DOI Heft:
February 2, 1884
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17756#0061
February 2, 1884.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 53
Mr. Bowers said : —As this ease will apparently be rather com-
plicated, I wish to make a suggestion. I don’t so much mind two of
you talking together ; in fact, I can sometimes manage three, but
it’s quite impossible for me to understand six of you at once, especi-
| ally as you are very indistinct, and this is a very bad Court for
| sound.
; The Officer again proceeded with his evidence, but the interrup-
* tions and abuse became worse than ever.
Mr. Bowers {to the Defendant). Look here, if you don’t leave off,
;| I shall not only adjourn the case for a week, but I shall go on
| adjourning it till I do get silence.
Patrick Mulgan. Yer Honour, bedad, I’m not going to stand here,
) and hear them lies.
Mr. Bowers. Oh ! aren’t you ? Yery well, then, you shan’t. I ’ll
adjourn you for a week, at all events.
VP he Defendant was then removed, amidst much laughter.
Biddy Flaherty. I ’ll not desert Pat Mulgar. Let me go, too ?
Mr. Bowers. By all means. Consider yourself adjourned sine die.
Biddy Flaherty. Thank ye, yer Majisty. May you and Ould
Ireland live for ever !
[ The confusion at last became so great, that Mr. Bowers ordered
the 'parties engaged to leave the Court, an order which teas
not obeyed in a single instance.
Mr. Bowers. Well, as you won't leave the Court, I will; and I ’ll
take very good care I do not return until you have left.
[ The learned Magistrate then retired.
AN IRISH CASE; OR, ERIN AND TALKING.
ICH DIEN.”
Honoured Sir,
I am a widower with four children — this is my misfortune,
not my fault. So also is the fact that I am absolutely without
menial assistance. Yet again is another fact: viz., that on Tuesday
last I attended Mrs. Burshaw’s Agency for Domestic Servants,
whither I was directed by a Lady who has been kind enougn to
endeavour to alleviate my misfortunes. Like myself, she is solitary
in the midst of plenty of children. On arriving at Mrs. Burshaw’s
outer office, I was reminded by a smiling young female of some forty
Summers (without counting her Springs, Winters, and Autumns),
that five shillings was the customary fee for “ registering.”
Following Sir Bobert Peel’s advice, I promptly but not unreluc-
tantly did so, at the same time timidly inquiring for a Parlour-maid.
In return for my two half-crowns, the damsel handed me a ticket
inscribed as follows :—
TERMS—FIVE SHILLINGS
For each Servant required. No Alteration can be made in the description
of Servant booked for.
The addresses of Lady and Servant must be exchanged on partial engagement.
.This Ticket Expires
Directly the Servant enters upon her Situation.
Armed with this domestic railway-ticket, I entered a long room,
around which were posted various groups of the gentler sex (not a
male among them), who, like myself, had “booked for” Servant-
galism. Scarcely had I looked round, when a stentorian voice
shouted, “Mr. Diorysius Jores,” and I blushingly cast my eyes
down on my ticket, as three or four young women made towards me.
At the same time, I remembered that I was not a Lady, and that “a
partial engagement ” was associated only in my mind with a strong
attachment or a breach oh promise.
“ Eighteen pound a-year, beer-money, and the usual Sunday out,”
cried a voice, in my ear.
I looked up, and beheld a slender sallow-faced young female, who
had evidently tried to make up for the skimpiness of her figure by
the breadth of her hat-brim, and for the want of blood in her cheeks
by the fiery hues of her ribbons and shawl.
' “ That seems a good deal,” I ventured to falter.
“It would be a good deal for some people,” she replied, tartly.
“ How about the beer-money ? ”
“I provide the beer myself,” I answered, firmly. “Are you a
churchgoer?” I added, wishing to turn the subject, not knowing
where the “partial engagement ” began or ended.
“Yes,” she sniggered, “ when it’s cold meat on Sundays.”
“I’m afraid you won’t do,” I began, when she cut me short with,
‘‘No, I don’t suppose I should. Mother says I ought to be par-
ticular.”
In less than ten seconds she was engaged in negotiations with an
elderly lady on my right.
“You’re not a lodging-’ouse keeper, I ’opes, ’cos I ’ad to leave
my last place on account of the drefful ’ard work. Six dinners a-day,
b’lieve me. Fust at one for the old gent with brown kits in the
parlours, then for the old lady with paralice in the droring-rooms at
two, then for the newly married couple on the second floor at three,
then for the City gents at ’arlf-past five, then for Missus orff what
they’d leff at ’arlf-past six, and then orff what Missus ’ad left,
supper-like, for me—oh ! Sir, it was offal. But if you ’re not a
lodging-’ouse keeper, I’m ready for the sitivation. My name’s
Martha Crackles.”
