Punch (69.1875)

September 11, 1875.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 97

DISGUISED IN TARTAN.

mossoo has been INVin>T> NoKTH for a few dats' shooting. He arrives TOUT A FAIT—" E N MONTAGNARD" I

DISCOVERIES IN LONDON.

During the Dull Season.

If by accident you happen to remain in Town just now, you will
probably discover—

That, although everybody who is anybody ha<? long ago left
Town, there seems to be a myriad of nobodies still moving in it.

That London, after all, is a vastly more agreeable city in the
autumn than its fashionable visitors would, imagine or believe.

That you may cast away your " Chimney-pot " and wear a com-
fortable " Billycock," and yet be safe from all reproof by your
feminine relations.

That, if you wish to give a dinner at some river-side Hotel, you
can do so without writing down beforehand for a room.

That there are many ancient nooks, and lots of modern sights in
Town which are really well worth seeing, and which, in the hurry-
scurry worry of the Season, you never have the time to dream of,
much less try to go to see.

That even Hansom Cabmen can be civil in September, and will
condescend to drive you nearly two miles for a shilling, even though
forewarned by you that such will be their fare.

That you need not pay for booking your place now at the Theatre,
for you are sure of a good seat by simply paying at the doors.

That the penny papers issue still great placards of their news,
although it puzzles you perhaps to imagine how their columns can
daily be fresh filled.

That now is just the time for trying your new Shooting-boots, and
persuading them, by gentle ambulation in the Park, to adapt their
creases neatly to the contour of your feet.

That you may absent yourself from your seat in Church, without
a tremble lest your neighbours should take notice of the fact.

That your Club is all your own now (if the painters be not in it),
and you may read the papers leisurely, and lay your legs up cosily,
and even take your forty winks without a chance of interruption.

That, though your Wife perhaps may grumble at being kept in
Town without a soul to speak to, the novelty of such a solitude is
really not unpleasing to the meditative mind.

That you never need be dull while you have your tradesmen near
you, who, for dearth of other customers, will welcome you most
heartily, and lend you their ears cheerfully whenever you drop in.

That if you want a joint cut after your own fashion, you will find
your butcher most willing to oblige you, and to throw you in. a
sweetbread gratis just to turn the scale.

That you can get a chair now in the Park without a scramble for
it, or may ride along the Row at any pace you please.

That you can pass by Messes. Christie's without running any
risk of being tempted there to bid for something which you well
know that you can't afford to buy.

That, if your tailor comes to see you about that small account,
you may relax your mind by having a few minutes' conversation
with him, and hardly need apologise for taking up his time.

That, should you desire to see the Lions fed, you need not fear the
crowd, nor be nervously afraid that you may have your pocket
picked.

That you may practise small economies by wearing your old
clothes and riding outside omnibuses, without offending Mrs.
Grundy—who, of course, is out of Town now.

That, when your hair wants cutting, you can get it done directly,
and need not waste your time and temper by waiting to take your
turn while the Artist operates on preceding patients.

That even so-called quiet streets are really quiet in the autumn,
for all the blaring bands and barrel-organs are gone to the Sea-side.

That when the Tax Collector calls—strange though it may seem—
yoxi are not sorry to see him, if merely for the sake of seeing some-
body you know.

If by good luck you chance to find a friend still left in Town,
what a capital good fellow you find him to be ! and what un-
suspected virtues you discover in his character, especially if he
insists upon your dining twice a week with him, and you have
previously tested the merits of his Cook.

And, in conclusion, that as to all the rest of your acquaintances,
you will probably learn that you get on very well without them ;
though you will also very probably be vastly glad to see them when
they return to Town.

VOL, LXIX.

L