Punch (74.1878)

280 PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI [June 22, 1878.

THE LAY OF THE LIMP ONE.

I can't conceive how fellahs can go swingin' wound an' wound,
And flingin' out their legs like that! / wouldn't, faw a pound!

I think Soci—aw-yaw!

— Soci — By George !
I'll bweak my jaw !—

Society is, don't you
know, a monstwous
howwid baw!
It's beastly warm, an'
dancin' makes a fellah
such a guy,
With dwops of perspi-
wation hop-hop-hop-
pin' down his eye.
Why, standin' here, I
feel as limp as—aw !
well, as a nigger.
Just fancy me — aw—
whizzin' round ! I'd
cut a pretty figger !
The "festive thwong "

— that's rwot, you
know, when the therm
—aw—thermom—aw!

By George I the thermo
—mometer is markin'
eighty-faw!
Aw-yaw! let's cut this
swelt'rin' shop, an'
dwop this beastly
dwesa.
I '11 make my fellah
pack my things, an'
catch the Scotch Ex-
pwess.

There's Lady Flo has got her eye upon me,—wants to spoon.
Aw—pwetty Flo, my spoon " close-time " begins the end of June !
I weally wish they'd pass a law to make a Hop a cwime
Between the first of—aw—July and—aw—too hot for wyme !

[Exit, very limp.

11.

I—aw—oh ! hang the driv'ling drawl that goes with varnished shoes,
White ties and gloves, and black tail-coats, and twaddling talk,
and blues !

I stand ewect—I mean
erect — and dwink—
hem !—drink Ozone.
Bah ! talk of Pommery
tres sec, to give the
system tone!;
Give me a stretch of
heathery moor, all gay
with gorse in bloom ;
And grey stones streaked
with lichen stains;
and wisps of yellow
broom;
And creeping sprays of
stag's-horn moss; and
clumps of parsley
fern;

And ragged lines of
mountain - tops, with
P here and there a cairn.
Society! See Bunny
there, bob - bobbing
through the brake ;
And wild-eyed Puss,
with ears aloft — no
fear she's wide awake!
And mark that plump
and brown - backed
grouse, all ripe for
August gun!—
By George ! don't talk
of Rotten Row. My
Company's A 1.
And Talk! why, listen to the drawl of that eccentric plover.
He waltzes trois temps with the wind, and makes believe to love her.
I wonder what's the time ? Hum, haw! just five, as I'm a sinner !
By George ! I'm hungry as a pike 1—and two hours yet till dinner!

[Exit, not at all limp.

THE COMPOUND LAWYER OP THE FUTURE.

{A Page from a Tale which it is hoped may remain a " Legal Fiction.")

Chapter XIII.—The Great Trial of Business v. Love.

" Lord Hackney Downs, I think ? " said a young man, dressed in
the height of the prevailing fashion, accosting a youthful patrician.

The Row was at its fullest. All the world of London was enjoying
the pleasant noon of a sunny day, under the trees of the Park of
Hyde.

The youthful patrician stared for a few moments at the person
who had addressed him, and then exclaimed.

" Charley Brief, as I live !—my fag at Eton and my friend at
Christ Church. It is a long time since Ave met, Charley ; and what
are you doing now ? "

" I am in the Law," returned Brief, with a slight blush.

"A Barrister, of course," said Hackney Downs.

"No distinction now exists between the two branches of the pro-
fession, my Lud, or rather, my Lord."

".Call me Downy, as you used to do," murmured the young
patrician, affectionately taking the arm of his new-found friend.

"Well, Downy, you must know that since the passing of the
Act barristers, attorneys, and the rest of the legal crew, have a
common rating and a common name. We are merely—Lawyers ! "
and the young man laughed bitterly.

" And has the profession come to this ! " exclaimed Lord Hackney
Downs. "After what you have told me, I no longer regret having
exchanged the luxurious fare of the Students' Table at Lincoln
Grey's Inn for the homely viands of the Guards' Mess."

"Ohyes, now we do everything," continued Charley, savagely.
" We draw our own briefs and sue our own creditors. From morn
to night we wear a barrister's gown over a solicitor's frock-coat.
We practise in the profession in all its branches. The levelling has
been up and down. Nothing is too great for us; nothing, nothing
too small! As an example—You owe seventy pounds four shillings
and twopence farthing to Mr. Stucco, the builder ? "

" I do," replied the youthful patrician, with some confusion.
"You see," he added, in explanation, "the Hackney Downs were
ever an improvident race."

" So they were, my boy, so they were," said Charley, wringing
his friend's hand. " But to my story. You acknowledge the debt,
and, to show you how low the profession has sunk, I am actually
going to serve you—you, my chum at Eton, my other self at Oxford—
with the copy of a writ! See here,rmy Lord, is the original." And
the lawyer produced a couple of documents.

" Business is business, I suppose," replied Hackney Downs, with
a little laugh, not altogether free from aristocratic scorn. "But,
apropos of nothing', look in at our place to-night—my father, the
Duke of London Fields, holds high revel. He comes of an impro-
vident race."

" He does," returned Chakley, again wringing his friend's hand.
And then he added, with some hesitation, "But tell me, will the
Lady Blanche be there P "

" Since my mother's death, my sister has played the hostess,"
replied Hackney Downs. And with a simultaneous nod and smile,
the two young men separated: the nobleman to pursue pleasure at
Tattersall's, the lawyer to attend to business at Westminster Hall.

"How will she treat me?" muttered Charley, as he assumed
his wig and gown. " Will she still frown upon me with those cold
but lovely eyes ?

In another minute he was addressing a British jury, forgetful of
everything but the labour of the moment. Still, in the pauses
between the acts, when a new case was called on, or when the Judge
adjourned the Court for luncheon, his thoughts strayed to the proud
beauty of Belgrave Square—the woman to whom he had given his
love: the woman by whom that love had been spurned.

After a weary day in Court, he returned to his office, and plunged
into a new sort of work. Now it was that, in his professional
character, he wrote threatening letters to acquaintances who had
neglected to pay their tailors. _ Now it was that he prepared (always
acting in a professional capacity) to sue orphans and to sell up the
widow's " little all." Then he opened a diary, and entered the con-
versation he had had with Lord Hackney Downs in it. He charged
thirteen shillings and fourpence for it. Then he closed his books,
locked up his office and desk, and came West.

Three hours later, Charley Brief, dressed in evening costume,
was on his way to Belgrave Square. He held in his hand a legal-
looking document. "It is a strange chance that I should have
received this, just before starting, from the agent of the Sheriff," he
murmured, and, dismissing his cabman, entered the ducal mansion.

Bowing right and left to numbers of acquaintances, he made his
way to the room in which Lady Blanche was standing. The proud
beauty was alone. She frowned as she looked at him.

" Why do you come here ? " she asked, angrily.

" Can you not guess ? " he replied, tenderly.

" No," was the wrathful response. " And now begone ! "