Punch: Punch (91.1886)

September 11, 1886.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

125

is quite out of proportion to that of the morceaux it performs. The
exception is when they play as a finale the Overture to William Tell,
or when a clever flageoletist—an artistic Whistler—gives us his
peculiar views of how the " Carnival de Venise " ought to be played
if he could always have his way.

My conclusion is that a well regulated healthy appetite is the best
clock. I charitably allow for the dif-
ference of clocks, which are of all
shades of opinion, and my advice to
the visitor is, that he should daily
regulate his own watch by the Bath-
house clock. This is the only thing
necessary, the appetite will do
the rest. t_„ ,i

Anyhow the day goes very
quickly here, and, as the
lively little gentleman who has
his shop next door, and acts
as our Universal Provider—there is
nothing he is not ready to get for you—
observes, "All times are good at
Royat," and he refuses to believe that
an Englishman, coming here from his
own land of fog, can possibly have any
complaint to make. Does he not come
here to get rid of his complaints ?—and
of his money too ? The visitor is good
for Royat, and Royat's good for him.
" Allans done! what matters the dif-
ference of clocks ? Tou are hungry-
good!—you go to breakfast. Nothing Our "Lively Neighbour."
more to purchase this morning p Hair cut to-morrow? Perfectly—
d demain alors." And he laughs and nods as he re-enters his shop,
and goes to his own dejeuner, after which he will reappear in his
shirt-sleeves, enjoying a briar-root pipe.

. Dt- Re¥ has 1?i?t,ed ftat $he most usefal Snide for Ms treatment
is a record of health kept by the patient himself. The '' Treatment"
is going on. So I am noting all pains and penalties. I am watching
myself with a most vigilant eye. Not a twinge escapes me. If

£ ajndi-ffl sk°f1 111 ^ .knee' 1 sPot ^ at once, and down it
goes m my diary. If, on seating myself, there's a pain in my left
shoulder, up I get again, out comes the diary, and time, place, and
duration of pam are accurately written down. If I am out walking,
and my foot hurts me, out comes note-book, and I put my foot in it.
i *T a-? comtoTrtably m bed, and feel a sort of cramp all along my
left side, out I roll (not jump), seize diary, record the fact, and back
a?am ™ bed. By the end of four days—if I am only able to read
what 1 have written—my diary of sensations will be by that time
quite a sensational work.

THE LOST LETTER-BAG.

(" Litera scripta manet.")
xxiv.

_ [The address of the following letter is, like the signature, unde-
cipherable. It looks something like Turgid Sea. The signature is
either V. E. G-. or W. G. E. But that is no business of ours.]

My Deab Rosebeey,

Toub letter has only just reached me, owing to too literal
interpretation of instructions. When I said no letters were to be
forwarded to me, I meant the miscellaneous stream of inconsequential
epistles, daily addressed to me by political busybodies, old ladies, or
persons who want to get a few lines from me, which, accompanied by
a long epistle of their own, they subsequently send to the news-
papers. I didn't, of course, mean that a letter from you should have
been kept back. However, here it is, full of interest, and though it
is understood that during my holiday, I do not put pen to paper, I
send you these few lines hoping (as Homee somewhere says) that
they will find you well as they leave me at present.

This is a delightful country, in some respects very like dear old
Scotland. There are hills, and lakes, also highlands. But I have
not heard the pibroch sounding, nor have there been any manifesta-
tions on the part of the people to make me small presents. Still I
sometimes feel as if I had been born here, and have little doubt that
there is a strain of Bavarian blood in my constitution. Tour home
news is most encouraging. I am glad to hear that my pamphlet made
such a profound impression, though I confess I do not find any traces
of this in the newspapers. Still it is the kind of seed that cannot
fail to bear fruit, and will tend to show that from the beginning I
have been unerringly right.

I'm not at all surprised to hear about Randolph. Put a beggar
on horseback, and through the ages his goal has been predestined.
They used to talk about my failings of temper. These were greatly
exaggerated for Party and personal purposes. Take them at their

worst report, what were they compared with this flouting of the
Legislature by a whipper-snapper, who but yesterday was the Bad
Boy of the House ?

