Punch (58.1870)

158 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [April 23, 1870.

(<tho' lost to sight-»

Aunt Jemima {from the country—her first experience of a " Ransom "). " Hoy ! Hoy ! Stop the Horse ! "Where's the Coachman ! "

CONVERTED REVOLVERS.

Mr. Punch—My dear Sir,

Permit me for one moment to invite your attention to a
subject which cuts a conspicuous figure in Town and Country man-
sions, the light fantastic toe.

To a well-balanced mind there is no more saddening sight than
hurry. Hurry now confronts us at every turn. Politicians, like
playgoers, are always in a hurry—to take their seats and secure good
places. Clever girls are in so great a hurry to sign their settlements,
that they are apt to forget Mrs. Glasse's excellent advice, to first
catch your heir. Apply this to saltatory exercises. Will any candid
observer deny that there is not too much hurry in the " valse," and
that its charms are fugitive ? Can we find in it that poetry of motion
which distinguishes the heroic couplets of a minuet ?—the high stepping
minuet face to face, mutual worship of conscious grace. I fear that
these Germanic gyrations tend to political tergiversation, for if a
Minister can in any sense turn his back upon himself, it must surely be
when his polished pumps are in a figurative whirlpool.

The Teutonic heresy has, however, gained so firm a footing among
all the educated (dancing) classes, that I almost despair of making
any " converted revolvers " by mere expostulation.

What say the fair unconverted revolvers in their defence? They
contend that a Ball-room is a fine field for ball practice. And mark
with what proud pleasure the flashing victors look back as they quit
the scene of conquest, and secretly count the number of the slain.
" How," they archly demand, " could such triumphs be achieved
without flying artillery ? » Very truly ymi^

High Elms, Bettesgrove. White Pole.

Consequences of a Neglected Education.

Mrs. Malaprop, who was born within the sound of Bow Bells,
hearing that Mr. Lowe meant to take off some duty or other that had
to do with hail, remarked that she hoped then we should have beer
cheaper.

OUR SOCIAL CIRCLE.

It is calculated that in less than forty years the inhabitants of
London will number nearly seven millions, and its circumference
extend to something like two hundred miles. If one's circle of ac-
quaintance be increased in like proportion, what fatiguingly long
journeys one will have to undergo in the interchange of visits ! To
pay a round of morning calls, one will well-nigh have to start off in the
middle of the night, and noon will be at latest the time when one must
set out for an evening visit. It is hard work even now for a man who
lives at Hampstead to call upon his friends in Camberwell or Clapton;
and residents at Hammersmith are sadly apt to grumble and consider
themselves martyrs, when dragged out to a dinner at Blackheath or at
Hackney. But only fancy what hard labour will people be condemned
to, when London has extended from Wimbledon to Windsor, and from
Brompton peradventure even down to Brighton ! Imagine the delight
of a man who lives at Kensington when summoned to an evening party
in the suburbs—somewhere, let us say, in the neighbourhood of Rei-
gate ! Then perhaps people will think of wisely limiting their visits
within reasonable bounds; and who knows but in time they may even
dream of dining with their next-door neighbours.

A VERY UNFAIR COMPARISON.

Mr. Bernal Osborne asked Mr. Lowe on Wednesday, "Whether
he intended to put the urchin who frightened away crows from a field
on the same level as the gentleman sportsman who went out with
three or four breechloaders apiece to shoot pheasants in a battue."

The comparison would be most unfair. The urchin is at least doing
something useful; earning honest wages by honest work. The highest
light in which one can set the battue-shooter is that of an amateur
poulterers' man, who finds the killing part of the business so pleasant
that he goes in for it at an unlimited cost of gunpowder, game-keepers,
and demoralisation.

The Sweets of Office.—The Sugar Duties.