Punch (63.1872)

November 9, 1872.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

195

HAPPY THOUGHTS.

drive to englemore's.

Find him at luncheon.
"Will I pick?" he asks.
" No fizgigs—only Mister
Chop." There being very
little time to spare, I " de-
cline, with thanks ; " and
when he has chopped and
changed, he is ready for
the train.

We find the "Nook"
about twelve miles out of
town. Small house ; about
four acres of ground.

Sappy Thought. — Just
the thing to begin with.
" Farm of four acres, and
what we did with it."

Englemore _ is as de-
lighted with it as if he
were the proprietor. He
points out to me all its
beauties. Nothing damps
his ardour. He has hit
upon it, and it is simply
in his eyes the thing.

To commence with: we
get our first view of my
future property from over the top of a small gate. We search for
a bell. In vain. No bell. " Rather a nuisance," I observe, " having
no bell."

Englemore won't allow it for a moment. "Nonsense!" he
cries ; " nothing of the sort. Who wants Mr. Bell in the country ?
Cockney idea, bell. Might as well have Tommy Knocker at once.
Try t'other side of the water."

By this last expression I find he means the stable entrance. Here
there is a bell, and, in answer to it, an old woman welcomes us with
a sniff, and a curtsey.

Englemore introduces me: " This is the gentleman who's come
to see the place," he says. The old woman appears agitated, fumbles
with the corner'of her apron, behind which she presently coughs—
this evidently being her notion of company manners—and shuts the
gate after us.

" Stables," says Englemore, pointing everything out to me—

" Outhouses—barn-buildings—garden"- Here he describes a

segment of a circumference with his umbrella. " There you are-
all round you!"

I can't deny that it is all round me. Still, I feel that, in spite of
his enthusiasm, I ought not to do anything of this sort hurriedly.

" The cottages," says the old woman, curtseying again, " go with
the place. There are four on 'em." Here she puts up the corner of
her apron again, and coughs to herself, confidentially.

" By Jove ! " exclaims Englemore, I didn't know that. Cottages
with the place ! "—(Here he winks at me, as much as to say, " Here's
a bargain for you ! ")—" Tou can turn 'em into bakeries—make your
own bread—Mr. Household Troops—and a Dairy—your own Cow—
milk and cream on the premises, and think what you '11 save in
butter !"

Happy Thought.—I do begin to think what I should save in
butter.

As, in the course of an otherwise eventful life, I have never
bought any butter for myself, I haven't any notion of how much at
present I spend in butter. I reply to Englemore, 4' Well, I suppose
one would save by keeping a cow."

" Of course ! " he returns ; " and pigs, too. Here," he says,
walking briskly on, " is the place for Mr. Pig. Plenty of room;
not in good order ; but a nail and a tile or two soon do it."

Happy Thought.—To be practical, and ask him where d' you buy
pigs ?

" Oh! anywhere," he answers. I am convinced that he has
never bought one in his life. He continues, "Go to a fair, or a
farmer ; buy 'em cheap at a fair. Then you '11 save," here he checks
everything off on the fingers of his left hand with his right, while
his umbrella is under his arm, " you'll save in bacon, Colonel Pork,
and—and—pigs' feet,— don't forget pigs' feet—your little Engle-
more 's on for dinner on that occasion,—and then," in a triumphant
burst, " think of the pigs'-wash ! ! "

" How do you mean, pigs'-wash?" I inquire, wishing him to be
more matter-of-fact, and less romantic, on such a subject.

" Why don't you see, here 's four acres, Mister Turnips, carrots,
potatoes, and all the Royal family all about, eh ? "

Certainly I admit that, taking the Royal family as vegetables,
there is room and to spare.

" Good," he goes on, satisfied with being correct so far, " you can't

eat 'em all—no waste—where does it go ?—in comes Mr. Pigs wash.
Then there's the washings from the house every day—no waste—■
Mr. Pigswash round the corner again."

" I see. Everything you don't want, or can't eat, or that gets too
much for you, somehow is made into pigs'-wash."

