Punch (67.1874)

November 7, 1874.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 189

LEARNING FOR LADIES.

harming Mr. Punch,

0 do see what that
darling Mr. Fawcett said
the other day about us
Ladies:—

“ I venture to assert, with
no little confidence, that the
more a Woman’s mind is
trained, the more her reason-
ing faculties are developed, the
more certainly does she become
a suitable companion for her
husband; she is better able to
manage her house with tact
and skill, and to obtain the
best, the most tender, and the
most enduring influences over
her children.”

Isn’t that nice of him ?
Only I think he rather
jumps to a conclusion,
when he assumes that hus-
bands are so monstrously
intelligent and mentally
well trained. Of course
he fancies this, else why
say that the more a wife is
educated the more suitable
a companion to her husband she becomes ? I’m sure I’m not over
clever, but I reckon I’m a match for my husband at any rate ; and
although my reasoning faculties may not be much developed, I
should like to catch him trying to argue any point with me when
I have made my mind up.

Yours, Mr. Punch, admiringly—and also Mr. Fawcett’s—
Xantippe Sophonisba Greymare

The Birches, Tuesday. (nee Bouncer).

P.S.—I’m not much of a manager in common household matters;
hut I fancy that my husband would acknowledge that I manage him
effectually.

“ELIZABETH'S RESIDENCE IN A FRENCH
COUNTRY HOUSE.”

FRAGMENT THE SEVENTH.

At the Market—A Procession with Flambeaux—The Unexpected
Appearance of John.

The market-place was quite full when we got there, and, what
with the stalls and the countrywomen who were attending to them,
and the great baskets of fruit and vegetables, and the people who
were buying, and the Baggages who were waiting to carry away
what the people bought, it was as much as Miss Edith and I could
do to get through the crowd.

What made matters worse was that, just then, the people from
the coffee-houses hard-by were going about with large trays covered
with basins of soup, which they were selling to the people. Every-
body was stretching out a hand to take a full basin, or give hack an
empty one, and at last we got quite wedged into the crowd, and
couldn’t move. It isn’t pleasant to be in a crowd when you’ve got
a large market-basket on your arm, and I was just wishing I could
say soinething in French to an old woman, who was squeezing my
basket into my side, when I caught sight of Jewl. He was sitting
on a basket of vegetable-marrows, with his back against the wall of
a church, and eating a basin of soup. I expected when he saw me
that he would sink into the ground, hut such is the courage of the
French soldier, that he didn’t so much as wink. As for me, I
flushed up so that Miss Edith thought I was ill, and asked me what
was the matter.

“ It’s only the wasps, Miss,” I said (for we were close to a stall of
sweeties that was quite covered with wasps); “they always do
fluster me so.” Which is quite true.

Well, when Miss Edith had done her marketing, she said that
she was going to a shop in another part of the town, and that I was
to go home by myself with the basket.

As soon as she was out of sight, Jewl got up from the vegetable-
marrows, gave his empty basin to the woman from the coffee-house,
and came over to me. I was in such a flutter that I could hardly
make out what he said to me, but it seemed something like this,
“ Sapristi ! Ma'm'selle, souffrez queje vous debarrasse de votre chien
depanier.” Which, of course, meant that, if I didn’t want him to
suffer, I was to let him carry the basket.

Well, I didn’t want him to suffer, especially as the basket was
very heavy; so I let him take it, and he walked by my side towards
our house.

The road was very dusty, and the wind kept driving clouds of
dust into our faces. Jewl was just about a size too small for the
basket, and what with the weight of it, and his trying to keep his
cap on, and to make his pipe keep alight, he really couldn’t find any
breath to talk. But it was delicious to have him there, for all that;
and, even now, when I look back on that walk, I feel as if he were
still carrying the basket, and as if I hadn’t quite got the dust out of
my eyes yet.

