Punch (88.1885)

48 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Januaby 24, 1885.

PUBLIC GRIEVANCES.

(By Our Own Inspector.)

No. II.—The River.

The shameful condition of the River last year, and the perfectly
monstrous claims put forth by a number of grasping gentlemen
called Riparian Owners, appear, judging from the voluminous com-
plaints I have received upon the subject, to form a public grievance
of no ordinary character. I append a small selection:—

Sir,—I am the Captain of a vessel running from the Thames to
Scotland. I have known the river, man and hoy, for thirty years.
I denounce its condition for many months of last year, not only as a
public grievance, hut as a shame, a disgrace, and a scandal, to all
concerned. It gets worse and worse year by year. Scotchmen are
generally considered to be not over particular as regards the sense of
smell. We all remember the sneer at “ Sweet Edinburgh, I smell
thee still!” But I declare that my experience of old Edinburgh
teaches me that the Modern Athens is far sweeter than the Thames,
from Gravesend to the Pool, during the greater part of the year.
Not only so, but the grand river itself is rapidly silting up with the
filth of the Metropolis—so much so, that I can only run up on the
top of the tide. If two or three of the bumptious idiots who are
responsible for this awful, ay, and cruel state of things, were made
to bathe just below Crossness every summer morning, just after high
water, they would probably cease from insulting us by saying that
the matter is exaggerated. I have great faith in my Countrymen’s
power of using strong language, but I doubt if the strongest of them
could find words that could fairly be called an exaggeration of this
hideous, disgusting, and wicked grievance. D. C.

P.S.—I am not much of a Poet myself, but my second Mate is, and
he has written the following improvement upon Tom Moore ; to be
sung by the Chairman of the Metropolitan Board of Works at
Crossness:—

Flow on thou slimy River,

But e’er thou reach the sea,

Take all these tons of sewage
That X now pour in thee.

Sir,—I am an Angler—my humorous friends call me a patient
Angler. I accept the name with pleasure. I am a patient Thames
Angler, though I do stand six feet two in my stockings. For
many long years I have sought my chief delight in the upper
waters of the still beautiful Thames, and found there such a haven
of rest for my poor over-taxed brain, that I have returned to my
quiet home refreshed and invigorated, and prepared to resume my
daily toil with cheerfulness and. alacrity. During the last year or
two, however, I have been occasionally interrupted in my harmless
pastime by shouts and threats from certain angry individuals, called,
I believe, Riparian Owners, ordering me to leave the water opposite
their sacred properties, i have paid but little attention to them,
generally speaking; but last season, while fishing at my favourite
spot, near Maidenhead, I was ordered off by a hulking bully of a
fellow; and, as I did not obey his orders, he sent in a big brute of a
dog, close to my punt, and spoilt all my fishing for that evening. I
then pulled, or rather pushed, my punt as near to him as I could get,
and addressed him as follows :—

“I have been accustomed for years to fish near this spot, and I
intend to continue doing so ; and if at any future time you dare to
send that remarkably fine animal into the water for the wanton
purpose of spoiling my harmless, but healthful sport, I will shoot it,
or horsewhip you, just as I feel most inclined to do when the time
comes! ”

I left him speechless with astonishment, and have not been molested
there since. There are some ten thousand of us Anglers in London
and its neighbourhood, and we quite intend to angle in the River
Thames. Verb. sap. R. S.

Sir,—Do you wish to see how a beautiful River can be turned into
a muddy ditch?—come to Twickenham at low-water—or, perhaps I
ought rather to say, at no water. D j you want to study the bed of the
River Thames?—come to Twickenham Ait at low-water, just where
cricket was played last season. Do you want to study the peculiarly
offensive nature of Thames Sewage Mud?—try to cross the River at
Twickenham Ferry at low-water. Do you wish to find a special spot on
our once beautiful River where the stench would rival any of those for
which Cologne was once so famous?—seek it just below Kingston
Bridge; your nose will guide you to the favoured spot. And, finally, Do
you want to know what was the state of the River last summer, when
examined by the Inspector of the Local Government Board ?—read the
following extract from his Report, and then, Sir, marvel at the folly
of those who have this matter in charge, and their imbecility in
dealing with it:—“ In August last,” he says, “ there was a month’s
sewage from the Metropolis oscillating backwards and forwards
between Greenwich and Tc-ddington, and the Thames could only be

compared to a huge sewage-tank which for many months had not
been cleaned out! ” I thank you heartily, Sir, for allowing me to
call attention to this terrible public grievance.

