Punch (73.1877)

August 25, 1877.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

77

If ever a storm was imminent, it is now, by the Pond, with the
Trimmer cynically at rest. Mllbubd has retired, temporarily, from
the contest, but is delighted, winking at Pogmobe (who himself
intends to dash in presently when he sees an opportunity for bring-
ing in music), nudging me, and emitting subdued chuckling sounds.
Mumley is ruffling his feathers previous to making a crushing
reply, when I am struck by a Happy Thought, of which I deliver
myself at once: "Mumley needn't be annoyed at being popular
with Lunatics. ' Great wits to madness nearly are allied.' "

For one second I see that Hamlin Mtjmley is uncertain whether
to take this as a genuine tribute to the greatness of his wit, or as a
satirical compliment. Have I alluded to him as a madman at large,
or as a great unfettered Poet ? He, sensibly, decides for the latter ;
and, as the Parliamentary reports have it, "The subject then
dropped." (By the way, what a complimentary descriptive title for
a Poet would be, " The Great Unfettered ! " Mem. Try it on some
one.)

"Now," cries Milbubd, "let's take up the Trimmer." Agreed
to nem. con., as a distraction.

When taken up, there is nothing on it,—not even the bait.

" There ! " says Boodels, triumphantly, " I said there were eels
in the Pond ! " He is as pleased as if they'd been caught: more
so, in fact, as there is still a future in the Pond for his guests, who,
if they had been successf ul in catching the Eels, would soon be tired
of their only amusement.

"But," I object, to Boodels, "you said that if anything were
caught, the Trimmer would turn up. It didn't."

" Yes, it did," he replies, " in the night. The Eel swallowed the
bait, and went off. It must have been a very big Eel. I'm sure
there is a very big Eel in this Pond."

The Butler announces a Mb. and Mbs. Buddeemee. We knew
they were coming, and had discussed them.

Eresh arrivals in a country house, if strangers to the guests in pos-
session, are regarded by the latter as intruders.

We have all been on the very verge of a violent row among our-
selves ; we now unite (that is, without expressing ourselves openly to
one another we have this co-operative store of sympathy) as against
a common foe.

Boodels has exclaimed, " Oh, I'm so glad ! " and has hurried off
to welcome his guests.

None of us like our host's appearing "so glad," and saying so
before us, and then rushing off. It implies that he has had enough
of us. We remain, sulkily, by the Pond.

"Who are these Btjddeemebs? " asks Pogmobe the Composer.

We all simultaneously shrug our shoulders to show our igno-
rance of the Buddebmebs, and our social superiority to everybody
outside Boodels generally.

" I suppose," grumbles Milbued, who has found another worm,
and is making a horrid mess of it with the Trimmer's line and hook,
" I suppose we shall have to dress for dinner."

" I shan't," says the Poet, determinedly. He professes to despise
conventionalities.

" If you don't I won't," says Milbt/ed.

" I shall," says Pogmoee. " I always do." Pogmoee has some
vague sort of notion that he raises the character of the musical pro-
fession by being dressed for dinner. Milbubd shouts,

" I say, why will Pogmobe be like a hot roast joint ? Eh ? Because
he '11 be ' dressed for dinner.' Ha! ha ! ha ! ha ! "

Then he shouts again, " Do you see, eh ? ' Dressed.' You know.
Eh? Ha! ha! ha!"

But we do not encourage him.

" I '11 do what everybody else does," is my genial motto.
Secretly, as there is to be a lady present, I decide on siding with
Pogmobe.

"I wish he wouldn't have company till we have gone," says the
Poet. "If s so much pleasanter being all by ourselves here."

I agree with him, of course. But as we have been on the very
verge of a row every evening except the first, and as we should have
reached the culminating point to-night (after this narrow escape
just now) I am not sorry that we have the respite of the Buddee-
mebs. _ Besides, I point out to Pogmoee, d propos of a libretto for the
Oratorio of The Ark, we 're now going to have just what you want
myour subject— a little female interest. There is a Mbs. Btjddebmeb,
and a Miss Btjddebmeb.