When I think of rthe House of Commons, and hear these echoes of
its doings, I begin ', to think my holiday is already sufficiently ex-
tended. I have been here ten days now, and already I am wearying
of having nothing to do, although, to tell the truth, I have sincemy
arrival occupied myself with a little trifle in the way of a revised
Home-Rule Bill for Ireland, which I shall introduce as soon as
Randolph gets the Ministry thrown out. In the meantime I think
I shall go over to Ireland and look into matters for myself. Anyhow,
I cannot stand much more of this monotony, though I read the
prayers on a Sunday morning, and on Thursday night I am to take the
chair at some Penny Readings, where I mean to cast a historical
glance at the growth of the Niirnberg School of Painting, and give
my reasons for believing that Hans Holbein really was born in
Bavaria. It is just possible—though at present I do not quite see
my way to do it in this connection—I may take this opportunity of
hinting at my own blood-relations with this estimable people.

Always yours faithfully, -.

xlv.

Deab Algt, Rockham, Yorkshire, August 27.

Tor ask me how I like Rockham ? Well, when a man has
daughters, he must needs go where the mother of those daughters
choose. Rockham is very large and very_ lively, very sandy and
very brass-bandy. In the morning there is one great excitement—
I mean for us old boys—the newspapers come in. We each set off
with a pocket-full, which we read as we lie on the sand. The chil-
dren play cricket round us on the beach, with old Ocean for long-
stop. Every one bathes, in all manner of funny costumes. The
pink tights embarrass a short-sighted man like me. I look for
fossils, occasionally. I found the eye of an Ichthyosaurus, for I
had noticed the place where the local tanner, and geologist, dropped
it. To tell you the truth, he "salts" the beach with specimens,
once a, week. He finds it good for business.

It is a bore to be elderly in a place where you meet Beauty and
Fashion at every street-corner, but my daughters enjoy it, and, if
they are not fashionable, they are pretty enough. I find myself
looking like a dragon at harmless young men. I have not tried
fishing, I'm " not very well in a boat," like the man in the poem.
Talking of poems, here is one of my own, on Rockham. It will tell
you more than I have energy to say in prose:—

ROMANCE OP ROCKHAM.

The Matrons of Rockham they sit on the beach,
And their modesty no one, I'm sure, will impeach ;
But the Public is bathing as bold as can be
Where the Matrons of Rockham go down to the sea!

And the children of Rockham they walk on the sands

With smiles on their faces and spades in their hands,

And I like to behold them a gambolling free

In the waves as they splash on the shores of the sea!

And the young men and maidens of Rockham delight

In music and dancing by day and by night;

And their shepherd, like Proteus, and ancient as he,

I seem as I stroll on the sands of the sea!

But I sit with the fogies in wickerwork huts,

Or I throw, for a penny, at cocoa-nuts,

And I own that I cannot hit once out of three,

As I shy at the nuts by the shores of the sea!

There, you note what " idleness and fulness of bread " can bring
a seasoned old lawyer to, in the way of poetry. It soothes the decline
of life. "We go no more a roaming" now—not further than to
Rockham, any way. Oh, the good days when we girded ourselves,
like St. Peter, and went wherever we would! 'Tis gone! 'tis gone!

Ever yours, Thomas Qthveefttl.

The Author of What to do with our Girls has sent us a pamphlet,
with Press notices of his work. Prominent among quotations is one
from The Bucks Herald. Just the topic for the Old Bucks to advise
upon. By the way, is the Author who wants to tell us " What to do
with our Girls," and who gives us his address as residing at a Dove-
cot Villa in the Green Lanes—how charming '.—also the writer of
a recently popular song, " Oh, you Girls! you naughty Young
Girls!"f Perhaps ; but in any case Mr. Vandeebilt's compilation
appears to be a most useful one.

" If Dbottghty Deebs."—The French Government doubtless, or
droughtless, thinks itself in its right, and that the Rev. Mr. Dkought
deserved his expulsion; but this has yet to be proved. Give Dbotght
his dew.