buzzyby is some time
coming down: I hear, her smoothing herself in the passage. Grigg
hears it, too, and getting on a chair, seats himself cross-legged, pulls a
hideous face, and places in front of him a sheet of foolscap, on which
he has just been inscribing the words, “ I am Starving ! ” As I begin
remonstrating, Mrs. Buzzyby enters, and sees the figure before her.
She is puzzled.. He begins working his head and tongue like a Man-
darin, and she is frightened, upon which he stops, and coming off the
chair, observes, that “ there is no deception, no spring, no mechanique,”
and hopes the explanation is satisfactory. (Grigg says, afterwards,
that it requires education to appreciate humour ; by which, in a gene-
ral way, he means his humour, and consequently assumes Mrs. Buz-
zyby to be a person of neglected education.) I explain (as it still needs
explanation) that my friend is hungry ; sorry to trouble her, but would
she mind just bringing in some bread-and-butter—(“a sandwich,”
Grigg suggests, winking at Mrs. Buzzyby, confidentially)—yes, in
fact, a sandwich ? She needn’t lay the cloth, I add, in order to show
her that this is not my doing, but Grigg’s.
She replies, that “ she can,” as if she couldn’t; and says “ she will,”
as if she wouldn’t. However, she does. The interval is passed by
my Funny Friend at the window, attracting the attention of the passers,
by tapping the glass sharply, and then suddenly disappearing, leaving
me looking quietly out as the object of suspicion. I tell him that, as
some one might be going by who knows me, he really mustn't go on
like this. He says he won’t. Refreshment. During this, he becomes
interested in my account of the Factories. I inform him that I am the
Chief Inspector here. Whereupon he wants to know why I don’t
wear a cocked hat and a sword P I smile at this conceit, to humour
him.
I tell him, more with a view to impressing him with the weight of
my position in Cokingham, than because of the necessity of keeping
the appointment, that I am obliged at twelve o’clock to inspect a
Factory. While I am there, perhaps he’d like to stroll about the
town, or go to his inn. A bright idea occurs to him, “ Can’t be go
with me ? He should so much like to inspect a Factory with me.” I
reply, that I don’t think it will interest him; to which he returns,
gravely, that there’s nothing would please him more. He talks at.once
about cotton, iron, lace, gives me an account of a visit he paid to
Honiton, and how he has arranged to go over the iron-foundries in the
North. I see he can be serious when he likes, and is really very well
informed.
By the way it strikes me that when he sees the deference paid me by
the Masters and the Hands he will give up his tomfoolery.
We start. Passing a shop where a man is inside cleanin'* the win-
dows he stops and says, “Look here, here’s some fun,” and immedi-
ately pretends to be cleaning the outside, imitating the man’s move-
ments. The shopkeeper pauses in his work, and then vaguely threatens
him. I implore him to come away. I say if he goes on like this we
must walk separately, whereupon he drops behind and follows me like
a servant. I have to get some postage stamps : he comes in with me,
and before I’ve got my letters out of my pocket he is introducing me
to the Post Office clerk. “ Mr. Julius Fitzgibbon,” a name he in-
vents for the official, “my friend,” alluding to me, “The Archbishop
of Mesopotamia.” The Clerk, a quiet business-like man, doesn’t
know what to say, not realising himself as Fitzgibbon. I pooh-
pooh my Funny Friend, and say what I’ve come for.. This, says
Grigg, reminds him that he wants something. He first inquires, “ if
he’s got some nice fine fresh stamps in this morning ? ” And on the
clerk not being ready with a reply, he supposes “that they’re not in
season, and won’t trouble him.” He is just going, but returns to ask
“ if a letter sent to WTshy-washy-warshy-shire (or words equally un-
intelligible) will get there to-morrow by ten o’clock?” The clerk
thinking he hasn’t caught the name of the place exactly, inquires
“ Where, sir ? ” and gives him his whole attention. He repeats his
gibberish, and pretends to be annoyed when the Clerk suggests
“Worcestershire?” I won’t wait for him any longer, and as he
leaves he threatens to complain to the Post Office authorities for
placing a man there who doesn’t know where Wishy-worshy-washy-
shire is. I tell him that I will not come out with him again, whereupon
he takes my arm and says it’s all right, no more humbug now.
