Punch (63.1872)

November 23, 1872.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

215

j Refreshment Room?" He beamed upon me with sympathetic
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN. eye, and directed me willingly and clearly. He knew it well, and

it7- j ji a -rr • ' . nr • 7 , would have accompanied me, but that stern duty nailed him to his

(Visit to the South Kensington Museum eontmued-from the j post at the turnstile, and perhaps, also, he had just finished an early
Entrance to the Refreshment Room.) | dinner> _ So at on?e, after making him my courtesy and obeisance, "l

walked in the direction indicated, and, gadzooks, Sir! the burly

ost certainly the en-
trance to the S. K. Mu-
seum is rather calcu-
lated to depress than
raise the spirits. The
feeling seizes upon you
that having come so far,
it would be cowardice
to retreat at the last
moment. Show me the
person, who, visiting
the Museum for the
first time, has walked
boldly and straightfor-
wardly, without flinch-
ing or stopping, right
up to the turnstile-
paying place, and I '11
say there's a gentle-
man, or lady, who
doesn't know what
nerves are.

Round and about
those melancholy grass-
plots, which try with
the best possible inten-
tions to give a countri-
fied air to the exterior of the S. K. Museum (but what an impossible
thing to countrify a Museum!)—round and about these plots, 1
remark, some original Kensington Museumers have been playing
skittles and ninepins with building materials, knocking them about
in all directions, and then have gone away without putting up the
things tidily.

Here is the debris of old palings, looking, as if, in very ancient
days (perhaps in the Universal Deluge) a gentleman's park had
been washed away, and these had been left by the receding waters.
Here too bricks, plaster, stones, and timber, becoming useless for want
■of use ; rubbishing relics of the past, with very little jjroraise about
them for the future. A charming background to these is formed by
a dilapidated iron house, rilled apparently, to the eye of Your un-
initiated Representative, with broken pianos, of which the above-
mentioned eye catches sight through the large windows wherewith
the iron shed is lighted. Not far from the police lodge is a statue of
somebody, unclothed, who having shot an arrow vaguely into the air,
and used such force in doing so that the string has disappeared with
it, is now staring upwards in the vague expectation of its soon
coming down again. The visitor seeing this figure, from a dorsal
point of view, does not feel inclined to walk rouud and inquire for
whom it is intended. He takes it for granted that it's all correct
and classical, and he will then walk slowly towards the door of the
S. K. Museum, bracing himself up for admission as for an opera-
tion that must be performed, but which, like having a tooth out,
or paying a small long overdue account, one puts off as long as
possible.

There are three goats, and a lot of classic vases, all making
praiseworthy efforts, to keep up appearances. I was sorry to see
that one Goat attempted comicalities on its hind legs ; but the
way the two others turned their heads, and gave him such a look,
■settled him at once ; and then he pretended that he 'd only been
rearing himself up to pick some food from the branches of a small
tree; an assumption that couldn't have deceived anybody (let
alone the two goats, who knew all about it as well as he did), as
there wasn't one leaf to be seen on the withered shrub, in which he
wished .his companions to think him so deeply interested. I sighed,
and walked towards the door. The portal at last. Over it is a
■deterrent black board—naturally a black board, which, with chalk,
is a tradition in any educational system—simply announcing, how-
ever, that this is the Entrance to the Museum: a conclusion that
might have been arrived at by any astute observer, who had already
penetrated thus far, without this intimation. But there it is, and
so it is ; and very kind of the Authorities to put it up.

After presenting myself and my sixpence—both good—to the re-
spectable and polite door-keeper, whom I regret to have disturbed at
his second mouthful of luncheon, I submitted to the indignity of the
turnstile (which always makes me feel as if some one was checking
me off, and seeing that I don't cheat), and having thus passed,
figuratively, under the yoke, I paused, and wondered what I
should begin with first. The savoury smell that issued from the
ticket-taker's lodge appealed to my Inner Consciousness. " Gentle
Sir," said I, to a third Stout Policeman, " Where, prithee, is the

Retainer was right, for, in good sooth, here were the glass doors of
the Refreshment Room.