Well! you see, after that, we met pretty often, for, I’m thankful
to say, I got the better of my bad headaches, and was able to go to
market regularly with poor Miss Edith ; and as Jewl was always
there, he often got a chance to carry the basket. When I used to
get home, and Madame Pichoh heard who had carried the basket,
she used to feel the weight of it and laugh, and then she’d pretend
to look into it, and say, “ Vraiment Jules a donnS dedans,” which
of course meant that he was getting very desperate indeed. As for
Cook, when she came to hear of my goings on, she didn’t half like ’em.

“ You’d have been a deal better off with John,” she said, “ and,
if you’d had that greengrocer’s shop as you were always dreaming
about, you might have done a good turn to me, as am such an old
friend. You might have bought my kitchen-stuff, and you might
have allowed me something weekly for giving you Master’s custom
for vegetables. I only wish you’d a friend in need over here to
advise you.” “Thank you,” I said; “I’ve had too many friends,
as were in need, to want any more of ’em. They don’t pay! ” I
said, and I flung out of the kitchen.

And so we went on for several weeks, and the only thing I didn’t
like was that I never could get anything from Jewl that I could
put in a letter to Grandmother and Aunts; for you know such
words as “ Sapristi,” and “ Mille bombes,” and “ Foi d’un Sapeurf
were not words that, as Aunt Jemima would have said, a respon-
sible being would like to hinge upon.

Well; one Sunday, when it was my evening out, Madame Pichoh
asked me to go with her to the Cathedral, to see a great Procession
by candlelight in honour of a wooden hand, that was supposed once
to have belonged to an image, which was believed to have come
floating by itself in a boat without any rowers, many hundred years
ago, to the place where we were. I had never been one to hold with
going to other people’s churches, and I said so • but Madame Pichoh
said that there would he plenty of room, and that, as I shouldn’t
understand what was going on, it couldn’t do me any harm. Jewl
didn’t want to go at all, and when he heard about the Procession he
just snapped his fingers and said, “ Je m'enfiche de tout cetbara-
gouinage,” which meant that he didn’t approve of such proceedings,
and was very sensible of him. However, as I had agreed to go, I
gave him one of my looks, and he came along with us.

The Cathedral was all of a blaze with light, especially at what they
called the High Altar. The Clergymen were dressed most splendidly,
and the music was heavenly, though I will own that it struck me as
queer that there should be a band in the middle of the Church, with
a conductor, just the same as at the Crystal Palace. While I was
looking about, I noticed vergers going about, and offering candles
to such of the congregation as chose to take them. I was so flustered
that I was going to take one myself, but Madame Pichoh beckoned
to me to let it alone, and, just then, the Procession began.

If it weren’t for one thing which drove everything else out of my
head, I think I could have described the Procession. As it is, I can
only say that, first, there came a very tall man in a uniform, which
would become John very well, then a long line of young gentlemen
in white frocks and scarlet petticoats, then ever so many young
ladies in blue and white, carrying trays of images on their heads,
then ever so many parties of nuns, some in black and some in white
flannel, and some, who Madame Pichoh said were the Sisters of Sir
Yincent de Paul,—though how any woman could have had so many
girls and only one boy, I can’t think. After them came the Clergy,
and then came every man, woman, and child in the congregation
who had taken a candle. All the candles were lighted, and all the
people marched solemnly along singing as they went. It was very
grand, and I felt half inclined to cry.

Of course, while I was in Elvaston Place, I’d often been to
churches where they tried to get up Processions ; but, bless you, if
you’d seen this one, you’d have said that the Ritualists, as they
call ’em, are no more like Catholics than the Marionettes are like
the Drury Lane Company. At first I was so dazzled with the lights
and the dresses and the music, that I couldn’t see anything dis-
tinctly ; hut when the Procession came by me the second time, as it
had to do, I said to myself, “ Why, if there isn’t a face I know!
Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Blatherwick, C.B. I always heard she was
as high as high, but I never thought she’d have done this.”

But I was right; for there she came sailing along, just as I’ve
seen her sail along Queen's Gate, and immediately after her, with a
very tall candle, which he was trying to keep from guttering over
his Mistress’s velvet mantle, was my John !