Punch (73.1877)

PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHAEIVARI.

[September 8, 1877.

BARS TO WEDLOCK.

xcellent Mr. ppnch,

I Air a young
man, and I am a
younger son: and liv-
ing chiefly on my
wits, I enjoy, it must
be owned, a somewhat
modest income. Small
as it is, however, I
sigh for some fair one
to share it; but, alas !
I sadly fear my sigh-
ing is in vain, while
mutton chops are sold
at fourteen pence a
pound, and house-
rents are so high that
I am forced to live in
lodgings.

Besides, young La-
dies now-a-days are
nurtured in such
luxury that a dinner
and a drawing-room
are their least of vital
necessaries. Half the
girls I know could
not exist without a
carriage ; and their
life would be a misery
if they married with-
out the prospect of a
lady's-maid, a lap-
dog, and a mansion in
Belgravia. Consider,
too, the wondrous rai-
ment they now wear, and the wondrous sums their loving fathers
have "to pay for it. I doubt if my whole income would find my
wife in pin-money, and I would wager that my year's expenses in
cigars would be enormously exceeded by the cost of her new bonnets.

How dear a wife must be to the adorer of her charms may readily
be guessed by glancing at the fashion-books. Not merely her cos-
tumes, but her jewels and gimcrackery, seem daily to increase in
value and variety. For instance, see this notice of a chatelaine
made lately for a Swelless of the Period, from whose '^silver belt
there dangle a full dozen of fine nicknacks such as these :—

" Scent-bottle, memorandum-book, card-ease, manifold knife with instru-
ments, dog-whistle, silver flask and cup, dressing-comb, mirror with locket,
elegant purse, small telescope, glove-loop, pedometer, chased silver revolver,
cartridge-case, and egg-shaped box containing powder and puff."

If a Lady wants to make a little noise in the world, she cannot
well do better than decorate herself with such a portable museum.
What a cheerf ul companion she would be in a sick room, with all
her toys and gimcracks jingle-jangling about her! With gongs in
her fingers and bells on her toes, she would hardly make more
music when moving in society.

Some of the things catalogued are rather masculine than feminine
in their general utility, and Ladies carrying such weapons as a
knife and a revolver might be suitably provided also with a cork-
screw and cigar-case. I am not by nature nervous, or of a timid
temperament, or I might tremble at the notion of marrying a
person with a pistol at her belt, and formidably armed besides with
a powder-box and (puff) ball. But I own I should be frightened at
the prospect of maintaining a wife begirt with scent-bottles, and
drinking-cups, and nicknacks in chased silver, all betokening
luxurious and listless ways of life. Better to live simple and in
solitude and in Spartan-like simplicity (with now and then a cosy
little dinner at one's Club) than run the risk of being dragged by
your wife's chatelaine, and her costliness concomitant, into the
clutches of the Jews, and the whitewash of the Court.

In this belief believe me yours most fixedly,

Greek Street, Friday. Epajitnondas Brown".

A Doubtful Gain.

Mine hosts of the Schweizerhofs at Lucerne, Schaffhausen, and
Zurich: have agreed to strike out bougies as well as service in the
bill, " merely making a small addition'to the charge for logement."
It will be the first " small addition " we ever heard of in any of these
excellent establishments, where, in our travelling tours, the bills had
a way of taking to themselves wings and soaring up to heights of
compound addition, to which oar sweating purse toiled after them
in vain.

MANUALE DEL YIAGGIATOKE.

revised ediiiox.

(Specially designed for the Use of the British Tourist in Italy.)

On Getting Up.
You have called me very early.

It cannot be more than half-past two in the morning.
Why cannot I have some shaving-water ?
Is that a Brigadier sitting on the dressing-table ?
He has taken my purse.

He has also taken my hair-brush, my false collars, my penknife,
my Bradshaiv, my dress-boots, my sticking-plaster, and my cheque-
book.

It is very cold.

I would rather not go out into the street with the Brigadier.
Where is my hat P

On a Country Road.

These stones are very hard.

I have on my thin slippers.

The Brigadier has on his stout top-boots.

This road must be seventeen miles long.

Where is a four-wheeler P

Here is a thunderstorm.

The Brigadier has the umbrella.

I would rather have the umbrella than the handcuffs.

At. Breakfast-time.

We have walked thirty-two miles since sun-rise.

I should like some breakfast.

This hotel has windows like Newgate.

Show me to the salle-d-manger.

Is not this the coal-cellar ?

I should like good coffee, hot rolls, fresh butter, fried fish, ham
and eggs, cold meat, pigeon-pie, and muffins.
Why is the Brigadier laughing ?
There is a water-rat in the corner.
Here is the dry bread and cracked pitcher.
The Brigadier is fond of practical joking.

On Going to Bed.

Can I not have a four-poster and a warming-pan ?

They will give me neither a pillow, nor a feather-bed, nor a mat-
tress, nor a counterpane, nor a hammock, nor a wash-hand-stand,
nor an easy-chair, nor a foot-stool, nor a boot-jack, nor a ther-
mometer, nor an explanation!

Here is my rheumatism.

Where is a night-light ?

This place is full of spiders, and earwigs, and beetles, and lizards,
and blue bottles, and scorpions.
I cannot sleep comfortably on the floor of the coal-cellar.

Bepore a Magistrate.

The Gaoler is as incorrigible as the Brigadier.
The Prisoners' Dock is most uncomfortable.

I would rather receive back my purse, my hair-brush, my false
collars, my penknife, my JBradshazv, my dress-boots, my sticking-
plaster, and my cheque-book, than return again to the coal-cellar.

Italian Tourists in England do not walk on the treadmill at Bow
Street.

The Magistrate is blundering dreadfully.

I would rather write a letter to the Times than trust to the blun-
dering Magistrate.
Who is to reimburse me for this outrage ?
"Which is the way to the English Consul ?
Here is the Brigadier with the thumbscrew.
Is nobody going to assist a Traveller in distress ?
Will no one take off these handcuffs ?
Where is the British Lion ?

Deadly-Lively.

The Liverpool Daily Post is an English newspaper; but it
contains, mutatis mutandis, the following advertisement:—

PATRICK M'GARRY, DECEASED. — TO PRINTERS. — IF
PATRICK M'GARRY, who some short time since left Leicester, and, it is
believed, came to Dublin or Liverpool, will communicate with the undersigned,
he will hear of something to his advantage.

Pat and Tim, St. Andrew Street, Dublin.

Save for the nationality of the advertisers, as deducible from their
address, they might be imagined to be believers in spirit-rapping.
But the citation of a dead man to communicate with the living is no
evidence at all at all that an insane superstition has extended its
stultifying influence over the minds of Irishmen.