Punch (68.1875)

30

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[January 16, 1875.

UNDER A HOOD V. OUT OF A HAT.

^ ussia has given us a Duchess of Edinburgh.
Will the Duchess give us a charming and
comfortable fashion of head-gear for the
Russian winter-weather which has followed
her for love from her native steppes, and of
which we have lately had rather more than a
taste? We refer to the “ besh-lik,” or Cau-
casian hood with long ends, which, besides

framing the face in the most bewitching of all fashions, and keeping cheeks and ears warm in even Russian temperature, can have its
floating ends coquettishly wrapped round the neck, and so do duty for cloud, cache-nez, comforter, boa, tippet, and the Follet only knows
what other forms and varieties of feminine throat-gear.

Do try, please, dear Imperial and Royal Highness, to introduce the “besh-lik,” and in such wintry weather as we have had
lately save your sisters by adoption from the flimsy cockle-shells, and miserable muffins, which they are now content to cock a-top of
their high-piled hair, thereby not only offending Mr. Punch's eye, but laying their pretty faces open to all manner of ills that can assail
unprotected womanhood—including all varieties of tic, neuralgia, tooth-ache, face-ache, ear-ache, and the family doctor only knows what
less ordinary aches and ailments besides.

As a judge of a horse, or of a horse’s age, Murgle, at this minute,
is of as much use as my gate-post.

“ Rising five,” says Chalvey, protesting, “that ain’t old.”

“Ho,” returns that idiot Murgle, sagely shaking his stupid
sheep’s head, “ he ain’t old neither.”

Happy Thought— Chaxvey is aware that Murgle and myself
have as much idea of that horse’s age as the man in the moon. So
I say knowingly, “ Ah, he ’s more than five.”

“ Well,” says Chalvey, “there’s as much work in him as you ’ll
want. Sir, for the next ten or twelve years. P’raps you’d like to
try him.”

“No, thank you.”

Happy Thought.—Wait until I can do it quietly, without
spectators.

Cazell says, “ 0, you’d better try him. You ought to try him.”

“ Would you like to take him over a hurdle in the field then, Six ? ”
asks Chalvey.

. 1 should, very much, if I were certain the result would be effec-
tive and satisfactory.

“ You’d better,” says Cazell, who expects to see an accident, and
thinks it funny.

Happy Thought.—Chalvey can try him himself. I can quite
sufficiently judge of him by that.

Chalvey does try him. Murgle holds a broom, then an umbrella,
and Chalvey (who actually rides him bare backed!) takes him over
both. Canters, trots, walks, jumps him over a hurdle. All most
satisfactory. The Cob is very clever, and will be most useful.

He appears to go so easily over the hurdle and the other things,
that I am very nearly trying him myself. But I defer the experi-
ment. I feel somehow that when I’ve bought and paid for him, and
have acquired a right to ride him, that there ’ll be less chance of my

coming off. I don’t know why I think this, but so it is. Possession
is nine points of staying in the saddle.

Happy Thought.—Now for harness.

Murgle says, coughing, that, “ Unfortintely the trap ’as gone to
be mended that wery arternoon, and won’t be back afur night.”

Will Chalvey leave the Cob ?

No, he can’t: very sorry, but he can’t. He’s off to Sussex this
evening, and if Mr. Applethwaite don’t have him, he knows a
party near Lewes as ’ll give double the money for him.

“ He has been in harness, I suppose ?” I ask, not liking to lose
the chance of buying such a clever cob as this.

“ Has been in ’arness! ” exclaims Chalvey. “ Only look at his
neck, Sir ! If it worn’t for them collar-marks I shouldn’t be
arkxing the low price I am for him. The hair will grow in time,
and it ’ll come all right. But they must ha’ druv him rayther ’ard
in some cart or other.”

Yes, evidently. There are the marks of the collar. Regularly
worn off the hair. No doubt. “ He must have been in harness,” I
say to Cazell.

Cazell is sure of it, or how did the collar-marks come there ?

Quite so. That’s all satisfactory. I really don’t care about
inquiring as to his soundness. I know what I should say if I were
selling him. I look upon all questions as to soundness as mere
formalities. The price is the point.

Chalvey wants twenty-five guineas.

(Not more ! I am pleased.)

Happy Thought.—Look frowningly, and shake my head.

Cazell (bother him) says, “Cheap at the price.” He further
suggests that I can make my money out of him over and over again
as a trick pony, with umbrellas.

“ Likewise,” chimes in Chalvey, “ for trotting matches.”