" Quite," he continues, " and no extra charge. To keep a pig
costs literally nothing, in the country." He says this as if I had been
arguing strongly for a pig, in lodgings, in London. " Look here,"
he exclaims, from another part of the garden, where there's evi-
dently the remains of an old aviary, to which he has rapidly walked,
" here 's your place for chickens! "

At this discovery he is greatly elated. It's as much as to say that
up to that moment I had been bothered as to the place for my
chickens, but that now it is clear as possible.

He does not allow me time to think over anything, but in another
minute he is drawing my attention to some fruit-trees at the lower
end of the garden.

" Here you are," he says. " Mister Apples and Plums—fancy
little Master Plum Tart, and Dumpling ! You '11 never want to buy
fruit, and you could sell a heap here. There's money in this or-
chard. Why," he says, thoughtfully, and casting a scrutinising
glance all round, "with care you ought to make this place pay your
rent, and do a good thing besides. You'd have here enough to
supply Covent Garden."

Happy Thought.—Supply Covent Garden. Fortune. Englemore
says of course it would work into £ s. d. considerably. In his opinion
I should coin money here, and, according to him, nothing that I am
to keep will cost me anything.

"Mr. Pig." he puts it, "pays himself. Orchard pays Gardener
and talented assistants. Your grass makes hay for Peter Pony; so
all you've got to do is to buy a few oats and some straw, and the
stable pays you back in manure for garden. Well, your vegetables
you '11 eat and sell, and everything you don't want goes to Master
Piggy as per usual. What you don't use of your eggs, butter, cream,
and milk you sell, and the fruit will balance all x's." This is Eng-
lemore's abbreviation of " expenses." "Let two of your cottages
just to lighten the rent, and if you make your others into dairy and
laundry,—you might"—here a bright thought strikes him—"by
Jove ! you might take in washing ! "

Happy Thought.—Washing and Pigs'-washing.

He at once promises me his custom weekly, if I '11 send up for the
things. He'll also, he says, buy vegetables and bacon: the same
condition as before to be observed, namely, that I must send up for
orders. How ? Nothing more simple—merely a pony and cart; the
outlay a mere trifle, and it would pay enormously.

How many different sorts of business I am to undertake, according
to his view of the matter, it is difficult to say, but there is nothing
apparently that won't exactly fit into Farming and Gardening
generally.

I am pleased with it, though I should like to look at it again.
Englemore shakes his head. " Can't do that," he says. "Mister
Landlord must know to-morrow."

There is a pond, too. With this Englemore is enchanted.
" Water on the premises," he exclaims. " No danger of fire! Just
have it laid on up to the house. And there are wells in the garden,
old Mrs. Sniffer (meaning the dame who received us) said so. Then
there's a pump; I dare say this supplies it. And," catching sight
of something bright, " Mister Gold-fish! This is first-rate. Here
you are, in the summer—under the shade of trees—eat your own
apples—your own strawberries and cream—watch your own gold-
fish. I think that's good enough for you, eh ? "

Really, from his hearty and excessively pleased manner, it does
strike me for the first time that the gold-fish in the pond have set-
tled the question. If I had any wavering before as to taking the
house, the presence of the gold-fish has decided me. I have always
had a weakness for gold-fish. Fancy a gold-fish river, and a Chinese
Mandarin, or Japanese Warrior throwing a fiy. I somehow feel that
whatever may now befall me, at all events, with gold-fish, I shall
be virtuous and happy.

As far as I know myself, I have taken the place, that is, in
my own mind. But to save appearances, and not to jump at it too
much, which might make Mister Landlord tack on something extra
somewhere in the lease, I defer my decision for a day.

" You'd better Nook while you can," says Englemore. I am of
his opinion, but reserve my ultimatum.

Happy Thought.—Shall be a Landed Proprietor. With Tenants,
too. The Cottagers are Tenants. Wonder if they pay regularly, or
if they don't pay at all, and if this is the reason of getting rid of the
house.

If they don't pay, must evict them. Consequence of eviction will
be that I shall be shot at from behind a hedge, cursed as the Wicked
Squire, and the house burnt down. No, must make friends with
Tenants. On the whole decide to take it as it stands.

It suddenly occurs to me that we have been so occupied with the
garden, that we've not seen the house at all.

Englemore dismisses this objection at once with—" You can see