Punch (77.1879)

108 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 6, 1879.

A VOICE FROM THE WEST.

Measter Punch,

Zumtimes I ha' thowt, as I
zot i' th' earner, a-zmokin' me
pipe,

"What th' varmer t' goo droo's a-got
wi' his crops avore ar'n' o' 'em
be ripe ;

Yet mid he but reap what's a-zown,
an' gather an' kip what's a-got,
Vree-treade an' bad seasons mid
vrown, he'd rub droo't all con-
tent wi' his lot;
But th' voke 'at there_ be vor to
kip—pon-me-song, 'tis a puzzle
t' me—

Upon zoo many yacres o' land, that

we all be zo fess as we be !
Jest zo fur dtheasum lines I'd
a-pen'd, Measter Punch, when
there cum t' me back,
Wi' a grin on his veace, neighbour
Cox ;—but I '11 write down th'
words we did crack:—

Cox. Why jes-zo Lord Bea-
consfield zays; top o' peaper
I've zeeniti' prent—
"Dree rents must be paid by th'
la7id." (Noo wonder our money's
a-spent!)

" Th' laVrer his wages must hcv ; an"1 W landlord his rent, twice a year ;
An' th' varmer hev so'thin' f live on; " tho' markets an' seasons be queer.
Jere. About gurt men, I b'lieve, it's a-zaid, th' zeame thowts 'ill creep into
th'r yead,

But tidden jest what I da mean, what th' gurt man in Lon'on's a-zai'd.
I be n't goin't' zay—no not I! that I vind any fau't wi' lan'lord,
He's a-born to high steation, an' zoo he's a right to all we can afford ;
But when I'm a little bit push'd, I do dthink how th' load do increase,—
Th' schoolmeasters, sojers, an' sailors, jails, paupers, highways, an' police,
Th' kippers, th' yagents, th' lawyers, all a teakn a pull at oone cup,
Whatsoever th' land may bring forth, noo wonder't is all zwollcr'd up !

Cox. Bravo, Jere ! thee 'st come a bit roun'; but dtheiis lan'lords dost worship
zo much,

Tidden they that do prey on th' land, but th' laws 'at do meake 'em as such;
Wold faggots o' ship-skins, an' wax, ink, an' dry-dust, wi' red teape a-tied,
Wi' entails an' dowries zo loaded they cou'dn' be free ef they tried!
Well! Th' land, we be twold, must be juggl'd—hocus-pocus—its dree rents to
yield.

But there's oone 'at ye both ha' vorgotten,—seest yonder fat rook i' th' vield ?
Jere. Th' parson!

Cox. Th' tithe-reni! be zure ! 'at both thee an' Lord B. ha' vorgat!

Now, varming can't carry voiver rents !—but I '11 tell 'e a tale 'ats ' zo pat:
A wheeler by trade was John Jukes, like a brave 'un he'd work a long day,
An' th' harder he work'd the moore jolly, wi' a light purse he'd just pay
his way;

But oone night he did hit on a plan o' meaken o' mouse-traps by steam,
An' straightway sich work did come to un, an' money like gold in a dream;
Zix voremen John paid t' look a'ter a parcel o' journeymen chaps,
An' he furnished hisself wi' a carriage, an' all th' wide world wi' his traps ;
But bime-by a slackness come roun', while his spending run on all the same,
An' John, to his horror, fun' out Yankee mouse-traps, dirt-chip, were to
blame;—

Oone day in his carriage I met un, a-wasted t' poor skin-an'-grief,
Zays he, " Will, do'e gi'e me advice, I'm a-broke if I don't get relief."
Zays I, " John, do'e zell dtheiis vine carriage, get rid o' th' fools ye've a-made;
If still ye can do a day's work ye may still drive a good wholesome trade.
But as for dtheiis fal-lals and follies, ye mid stan' vor a time such expense,
But th' meaken o' mouse-traps oon't cap' it!"—Zo there now, 'at's good
common sense! Jere Smallbone.

A DISTRICT IN DARKNESS.

