Punch (63.1872)

180

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[Novembeb 2, 1872.

HAPPY THOUGHTS.

morning, by first post,
Letter from Engle-
more :—

11 Dear Colonel,

rV-' NlllPS^^^ : " Seen Mister Nook.

Al. Place for Mr. Pigs,
fyc. Got Refusal. £ s. d.
easy. Jump at it. Wire
back. How about Major
Sideboard f No go f Never
mind. On to old china.
Small cup fifty guineas,
not good enough for
" Your little

" ENGLEMORE."

This decides me. Evi-
dently the Nook must be
seen to be appreciated, and
must be seen at once. If
appreciated to be taken.
Nook sounds well. Rural
retreat, old house, gables,
panels, date sixteen hundred, small pond with gold fish, of same
date probably, swimming about in it. Well wooded, old out-build-
ings, &c. See it all in an impulsive sort of Englemoreish sort of
way. I feel that I must, as he says, jump at it.
Happy Thought.—Telegraph back in same style.

" Jumping at it. Back directly."

Leave my Aunt to go through her course of galvanism (she'll
be "jumping at it" too), sulphur, and baths.

Don't want to see the Mompisons again. Bertha, has evidently
no heart.

Happy Thought {Agricultural).—No Heart, like a neglected
lettuce, or cabbage: but am not clear which. Shall know soon,
when 1 begin gardening in earnest.

Kopfen, on my last day here, drives me out to see a farm. He
says that he knows the owner, and that it's a private farm. I find
afterwards that it's a regular show place, and open to all comers for
a small charge. There's nothing remarkable about it, except its un-
tidiness. As I see no farm labourers about, no "peasants" in cos-
tumes as there would have been on a stage for instance, the want of
anything like order is perhaps accounted for. A slatternly maid
takes us over the place. First of all into a large stable. " Here," she
says, " are the Pigs." This is evidently meant as a surprise for the
visitor, who has naturally expected to see horses. They are
gigantic pigs, too, of a quick, irritable, and suspicious tempera-
ment. Nothing lazy about them; no indolence here : and generally
I should say unpromising as to pork.

The Maiden does not like my stopping to inspeot, and stands at
the door of the piggery, as much as to say, " Come along. Here '11
be another party here presently." In truth there is not much to
stop for. The piggery isn't sweet, and we pass out. Across the
yard into an enormous cow-house. All the cows here just the same
as any other cows, anywhere else. Note. Must get up Cows, with a
view to keeping—one, at all events. On consideration, when on the
subject of Cows, one can't well keep less than one.

Happy Thought,—Unless it's a Calf.

The Chickens are what my farming friend Telford would call a
"measly lot." They are all over the place, in a desultory sort of way.

Well, what next ? What are we going to see now ? I ask Kopfen.
He's surprised. What can I want to see, when, in fact,—that's all.
All p Is this the Farm ? This is the Farm. Well, but how about the
Granaries, the Dairy, the Haystacks, the Horses, the implements of

agriculture, the- I pause, at a loss for the names of the things I

want to see. I suppose I mean the ploughs, the harrows, the thresh-
ing-machines, but I am not quite sure. The Maid, in answer to
Kopfen, who repeats my question to her, simply answers that there
is nothing more, and is evidently quite astonished that we 're not
highly delighted and perfectly satisfied. She hints, too, that she will
be much obliged by our dismissing her as soon as possible, as there's
another lot of sight-seers just driven into the court-yard. We settle
with her for twenty groschen, which is a sum exceeding by one
clear half what she is accustomed to, a generosity on our part so
startling, that she reciprocates it by smilingly informing us that we
can "walk about the grounds as much as we like," to eke out, as it
were, the extra ten groschen.

Having thus relieved her mind of the idea of being under any
obligation to us, she retires, and we stroll into the meadows, where
there is the ruin of some old castle.

As Kopfen doesn't know any particulars of its history, and as,
without a history, there is nothing particularly interesting about it,
we return to our fly and drive back.

What have I learnt from seeing the German Farm ? That's the
question for me, and I ask it myself again. I don't know, except
that Pigs can be kept in stables ; and that, under these circum-
stances, which I should consider decidedly unfavourable to pigs, as
pigs, they increase, not in breadth and pig-like qualities, but, by
degrees, in height.