Twickenham. W. R.

Sir,—I am a Boating Man. Rather! I didn’t pull in the Cam-
bridge Eight, with Goldie for stroke, in 1873, without knowing
something about boating. It’s the be-all and end-all of my holiday
existence; and it’s only the Thames_ that makes London life
endurable. But there’s mischief brewing, and I want to give our
enemies fair warning. The great charm of sculling is in exploring
the beautiful backwaters, and we boating men have found, during
the last season, that certain Riparians, as they are called, have ques-
tioned our right to do so, and some miscreants have even staked
them, to prevent our entrance; and some few, with a refinement of
cruelty worthy of a Red Indian, have even shortened the stakes, so
as to make them invisible to the unpractised eye—with consequences
easily imagined. Now, there are a decentish number of Boating
Clubs on the Thames, and we reckon our members by thousands:
and we are not at all a puny, or enervated, or timid race of men ;
and we merely wish to state, in the calmest and most gentlemanly
manner, that as we have done in the past, so we intend to do in the
future, and if any trouble should arise, as it very possibly may, from
very obstinate men endeavouring to prevent our doing so, they will
have only themselves to thank for whatever disagreeable conse-
quences may ensue—to them. M. L. R. C.

Sir,—I dunno what’s come to the River lately, but it seems all
a-running away from hereabouts. Me and my mates, we think as
it’s all owing to the great dredgers as makes a deep channel in the
middle of the stream, and consekwently leaves all the rest, at low
water, nothing but stinking mud, and plays the very deuce with all
us poor watermen here. Couldn’t you, Sir, just manage to get all
this put right. If you would like to see it, and to smell it, we ’ll any
of us give you a row for nothing, just about low water, any day you
like to come.

Kew. T. B.

MORE GHOSTS WANTED.

[Messrs. Myers and Gtjrney, of the Society for Psychical Research, are
again ■writing to the papers asking for ghost-stories.]

Come once more, ye Ghostly Visitants, and do not shirk your duties,
For we miss you in the corridors and by the haunted lake ;

Step adown from out your picture-frames, ye coy Ancestral Beauties,
Till you find the timid visitor unconscionably shake.

Gallop up, 0 Headless Horseman, and come punctual White Lady,
Let us hear in starry spaces all the Hounds of Gabriel;

Though on earth your antecedents, my good phantoms, might be shady,
Here are Messrs. Myers and Gurney, who will surely love you well.

Flash again upon our pathway, 0 ye flickering Corpse Candles,

And, good Banshee, let your screeches make us start up in affright;
Come once more, 0 modest Phantoms that can only shake door-
handles,

And then enter like a cold wind, at the witching hour of night.

Let us see you in the daylight, 0 strange supernatural Doubles
Of the living man, presaging, as folks say, his coming doom ;

Rise again, 0 Spectral Children, the forerunners of all troubles,

And, ye mystic Lights, illumine as of yore the darkened room.

Clank your chains, my Phantom Convicts, with the good old-fashioned
dodges,

And your sudden disappearance, though the listener hears you still;
While the hapless individual, who in your dwelling lodges,

Groweth grey before his time and is inexplicably ill.

We have missed you from the ramparts, our dull rooms are never
haunted,

Though the moat is full of water, there’s no ghostly skiff thereon ;
We still watch for you at midnight, but our souls are all undaunted.
Have you given up business, .Spectres; is your occupation gone ?

Have you fled because you shudder at our psychical researches—

Is the age too unbelieving for your pale phantasmal hosts ?

Oh, come back and haunt our houses, ancient inns, and ruined
churches,

For what will the winter fireside be without you, gentle Ghosts!

“ Mr. Whistler’s Ten o'Clock.”—Stalls, half-a-guinea. If
repeated, let him call it “ Mr. _ Whistler’s Ten-and-Sixpence
o’clock.” The subject, we hear, is “Dressing and Re-dressing.”
There are two or three to whom he ’ll give a dressing, before pro-
ceeding to redress his wrongs. Mr. Rushes' will, of course, take a
stall for the series.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.—In no case can Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, or Drawings, be returned, unless accompanied
by a Stamped and Directed Envelope or Cover. Copies of MS. should be kept by the Senders,