Here, extracted from a Manchester paper, is an enigma in the form of an
advertisement, of

CLEAN comfortable LODGINGS, for a Young Man. Christian preferred. No
children. Address, &c, Ardwick.

The advertiser would prefer a Christian for a lodger to a Jew, or a Mahometan,
or a Heathen, or a Secularist, or an Agnostic, but would receive, not to say take
in, anybody of any religion, or no religion at all, rather than nobody. This
lodging-house keeper is clearly not bigoted. The relative proportion of Chris-
tians to the rest of the population in and about Ardwick would seem, from the
above intimation, to be of questionable magnitude ; so much so as to suggest that

Christian Ministers of all denominations would find that
district an eligible sphere of missionary usefulness. The
Bishop of Manchester might as well perhaps look to it.
If he doesn't, Stiggins, or the local Anti-Bishop may.

But what is the desiderated Christian to understand
by " No children " ? That he mustn't bring any, or that
there are none in the house, and that he is presumed
to entertain, in virtue of his religion, some peculiar
objection to children? In that case, the party adver-
tising for a Christian lodger apparently professes, and
contemplates him as professing, some very recently
developed form of Christianity.

PLAY VERSUS WORK.

Nowadays half-a-score of weekly papers indulge their
readers with glimpses of scenes from the " private life "
of public men. Some of these sketches are innocent
enough, while others are not so blameless. The latest
edition of the list is a series of papers called Workers
at Play.

Always ready to improve a good idea, Mr. Punch would
suggest a companion volume, to be entitled Players at
Work. To put the matter in a practical form, he pub-
lishes a sample " first number," which is heartily at the
service of the professional " biographers " :—

MR. HURRY SKURRY LOUNGE IN MUSCLEDOM.

Some miles from London exists an old house buried in
a forest of trees. A few paces from the principal en-
trance is a racecourse, in the back garden there are
excellent preserves, and at the end of the lawn appears
a lake well stocked with all sorts of fish. In the
county of Loamshire there is not a more convenient
country residence.

It is night as we enter Mr. Hurry Skurry Lounge's
sanctum. He is dressed in full evening costume, and
nods as we approach him.

" Glad to see you," he says with a yawn. And we can
but admire the muscular development of bis finely-
shaped throat.

We hint that we should like to know how he has
been spending the last eighteen hours.

"Well, I came here," he says, taking up a bedroom
candlestick, "for perfect quiet. After a long London
season, one requires rest, don't you know ? "

We agree with him cordially.

" Well, I was up at a quarter to five this morning," he
continues. " I wanted to try a mare I have in training,
and didn't wish to be overlooked by the touts from the
sporting papers. So I walked five miles out and five
miles in, and got up a very good appetite for breakfast."

Again we encourage him with our approval.

" Then some of the girls came to see me, so I had to
take part in twenty or thirty games of Lawn Tennis.
You know that cousins (especially when they belong to
the fair sex) will have their way. We were interrupted
by the gong for luncheon."

"Yes?"

" Well, the afternoon passed in the usual manner.
The North of our county is playing the South at cricket.
Our side was in, and at about three o'clock I found it
was my turn to go in for a second innings. Knocked
about the ball in fine style, Sir, and was not_ out for
seventy-two ! It was now too late to do anything very
athletic, so I filled up the pause before dressing for
dinner with a run of a dozen miles or so on a bicycle."

Again we nodded.

" Well, dinner over, of course we had dancing. You
know what a country-house is when it's full of people.
If I waltzed once, I waltzed a dozen times, and I am
precious glad that the hour has arrived for bed."

" You seem to have had a great deal to do," we hint.
'' I question whether I could get through the same amount
of work."

" Of course you couldn't, because you are such a busy
fellow. But, you see, I have nothing on earth to do, so
I have plenty of time to be lazy ! "

And with a gigantic yawn, Mr. Hurry Skurry
Lounge lights his candle, and retires to rest.

The Best Tourist's Companion eor 1879.—An Um-
brella.

CS~ To CoBBEsroifDENTS.—Tfie Editor does not hold himself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contributions. In no ease can these be returned unless accompanied by a

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