Punch (71.1876)

32

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[July 22, 1876.

PUNCH AT WIMBLEDON, 1876.

he last time Mr. Punch visited the Volunteer
Camp which divides the beauties of Wimbledon
from the glories of Putney, he regretted that he
was not provided with a Boyton dress. Last
summer the rain it rained every day, and the
rifle contest very nearly assumed the appearance of a military regatta. The weather
was pleaded as an excuse for many a shortcoming. Lieutenant ; Smith, of the
247th Administration Battalion of Diddlesex Rifles, pointed to the rain as a reason
for appearing in a neat uniform, composed of regimental overalls, an old yellow
shooting coat, a straw hat, and an umbrella. And Private Jones, of the same
gallant corps, wore quite as picturesque a costume as his smart and soldier-like
superior officer. This was a year ago, when Jupiter Pluvius was out of temper. In 1876 the scene has changed. Instead of constant rain
there is only too much sunshine. The sun it shineth every day, and raises mirages that would spoil any shooting but that of the crack
shots of Wimbledon fame. The weather, at least, can no longer be given as an excuse for slovenliness.

"I suppose I must go," said Mr. Punch. "It is the seventeenth year'of the meeting, and it ought, by this time, to be above
criticism."

"It ought to be, Master," replied Toby, " but it isn't. You take my word for it, if you'don't keep a sharp look out upon those
Volunteers they will degenerate into a military rabble."

" They behaved very well before the Prince at Hyde Park, Toby."

"Anybody can march past, Master—that's not a very difficult task," retorted the cynical Dog. " But look at the Volunteers at
home, and then judge of them. If they are not abroad at Wimbledon—well, I will diet myself upon cat's-meat for a fortnight."

"You have been taking lessons from Mr. Holms, Toby."
_ "No, I have not, Master," growled Toby. " I hate inaccuracy, and, hating it, don't care very much about the Representative of
Military Reform and—Hackney! Take my advice, Master, go to Wimbledon."

Thus urged, Mr. Punch started for the Camp. As he walked through the lines of the canvas town, he jotted down a few notes.
The stroll was long and wearisome, but he managed to collect some materials. When he returned to Fleet Street he was tired out. The
Dog of Dogs moved an easy chair towards him.

"Sit down, Master," said Toby, " and tell me what you think about our friends the olunteers."

" You can read for yourself," replied the exhausted Sage, throwing over a bundle of MS. to his faithful and sagacious dependent.
" Hum," murmured Toby. " Fair in the main, but requiring additions. I will prepare them for the press."
And Toby did. The following is the result of the preparation :—

Uniform of the Volunteers.—Rather better than usual. A large majority of the men appear in proper costume. Unhappily,
Mr. Punch has to report several glaring cases of eccentricity. He noticed one individual in a scarlet tunic, plaid trousers, and a wide-
awake ! Apparently the Volunteers consider that a large white handkerchief may cover (like Charity) a multitude of sins. Under
this snowy headgear Mr. Punch recognised hats of all shapes and materials, from the modest pepper-and-salt helmet up to the lordly
Lincoln and Bennett. But, after all, shooting is the important point. As his friend Sue Wilfrid Lawson has observed, " Cannot
a man fight as well in a shooting-jacket as in anything else ? " {Note by Toby.—This is not the point. The Volunteers at Wimble-
don are supposed to be soldiers. Soldiers should be smart and disciplined. A man in a costume which is suggestive of a military
beggar who has lost part of his uniform, and had that part supplied from a civilian wardrobe by the charity of the public, can be neither
smart nor disciplined.)

Of the Tents—Mr. Punch is pleased to find that on the whole the encampment has been formed with judgment and care. At
noon, on the day of his visit, the tents looked clean and tidy. He was particularly pleased with the Regimental Camps, which were
comfortable without being luxurious. Of these he may particularly single out the encampment of the London Rifle Brigade, which was
(as usual), all that it should be. The battalion is commanded by Colonel Hatter. Mr. Punch feels sure that none of the comrades
of this gallant officer will wish him " to go to Bath"—except at the time of a general election. The flowers outside several of the tents
were exceedingly pretty, and everything would have been perfect had trenches in all cases been dug round the tent pegs. (Note by
Toby—Who wants a lot of flowers in an encampment! It would serve the Volunteers right were the rain to fall for a fortnight.
They would then learn the value of proper drainage. No trenches indeed !)

Concerning the Luxury of the Staff.—Mr. Punch had always been under the impression that the Regulars' chief objection to the
Volunteers has been this—that they (the Volunteers) have been either too silly or too proud to follow the very excellent example set
for them by the rest of the Service. Under these circumstances, Mr. Punch confidently expected to find the tents of the Stall models