Happy Thought.—Not growing by degrees of latitude, but of
longitude, and altitude.

If one stopped here long enough to watch the process, perhaps
they would, under the stable confinement, develope into horses.

Happy Thought.—Send this to Darwin. See what he thinks of
it. Perhaps he won't think of it, or has thought of it, and rejected
it as a theory.

A sort of a cob-pig, of fourteen hands, would not this be a variety ?
Wonder how the pigs like it? This is an important question, if
there is anything in the desire of acting so as to please the pigs."

In some farmyards I've seen cocks, hens, and pigs mixed up
together, wandering about in company, the pigs turning up their
noses with a disdainful grunt at some choice morsels, which, after-
wards, the chicken would peck at with pleasure.

Happy Thought.—In this mixture of Poultry and Pigs, one sees
the first germ of the idea of Eggs and Bacon.

I bid farewell to Kopfen and my Aunt, who is glad that the
weather has settled into something like warmth, as she detests the
German feather-beds, which "are not," she says, "half so com-
fortable as a good Blatney winket."

Meeting Mrs. Mompison and Quortesfue, I politely ask them if
I can do anything for them in England. When I hear them thank
me very much, and when I see them reflecting deeply on what they
do want done for them in England, I wish I hadn't volunteered the
services. While they are thinking over it, so am I,—how to get out
of it. Nothing I hate more than having to execute commissions.

Mrs. Momplson commences. The narration of " what she wants
me to do for her, if I kindly will," occupies about a quarter of an
hour. It is a sort of brief to begin with, with instructions for
Counsel. The object is a lost trunk with, she is afraid, her wrong
address on it, or the address of where they were, before they went to
Ramsgate, some months ago. The lines on which this trunk has
been carried, and the complications in which it has been involved,
are materials for a novel in three volumes. Will I, she asks, kindly
call and inquire of the people (this is a trifle vague)—the people at the
London and North Western, or, if not there, at St. Pancras Station,
whence it might have been sent on to Charing Cross. At all events
if I'd only kindly find out how it has been delayed (because it's got,
she says, three of our dresses in it), and just direct it on to them at
Aachen, she would be so much obliged. 0, and by the way (another
commission) she left a parasol to be repaired at the man's (which
I'm supposed to know) in Bond Street, and if it's finished it would
be no trouble just to put it into the box and send it.

Happy Thought.—Not to ask how box is to be opened. See (so
to speak) in the closed box, an opening out of the difficulty.

She has some other little matters, with which, however, she
will not trouble me, because it will really be imposing too much on
my good-nature. Unluckily, I smile, and look as pleased as pos-
sible, which encourages her to confide in me so much further as to
request, that, if I am passing by Portland Place, would I be so very
kind just to look in and see how they 're getting on with the house,
and ask if they've tuned the piano since they've been away,
or not.

I promise and vow, and she thanks me as heartily as if it were all
done. Hope she '11 take the will for the deed. Rather think she '11
have to. Fortescue wants me to go to his Club, and ask about some
letters, and to him I reply (having had a dose of commissions by this
time) that I will if I've time.

Happy Thought,—Shan't have time. Once at a distance can
write and apologise.

It rains as I quit Aachen: it generally does rain at Aachen, and
does it thoroughly too, perhaps providentially, to keep the sulphur
cool. Music is going on in the garden of the Kurhaus, and waiters
are carrying umbrellas and coffee to the visitors under the alcoves.
There is to be a grand illumination in those gardens to-night, and
at least three extra gaslights have been added to the attractions.
As I drive to the Station, I see Polytechnic students, with scarred
faces, in small caps (how they keep them on their heads is a perfect
wonder), swaggering, with small ivory-knobbed canes, about the
place. They affect tight breeches and high riding-boots : their chief
object, apparently, is to deceive the public into the idea that
they've just come off horseback. I never saw, to my knowledge, a
student on horseback. Perhaps they keep one among them by sub-
scription, and mount him outside the town for practice. Officers
are swaggering, too ; anyone, in any sort of uniform, swaggering.
Policemen swaggering, until there's a sign of a row, when they
carefully absent themselves. Two drunken men are hugging one
another in the middle of the road (not an uncommon thing in
Aachen either), and just manage to struggle into safety —
there evidently being a difference of opinion between them, up to the