Punch (77.1879)

24

PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.

[July 19, 1879.

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.

(After the Conservative Banquet in the City.)

Salisbury to Hartington.

Dear Hasty,

Yon read what I said in the City ? _
Be assured 'twas well-meant. Your position I pity.
You are really a very good fellow, you know,
But your shocking Circassian followers—oh !! !

Hartington to Salisbury.

Dear Sally,

I read, and—I think—understood
Your most flattering words ; you 're exceedingly good.
My " Circassians" chafe me, I own, hut don't dream
I'm in need of a Cecil's Circassian Cream!

Salisbury to Hartington.

Dear Harty,

Don't huff ! You're disgusted I know,
At those sub-gangway chaps, they 're so awfully low.
Your patience and pride they must terribly tax ;
But things always go quisby when Discipline's lax !

Hartington to Salisbury.

Dear Sally,

Yes ! Discipline's such a fine thing !
Yet I fancy that once you were fond of your fling.
But having knocked under to Dizzy, of course,
You would have no Irregulars now in the force.

Salisbury to Hartington.

Dear Harty,

Now pray do not get in a passion,
I may have been Ishmael, never Circassian,
Your Bashi-Bazouks, I am sorely afraid,
Will yet turn on their leader,—unless they 're well paid!

Hartington to Salisbury.

Dear Sally,

Paid, eh ? Well, there 's much in a name,
But when Ishmael turned Issachar, what was his game ?
When the " strong ass "—pray pardon me !—stoops to the burden,
Is it present or future he looks to for guerdon ?

Salisbury to Hartington.

Dear Harty,

Ass ? Issachar ? Guerdon ? Dear me !
I have not an idea what your meaning may be.
You surely don't hint "vulgar lucre " may hook
A Marquis as well as a Bashi-Bazouk ?

Hartington to Salisbury,

Dear Sally,

Oh no ! But when Issachar shows
A hard, mouth to hard bit, a stout back to'sore blows,
Some will fancy the prospect of fodder'and stall 1
Has its weight,—which may prove him"no ass after all.

Salisbury to Hartington.

Dear Harty,

You'll scarce keep your " stall," my sweet Whig,
There 's a darker, more dangerous spirit!—you twig ?
We are sweetly united, and know what we 're at,
But " Circassian" Leadership—just fancy that!

Hartington to Salisbury.

Dear Sally,

That slap—though 'tis smart—shows your hand.
I twig, and the country will quite understand.
Scares and bogies have served you good turns, there's no doubt,
But do you not think they 're a leetle played out p

HAPPY THOUGHTS OF FOKEIGN TIIAVEL
POP 1879.

Think of packing up your own clothes, and looking after your
wife's boxes.

Think of the early rising, hurried breakfast, and getting to the
Station in time to catch the morning train.

Think of the railway journey from London to Dover, with an
anxious mother, a self-assertive nurse, and a couple of teething
babies for possible fellow-travellers.

Think of getting on board the steamer as it rocks from side to side
in the harbour.

Think of the two hours on the Channel.

Think of the buffet at Calais.

Think of the journey to Paris, and the salle d'attente at the end
of it.

Think of the quatrieme Stage at one or other of the grand hotels.
Think of the difficulty of getting hot water, and general absence of
soap.

Think of the table d'hote Avith a party of "personally conducted"
tourists.

Think of the morning promenade under an umbrella in front of
the bonnet shops, at an average of five shillings an inch.

Think of the stuffy theatres, and the revivals of pieces you saw
for the first time about thirty years ago.

Think of the money you will have to spend in cabs.

Think of the bill, three sheets long, that you will have to settle
before having your luggage put in a remise for the Station.

Think of the slowness of Grande Vitesse, and of having to assist
(merely as a spectator) at family luncheons into which garlic has
been freely introduced.

Think of the embarras of hotel omnibuses on arriving at your
destination.

Think of sight-seeing in general, and of churches and galleries in
particular.

Think of the llhine in a mist, the Bighi in a fog, and the Simplon
in a down-pour.

Think of damp beds, uncivil waiters, and indigestible dinners.

Think of .the drains of Cologne, the Musquitos of Venice, and the
Mud of Genoa.

Think of the extortions of hotel-keepers, waiters, chamber-maids,
guides, cab-drivers, and money-changers.

Think of the last week's Times, and the day-before-yesterday's
Galignani.

Think of the undesirable people whom you are sure to see, and the
pleasant friends you are certain not to fall in with.

Think of the hurry-skurry of train-catching before day-break, and
room-securing after midnight.

Think of the effects of indifferent French cookery, partially-
fermented Italian wines, and toothachy Swiss honey.

Think of the chances in life you will miss for ever by being
abroad at the very time you are wanted in town.

Think of the letters and bills that will greet your coming home
again.

Think of all these discomforts, and a thousand more, and then
light your cigar, stir your grog, poke the fire (now necessary in the
middle of July), and thank your lucky stars that you have remained
at home.

vera eeeigies.

It is rumoured that Lord Beaconseield has expressed his wil-
lingness to accept and wear Mr. Tract Ttjrnerelli's Wreath—at
Madame Ttjssattd's.

ast To CoKKEsro.NDE.-iTS. — The Editor does not hold himself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contributions. In.no case can these be returned unless accompanied by a

stamped and directed envelope. Copies should be kept.