Walking down the High Street, where really every one knows who
I am, he pretends to be unable to keep step with me. First he takes
long strides, then he trots, then he takes two steps with his left, then
three with his right. It suddenly occurs to him “What fun it must
be in Holland on the canals,” and immediately imitates skating:, hum-
ming the music from Le Prophete. I stop and refuse to go any farther
with him if he doesn’t behave respectably. He promises, and claps
me on the back assuringly.
By the way I forgot to mention this habit of his. He is perpetually
hitting me on the back.
We walk on for some time quietly, and we talk of manufactures?
and the wealth and power of England. He keeps on interrupting me
to ask. if all those nicely dressed girls are Factory girls, and wants to
know if we shall see lots of them where we ’re going. I tell him that
some of these he meets are in the finishing business, and are admirably
conducted, and most respectable. I add this emphatically, as on turning
sharply I catch him smiling, nodding, and telegraphing to some young
women belonging to the very place we ’re going to visit. I say to him
honestly that if this sort of thing goes on I shall utterly lose my
character, and not be allowed to enter any Factory at all; in fact, that
I shall be forced to leave Cokingham. His only reply to this is, to call
me a Don Juan, and playfully threaten to “tell my Aunt.”
About this time, on my turning round that is, I become aware of a
sustained giggling and tittering behind us. I can’t help noticin'* that
several boys, girls, and young men seem to be forming a sort of pro-
cession in our rear.
. Attributing this to some grimacing of my Funny Friend, I again beg
him to consider that I have a character to keep up. He says he’s
trying to keep it up as well as he can, and offers to walk before me—
and does so. The tail still dogs me until at last I can stand it no
longer, and appeal to the first Policeman, saying that this sort of thing
oughtn’t to be allowed, and that if I find out these boys’ and lads’
employers I shall make examples of them. The Policeman tells them
to “ be off’’—they withdraw themselves to various short distances, still
156
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 19, 1867.
A FEW FRIENDS.
(FROM MT PHOTOGRAPH BOOK.)
TABLEAU V.— MY FUNNY FRIEND.—(Continued.)
Y Funny Friend
at once attempts
to ingratiate him-
self with my Great
Aunt by express-
ing his pleasure at
seeing me. He
says, “ I am so
glad to see Little
Billy again, ”
which my Aunt
doesn’t quite un-
derstand, as my
name isn’t Billy.
“That’s only my
fun,” he explains
to her, “ I always
call him Little
Billy, because his name’s Adolphus,” and he goes on to say
that in his opinion 1 ought to have been christened Little Billy,
a notion which my Great Aunt resents as savouring of vulgarity.
He is ready for the objection with a quotation. “ What’s in a
name F ” says Grigg, “ A Thingummy by any other name would
smell like a What’shisname, as the poet says.” My Aunt accepts this
as the saying of a Poet (she is fond of poetry), and drops the subject.
Has Mr. Mac Grigg,—she is still unsteady as to his title, so I say,
“ Mr. Grigg, Aunt,” which amendment my Aunt adopts, and resumes,
addressing me—“ has Mr. Grigg seen his room yet ? ” then turning to
him, she politely expresses her regret that there was not a bed for him
in our house. I think he is a little annoyed at this, though he only
laughs, and says it doesn’t matter. My Great Aunt then retires, after
expressing, in a stately manner, a hope that she will see him at dinner,
to which he replies, that he shall certainly be there. When she has
gone, Grigg exclaims, “ I say, old boy, I’m so confoundedly hungry.