The speaker was a determined-looking female, with any amount of
cheekbone, a glance like a bull’s-eye lantern, and a hand as broad as
a spade. Had I been a woman, she wTould have been my mistress, as
it was, I felt I was in presence of my master. My tongue clove to
the roof of my mouth. I was about to surrender, when an angel
(figuratively, not literally) came to my rescue, in the person of an old
woman, with threescore years, and twice that amount of feathers
pressing on her brow, who passed by us. My antagonist (doubtless
recognising her), without a word of apology, hurried in pursuit.
When next I saw Martha Crackles, she had that old angel, care-
fully laid by, under her right arm.
A prepossessing-looking female, dressed in deep mourning, next
approached me, in a somewhat timid manner.
“ I understand, Sir,” she said, “ that you ’re looking for a parlour-
maid. I also understand, Sir, that you are a widower. Sir, I can
sympathise with you, for I am, alas ! a widow ”■—(here she grasped
my hand)—“and mean to remain so. My poor dear husband’ -
[here four square inches of calico evacuated her pocket)■ “ was of
superior birth. He was town butler in a nobleman’s family, but his
perquisites, Sir, were not of that commanding nature (owing to the
poverty of his employers) to enable me to enjoy that position which
is mine by right and nature. Sir, you have a feeling eye, and I well
know what sympathy means. (Here the calico travelled to her eyes.)
The situation of parlour-maid is not one that I desire, but it may
lead to other and better things. [I began to remember the “ partial
engagement ” clause.) And if one stricken heart can strike with
another, let that lot be mine. (Here she clutched both my hands,
and accompanied the movement with a sacrificial odour of gin.) Let
that solace be mine. I only ask twenty pounds a year as a solace for
my affliction. I only ask-” ,
I did not let her ask anything else. I fled from Mrs. Burshaw s.
My courage expired before my ticket. I am laying my own table.
The situation is mine. Try your own cafe au lent, is the advice of
Yours joyfully, Diorysius Jores.
The Sex of Oysters.—All females. Moll-usks.
Mr. Bowers said : —As this ease will apparently be rather com-
plicated, I wish to make a suggestion. I don’t so much mind two of
you talking together ; in fact, I can sometimes manage three, but
it’s quite impossible for me to understand six of you at once, especi-
| ally as you are very indistinct, and this is a very bad Court for
| sound.
; The Officer again proceeded with his evidence, but the interrup-
* tions and abuse became worse than ever.
Mr. Bowers {to the Defendant). Look here, if you don’t leave off,
;| I shall not only adjourn the case for a week, but I shall go on
| adjourning it till I do get silence.
Patrick Mulgan. Yer Honour, bedad, I’m not going to stand here,
) and hear them lies.
Mr. Bowers. Oh ! aren’t you ? Yery well, then, you shan’t. I ’ll
adjourn you for a week, at all events.
VP he Defendant was then removed, amidst much laughter.
Biddy Flaherty. I ’ll not desert Pat Mulgar. Let me go, too ?
Mr. Bowers. By all means. Consider yourself adjourned sine die.
Biddy Flaherty. Thank ye, yer Majisty. May you and Ould
Ireland live for ever !
[ The confusion at last became so great, that Mr. Bowers ordered
the 'parties engaged to leave the Court, an order which teas
not obeyed in a single instance.
Mr. Bowers. Well, as you won't leave the Court, I will; and I ’ll
take very good care I do not return until you have left.
[ The learned Magistrate then retired.
AN IRISH CASE; OR, ERIN AND TALKING.
ICH DIEN.”
Honoured Sir,
I am a widower with four children — this is my misfortune,
not my fault. So also is the fact that I am absolutely without
menial assistance. Yet again is another fact: viz., that on Tuesday
last I attended Mrs. Burshaw’s Agency for Domestic Servants,
whither I was directed by a Lady who has been kind enougn to
endeavour to alleviate my misfortunes. Like myself, she is solitary
in the midst of plenty of children. On arriving at Mrs. Burshaw’s
outer office, I was reminded by a smiling young female of some forty
Summers (without counting her Springs, Winters, and Autumns),
that five shillings was the customary fee for “ registering.”
Following Sir Bobert Peel’s advice, I promptly but not unreluc-
tantly did so, at the same time timidly inquiring for a Parlour-maid.