Finding that I could lunch, representatively, without previous
ordering or long waiting, which in matters of food I detest, holding
as sure and certain proverbs for meal times, that "Delays are
dangerous"—they are to me, doctors have said so—and that
"Lunch deferred maketh me very unwell"—I determined upon
digesting the items of the refreshment card, mentally, before
selecting them for attack, corporeally.

I walked into the hall of Restauration. In the distance, on my right",
I saw a grilling-fire, whence chops came hot and hot; and on my
left I saw a quiet private dining place, which looked dull and ex-
pensive. Medio tutissimus: and not only is it a great thing to be
safe in a middle course, but, for a luncheon-eater, 'tis a matter of vast
importance to know what course is safest for the middle. My choice
I shall not reveal. Suffice it that 1 lunched, satisfactorily, to all
parties concerned. The Refreshment Room at the S.K. M., Inoticed, is
a good place for sound. Its acoustic properties were thoroughly well
tried by two middle-aged ladies in attendance upon a very deaf old
gentleman, who, I do believe, was the identical venerable clergyman
whom Your Representative met some weeks since at the Dore
Gallery, where I trust my worthy friends, the Colonel and his com-
panions, are doing well— bless them ! Above all the buzz and hum
of the diners, the clatter of plates, knives, forks, glasses and
spoons, the voices of the two middle-aged ladies sounded, distinct
and shrill, dutifully addressing their aged relative, who I rather
think was inclined to over-eat himself.

" Won't you take auy veal and ham ? " asked the first Niece, in a
voice which from the other end of the room reached me. The Uncle
smiled, and asked her what she had said.

• " Won't you take any veal and ham?" bawled her sister in his
ear, while lunchers, barmaids, and waiters awaited his reply in
breathless suspense.

He answered something in almost a whisper, audible only to his
Nieces. General disappointment. Result, at all events, no veal
and ham. Buzz, Buzz, Buzz, conversation and clatter resumed.
Presently, for above the din, arose the awful question, " Will yon
take some beer ? " put by the first Niece, whose voice was evidently
not strong enough for the work. Again he smiled, aud begged her
sister to repeat the words.

" Won't you have some beer ? " shouted the sister, and fell back
in her chair exhausted. Breathless suspense again. Waiters on tip-
toe of expectation. Barmaids with their hands on all sorts of taps.
Ah! yes .... he will have some beer. Waiter paralysed for a
moment by a difficulty. What beer ? The First Niece can't help
herself (I don't mean to beer, but that she has no alternative)—she
must ask, and her voice has become weaker within the last ten
minutes,—

" What beer will you take ? "

I respect age, but out of pity for this younger Niece (about thirty-
seven 1 should say—not more) I could have shaken that old Uncle.
He would not hear what she said. Once more it was the elder's
turn, and she strained herself for the effort, succeeding, at a fright-
ful sacrifice of throat and lungs. He nodded " Yes," in a whisper,
"he would take some stout."

_" Bottled ? " asks the Waiter, convulsively, his eyes starting out of
his head as he yells at him. The old gentleman wants to know
what that young man is saying.

" He says Bottled!" shouted First Niece, despairingly. Her
Uncle considered it feebly, but made nothing of it, except to repeat,
quietly, "Yes, I said stout," whereupon he was informed by the
elder and stronger Niece, now exasperated beyond screaming point,
that the word was "Bottled." " Will-you—take—Bottled ? "

" If you please, yes, thank you," he answered, mildly, quite uncon-
scious of there having been any fuss about it.

The liquor is served, and by the time I am half way through my
modest luncheon the Nieces, who had been reserving themselves for
a final effort, shouted out, first one, then the other, then both
together, " Have—you—done ?"

He signifies, in a lower whisper than ever (having gorged himself
to this tone,—I'm afraid he is a greedy Uncle), that he has quite
finished. Soon after this he is taken away. As I continue my humble
meal, I wonder to myself how much apiece those two ladies expect
from that very trying relative. Is it part of their policy to stuff
him ? They pass through the glass doors and disappear. How much
a year would I take to go about with a deaf man and explain every-
thing to him ? Subject for consideration at lunch. After luncheon
to walk through the S. K. M. to the National Portrait Gallery will
be, Sir, the duty and pleasure of YoTJfi ptEPKESENTATIVE.