Pogmobe becomes interested in Miss Buddeemee. He goes so far
as to " wonder5what she's like."

The Poet briefly observes, " I hate young girls."

We are silent. We march in to the sound of the gong for dinner.
By Jove! " shouts Milbtjed, rushing up to us. We all stop
and turn, under the impression that the Trimmer has done some-
thing at last. He seizes Pogmobe's arm. " There's an idea for your
Oratorio. Gong sounds! March of all the animals two and two
into dinner ! Ha! ha ! ha! Eh ? Ha ! ha! ha ! "

He nudges me roughly with his left elbow, takes Pogmobe by
the arm with a jerk that makes him cannon against the Poet, and
then walks his victim off like a prisoner, still roaring in his ear,

" All the animals—ha! ha! ha!—into dinner—ha! ha! ha! First-
rate notion, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha! "

" I hear," groans Pogmobe, faintly, vainly trying to extricate
himself. But he can't. Milbubd has got him, and shaking him and
shouting at the unfortunate Composer of the future Oratorio, he
literally pushes and hoists him up-stairs.

0!

"THE FIFTEEN OES."

(aot caxton's.)

Henby, Db.
Steelman
says the
children are look-
ing delicate, and
that they ought
to go to some sea-
side place. Don't
you think I had
better write to my
sister, who, you
know, is at Daw-
dlebank, and ask
her to take lodg-
ings for us at
once? (Mater.)

0! do as you
like, my dear ;
but I really had
hoped we might
have done without
going to the sea
this year, and
stayed quietly at
home. You know
there are eleven of
us now. (Pater.)

0 ! how jolly !
we are all going
to the sea! (Henby Junior, Edgae, Atheling, and Edwy.)
0 ! Mamma, we have not a thing to wear! (Girls.)
0 !£iwhat a quantity of Luggage! (Pater, o>.,,the morning of
departure.)

0! what ever can have become of that little black 'box with the
brass nails ? (Mater, at the terminus at Dawdlebank.)

0! Mamma, think, how delightful!—the Whissendlnes are here,
and close to us at No. 10. (Miss Emmeline (18), on reading the
Visitors' List, the morning after arrival.)

0 ! how annoying! I never would have come, if I had known
the Whissendines were here. That young Whissendine will be
perpetually running after Emmeline. (Mater, to herself.)

0! Mastee Feeddy, what have you been doing'r—O ! Miss
Mary, what a mess you have made of yourself! What will your
Mamma say ? (Nurse daily, hourly, on the sands.)

0 ! what on earth am I to do with myself here for the next five
weeks ? (Pater, after three days' experience of Dawdlebank.)

0 ! Henby, what do you think Mbs. Jiglitt has charged us for
" Washing of Linen" ? (Mater, after examining first weekly bill.)

Oh! how dear everything is at Dawdlebank! Much dearer than
in London. (Pater and Mater.)

0 ! those boys ! (Pater, Mater, sisters, and servants twenty times
a day.)

0 ! how it rains ! (All the family in Mbs. Jiglitx's dining-room
set.)

0! how thankful I am we are all safe home again ! (Mater—by
anticipation—a month hence.)

SHORT, SHAEP, AND DECISIVE.

To Me. Punch—Sle,

Now that an incautious Manchester naturalist may, without
meaning it, have made a beginning of the Colorado Beetle among
us, it seems to me nothing more than the duty of every Manchester
manufacturer to do his best to make an end of it. Now, we have
in this great city and its neighbourhood a system of beetle-finishing
applied to twills, which I am satisfied would be effective in
finishing the Colorado. Let every one of these insect pests that
may be caught be at once carried to the nearest beetling-shed, and
then put under a system of wooden block-pestles, with faces of from
five to six inches square, worked with arms of about four feet long,
and a fall of from three to four feet. Depend on it we should not
hear or see much more of Mr. Colorado. Yours,

Manchester, August lGth. Beetle-Ceushee.