I’ve scarcely had any breakfast.” I tell him we ’re going to lunch at
one. “ One ! ” he cries, and says he can’t wait till then, it being now
only half-past ten. I don’t wish to be inhospitable, but I don’t like to
give Mrs. Buzzyby so much trouble He wants to know who Mrs.
Buzzyby is? I explain. Upon which he says, with great contempt,
“ Hang Mrs. Buzzyby ! ” He laughs at me for being, as he says, afraid,
of a Landlady. I am a little annoyed at this. I tell him I am not
afraid, but only I do not like giving more trouble than I can help.
“ Well,” he objects, “ but you can’t help this. Here, let’s ring and
have her in. I ’ll touch her feelings.” Before I can say a word he
has rung savagely. I say to him, “ Don’t ring like that.” . Whereupon
he asks me, if I’d like him to ring like this, and does it again in a
different fashion. After this he wants to know if I ’ll have any more,
and announces his last ring as “ This style two-and-six, in three ,
lessons.” On my begging him to be quieter, he puts his finger to his j
lips, and says, in a whisper, “ Hush ! they come ! ” and hides behind j
the arm-chair, expressing his intention of saying “ Boh ! ” to Mrs.
Buzzyby when she enters. They don’t come, however, as Mrs. Buz-
zyby is up-stairs at the top of the house making the beds. The little
waiting-maid, hearing the peremptory summons (I always give one
gentle, quiet, pull, and then only when I know Mrs. Buzzyby is not
otherwise engaged), rushes up-stairs, tumbling on the first landing in
her excitement, and bringing out my Aunt, who imagines nothing less
than fire, to fetch Mrs. Buzzyby.
While I am considering the best manner of addressing my Landlady
when she appears, Grigg is busy with pen, ink, and paper. At all
events, thank goodness, he is quiet. Mrs. Buzzyby is some time
coming down: I hear, her smoothing herself in the passage. Grigg
hears it, too, and getting on a chair, seats himself cross-legged, pulls a
hideous face, and places in front of him a sheet of foolscap, on which
he has just been inscribing the words, “ I am Starving ! ” As I begin
remonstrating, Mrs. Buzzyby enters, and sees the figure before her.
She is puzzled.. He begins working his head and tongue like a Man-
darin, and she is frightened, upon which he stops, and coming off the
chair, observes, that “ there is no deception, no spring, no mechanique,”
and hopes the explanation is satisfactory. (Grigg says, afterwards,
that it requires education to appreciate humour ; by which, in a gene-
ral way, he means his humour, and consequently assumes Mrs. Buz-
zyby to be a person of neglected education.) I explain (as it still needs
explanation) that my friend is hungry ; sorry to trouble her, but would
she mind just bringing in some bread-and-butter—(“a sandwich,”
Grigg suggests, winking at Mrs. Buzzyby, confidentially)—yes, in
fact, a sandwich ? She needn’t lay the cloth, I add, in order to show
her that this is not my doing, but Grigg’s.
She replies, that “ she can,” as if she couldn’t; and says “ she will,”
as if she wouldn’t. However, she does. The interval is passed by
my Funny Friend at the window, attracting the attention of the passers,
by tapping the glass sharply, and then suddenly disappearing, leaving
me looking quietly out as the object of suspicion. I tell him that, as
some one might be going by who knows me, he really mustn't go on
like this. He says he won’t. Refreshment. During this, he becomes
interested in my account of the Factories. I inform him that I am the
Chief Inspector here. Whereupon he wants to know why I don’t
wear a cocked hat and a sword P I smile at this conceit, to humour
him.
I tell him, more with a view to impressing him with the weight of
my position in Cokingham, than because of the necessity of keeping
the appointment, that I am obliged at twelve o’clock to inspect a
Factory. While I am there, perhaps he’d like to stroll about the
town, or go to his inn. A bright idea occurs to him, “ Can’t be go
with me ? He should so much like to inspect a Factory with me.” I
reply, that I don’t think it will interest him; to which he returns,
gravely, that there’s nothing would please him more. He talks at.once
about cotton, iron, lace, gives me an account of a visit he paid to
Honiton, and how he has arranged to go over the iron-foundries in the
North. I see he can be serious when he likes, and is really very well
informed.