In return for my two half-crowns, the damsel handed me a ticket
inscribed as follows :—
TERMS—FIVE SHILLINGS
For each Servant required. No Alteration can be made in the description
of Servant booked for.
The addresses of Lady and Servant must be exchanged on partial engagement.
.This Ticket Expires
Directly the Servant enters upon her Situation.
Armed with this domestic railway-ticket, I entered a long room,
around which were posted various groups of the gentler sex (not a
male among them), who, like myself, had “booked for” Servant-
galism. Scarcely had I looked round, when a stentorian voice
shouted, “Mr. Diorysius Jores,” and I blushingly cast my eyes
down on my ticket, as three or four young women made towards me.
At the same time, I remembered that I was not a Lady, and that “a
partial engagement ” was associated only in my mind with a strong
attachment or a breach oh promise.
“ Eighteen pound a-year, beer-money, and the usual Sunday out,”
cried a voice, in my ear.
I looked up, and beheld a slender sallow-faced young female, who
had evidently tried to make up for the skimpiness of her figure by
the breadth of her hat-brim, and for the want of blood in her cheeks
by the fiery hues of her ribbons and shawl.
' “ That seems a good deal,” I ventured to falter.
“It would be a good deal for some people,” she replied, tartly.
“ How about the beer-money ? ”
“I provide the beer myself,” I answered, firmly. “Are you a
churchgoer?” I added, wishing to turn the subject, not knowing
where the “partial engagement ” began or ended.
“Yes,” she sniggered, “ when it’s cold meat on Sundays.”
“I’m afraid you won’t do,” I began, when she cut me short with,
‘‘No, I don’t suppose I should. Mother says I ought to be par-
ticular.”
In less than ten seconds she was engaged in negotiations with an
elderly lady on my right.
“You’re not a lodging-’ouse keeper, I ’opes, ’cos I ’ad to leave
my last place on account of the drefful ’ard work. Six dinners a-day,
b’lieve me. Fust at one for the old gent with brown kits in the
parlours, then for the old lady with paralice in the droring-rooms at
two, then for the newly married couple on the second floor at three,
then for the City gents at ’arlf-past five, then for Missus orff what
they’d leff at ’arlf-past six, and then orff what Missus ’ad left,
supper-like, for me—oh ! Sir, it was offal. But if you ’re not a
lodging-’ouse keeper, I’m ready for the sitivation. My name’s
Martha Crackles.”
The speaker was a determined-looking female, with any amount of
cheekbone, a glance like a bull’s-eye lantern, and a hand as broad as
a spade. Had I been a woman, she wTould have been my mistress, as
it was, I felt I was in presence of my master. My tongue clove to
the roof of my mouth. I was about to surrender, when an angel
(figuratively, not literally) came to my rescue, in the person of an old
woman, with threescore years, and twice that amount of feathers
pressing on her brow, who passed by us. My antagonist (doubtless
recognising her), without a word of apology, hurried in pursuit.
When next I saw Martha Crackles, she had that old angel, care-
fully laid by, under her right arm.
A prepossessing-looking female, dressed in deep mourning, next
approached me, in a somewhat timid manner.
“ I understand, Sir,” she said, “ that you ’re looking for a parlour-
maid. I also understand, Sir, that you are a widower. Sir, I can
sympathise with you, for I am, alas ! a widow ”■—(here she grasped
my hand)—“and mean to remain so. My poor dear husband’ -
[here four square inches of calico evacuated her pocket)■ “ was of
superior birth. He was town butler in a nobleman’s family, but his
perquisites, Sir, were not of that commanding nature (owing to the
poverty of his employers) to enable me to enjoy that position which
is mine by right and nature. Sir, you have a feeling eye, and I well
know what sympathy means. (Here the calico travelled to her eyes.)
The situation of parlour-maid is not one that I desire, but it may
lead to other and better things. [I began to remember the “ partial
engagement ” clause.) And if one stricken heart can strike with
another, let that lot be mine. (Here she clutched both my hands,
and accompanied the movement with a sacrificial odour of gin.) Let
that solace be mine. I only ask twenty pounds a year as a solace for
my affliction. I only ask-” ,
I did not let her ask anything else. I fled from Mrs. Burshaw s.
My courage expired before my ticket. I am laying my own table.
The situation is mine. Try your own cafe au lent, is the advice of
Yours joyfully, Diorysius Jores.
The Sex of Oysters.—All females. Moll-usks.