Punch (81.1881)

July 16, 1881.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

SHUT UP!

"You're very Bald, Sir! Have voir tried our Tonio
Lotion ?"

" Oh yes. But that's not what 's made all my Hair fall
off !"

NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A CITY WAITER.

Robert at Epping Forest on "Whit Monday.

Having herd _ a good deal said at sum of my dinners about the
many Beautys in the Peeples Forest of Epping (how that name
brings back to fond mem'ry thoughts of savery sausages such as we
never gets now!), I wisited that charming locality on Whit
Monday to spend a nice quiet day in its silver glades, 1 think they
calls 'em.

I never new 'till that ewentful day why it is called Wit Monday,
and I don't exacly no now, but I think it must be because of the fun
the Railaway people has with you.

For instance, I started by train from Liverpool Street for Ching-
ford about 12 o'clock, with a party of 6, all werry comfortable in a
fust class carridge, tho' we'd only paid for third, and all congrater-
lating ourselves on our good luc, but that didn't last long, for at
every station as soon as we became stationery, and even afore that,
there was quite a rush of most common people into our beautiful
carridge, until when at last we enterred Chingford, we had no less
than 23 passengers, ineludin 2 werry powerful-looking ladies ewe-
dently fresh from Billingsget, if anything from Billingsget ever is
fresh, and with all the pecoolier erroamer of that charming place
full upon 'em, and also a pore little Baby that was put up in the
Basket over our eds and held there by his principle parient with an
ocky stick, but who didn't seem much to enjoy his elewated persition
for he screemed all the way.

It took us a pretty considerable time to get out, and wen it came
to my turn, and the werry pleasant-looking Station Master, who I
herd somebody call Mr. Staggs (of course only as a Epping Forest
joke), asked me how many more ? and I sed, with some sewerity,
only 8, he axshally blusht, and muttered sumthink about holliday
time.

Well, I walked out of the Station with all the dignerty becoming
a fust class carridge, to have my quiet stroll in a silver glade, when,

as the Poet used to say when I was a boy, " 0 wot a site met my
view! "

I think I never was so astonished in all my life excep when a
Royal Prinse gave me a Sovreign for his At. Silver glades ? Silent
forest ? Bounding Dears ? No ! but Bartlemy Fare as I remember
it in my youthful childhood, and Grinnidge Fare as I knowd it in
my herly manhood.

Is this, thort I, wot I come all this ways with 23 insides for to
see ?

Swings and Rounderbouts, and Koker Nuts and Arnt Sallys, and
Donkies and plenty on 'em, and Ginger Beer Bottles lying about,
and lots of dirty paper and mess !

I was that disgusted and disapinted that I was amost a good mind
to go home, tho' that's about the last place we ever thinks of going
to for an olliday, but luckily for me there was the beautiful trees,
only just a little ways off, looking so quiet and green and inwiting,
that I tucked up my trowsers, as it had been raining like fun, and
leavin all the noise and the mess and the wulgarity behind me,
plunged boldly slap into the Forest. Ah, what a change !

How any living man or woman or infant child can waste the
preshus hours of their seldom come hollidays, a swinging and a
Koko Nutting and all that rubbish, when their own butiful Forest is
just by, is far more than a mistery to me, it's reelly somethink
almost strange.

Well, I wanderd on and on in a perfect rapsher of delight, for I'd
never seen a reel Forest afore, excep Hornsey Wood, and that
wasn't a bit like a Forest excep its name, when presently I meets a
Gent drest summet like one of Robbing Hood's merry men, as I've
seem 'em on the Stage, and we soon got into conwersation, and he
told me as he was a Keeper, of course I looked round to see where
his Patience was, but he larfed and said he was a Forrest Keeper
and not a Mad Keeper. He told me he used formally to carry a gun,
but as he wasn't aloud to shoot nothink, he soon got tired of carrying
it about all day, and so they never shoots now except in the Autum,
when they goes a Buck-hunting for the Lord Mare's Wenson.

He says that's about the best bit of fun he ever has, for the Com-
mittee comes down from London looking so dredful sleepy at having
to get up so early, that it's a sight to see, and as they knows no
more about shooting than the babe unborn, and that can't be much,
the Keepers drives the poor Dears close up to 'em, and then they all
bangs away at 'em, and of course misses 'em, and the Dears gallops
away, and then they all has to begin over again.

He tells me no Committee man has ever shot a Dear but wunce,
and then the Hed Keeper stood behind him and fired at the same
time ; and one of 'em hit it, and the Keeper said it wasn't him ; and
I have heard it said that was the best day's work as the Hed Keeper
ever had.

It don't seem a werry pertickler hard life as those Keepers lives,
but not awdaciously exsiting. I don't think it 'ud suit me, for let
alone the want of hardly no place for refreshment, or shelter when
it's wet, the hutter habsense of all that constitutes the reel poetry
and charm of life, or in other words the turtle and wenson of egsist-
ence, such as Toasts and Speeches and Loving Cups and all that,
must be somethink awful!

I had a good 3 hours stroll thro' the beautiful Forest all the way up
to Eye Beach, and saw hundreds and thousands of appv faces, and I
thort to myself if I was Lord Mare of London, which there don't
seem much chance of my being just at present, I'd ha' had a good
long drive on that werry day thro' that there Forest that the people
owes to the Copperation, and ha' seen how thorowly thousands on
'em was enjoying it, and I'd be bound he'd ha' had such a reception
as would ha' sent him home a wiser and a better and a jovialler and
a hungrier man. {Signed) Robert.

A FALSE REPORT.

Sad was many a heart in England when the news came o'er the wave,
That a gallant Royal Middy 'neath the sea had found a grave.

Many a mother's heart in anguish throbbed with sympathetic pain
For the Realm's adopted daughter, for our winsome Royal Dane.

Terrible indeed the tidings, had the fair young sailor died ;
But there came a consolation, as of old 'twas Rumour lied.

Bon voyage .' the Nation wished them when the Princes sailed away,
And the cheery words are echoed in a million hearts to-day.

May the vessel that they sail in be by prosperous breezes fann'd,
Till once more their Mother clasps them, safe and sound, on English
land! ____

Ortonian.—A new Tichborne Claimant en route. It is said he"
can speak and write Freneh perfectly. " Ah! " says Mrs.^ Gamp,
"we shall soon 'ave another nobleman languaging in prison.

vol. lxxxi,

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