By the way it strikes me that when he sees the deference paid me by
the Masters and the Hands he will give up his tomfoolery.
We start. Passing a shop where a man is inside cleanin'* the win-
dows he stops and says, “Look here, here’s some fun,” and immedi-
ately pretends to be cleaning the outside, imitating the man’s move-
ments. The shopkeeper pauses in his work, and then vaguely threatens
him. I implore him to come away. I say if he goes on like this we
must walk separately, whereupon he drops behind and follows me like
a servant. I have to get some postage stamps : he comes in with me,
and before I’ve got my letters out of my pocket he is introducing me
to the Post Office clerk. “ Mr. Julius Fitzgibbon,” a name he in-
vents for the official, “my friend,” alluding to me, “The Archbishop
of Mesopotamia.” The Clerk, a quiet business-like man, doesn’t
know what to say, not realising himself as Fitzgibbon. I pooh-
pooh my Funny Friend, and say what I’ve come for.. This, says
Grigg, reminds him that he wants something. He first inquires, “ if
he’s got some nice fine fresh stamps in this morning ? ” And on the
clerk not being ready with a reply, he supposes “that they’re not in
season, and won’t trouble him.” He is just going, but returns to ask
“ if a letter sent to WTshy-washy-warshy-shire (or words equally un-
intelligible) will get there to-morrow by ten o’clock?” The clerk
thinking he hasn’t caught the name of the place exactly, inquires
“ Where, sir ? ” and gives him his whole attention. He repeats his
gibberish, and pretends to be annoyed when the Clerk suggests
“Worcestershire?” I won’t wait for him any longer, and as he
leaves he threatens to complain to the Post Office authorities for
placing a man there who doesn’t know where Wishy-worshy-washy-
shire is. I tell him that I will not come out with him again, whereupon
he takes my arm and says it’s all right, no more humbug now.
Walking down the High Street, where really every one knows who
I am, he pretends to be unable to keep step with me. First he takes
long strides, then he trots, then he takes two steps with his left, then
three with his right. It suddenly occurs to him “What fun it must
be in Holland on the canals,” and immediately imitates skating:, hum-
ming the music from Le Prophete. I stop and refuse to go any farther
with him if he doesn’t behave respectably. He promises, and claps
me on the back assuringly.
By the way I forgot to mention this habit of his. He is perpetually
hitting me on the back.
We walk on for some time quietly, and we talk of manufactures?
and the wealth and power of England. He keeps on interrupting me
to ask. if all those nicely dressed girls are Factory girls, and wants to
know if we shall see lots of them where we ’re going. I tell him that
some of these he meets are in the finishing business, and are admirably
conducted, and most respectable. I add this emphatically, as on turning
sharply I catch him smiling, nodding, and telegraphing to some young
women belonging to the very place we ’re going to visit. I say to him
honestly that if this sort of thing goes on I shall utterly lose my
character, and not be allowed to enter any Factory at all; in fact, that
I shall be forced to leave Cokingham. His only reply to this is, to call
me a Don Juan, and playfully threaten to “tell my Aunt.”
About this time, on my turning round that is, I become aware of a
sustained giggling and tittering behind us. I can’t help noticin'* that
several boys, girls, and young men seem to be forming a sort of pro-
cession in our rear.
. Attributing this to some grimacing of my Funny Friend, I again beg
him to consider that I have a character to keep up. He says he’s
trying to keep it up as well as he can, and offers to walk before me—
and does so. The tail still dogs me until at last I can stand it no
longer, and appeal to the first Policeman, saying that this sort of thing
oughtn’t to be allowed, and that if I find out these boys’ and lads’
employers I shall make examples of them. The Policeman tells them
to “ be off’’—they withdraw themselves to various short distances, still