Punch (95.1888)

46

PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[July 28, 1888.

OUR VILLAGE INDUSTRIAL COMPETITION.

Husband (just home from the City). " My Angel !—Crying !—Whatever's the matter ?'
Wife. " They've—awarded me—Prize Medal "—(sobbing)—" f' my Sponge Cake!"
Husband (soothingly). "AND I 'm quite sure it deserv-"

Wife (hysterically). "Oh—but—'t said—'twas—for the Best Specimen—o' Concrete!

THE END OE WIMBLEDON.

(The Story of a Grandfather, to be told Fifty Years hence.)
"And so, my little ones," said the old man, pointing with his stick to a mass of
factories, suburban villas, and public-houses, " you want to know what sort of a place that
was when I was a young man

Yes, yes! " cried the children, as they dragged the veteran on to the top of an electric
omnibus, that, belonging to the London and South-Western Railway Company, was
stationary, and likely to remain so for some time.

"Well, you must know," continued the white-headed grey-heard, " that in those days it
was all open country. If I am not mistaken, where you now see that crowded burial-ground
there was a brickfield that used to be the pride of the Duke of Cambhedge. It was to save,
if I remember rightly, persons from being shot to death by thousands that the Duke ordered
the Volunteers away! "

"How very good of His Royal High-
ness," lisped little Maey.

" Ay, that it was! It was either to save
slaughter, or to use the_ land for running
up houses—I forget which. But, as you
see, they have run up houses since."

"And what was Wimbledon like in the
days of the Volunteers ? " asked Richard.

"Well," said the old man, smilingly,
"my memory is not so good as it used to
be; but what I recollect most distinctly
is a trophy connected with Hop Bitters.
It was shown to the public in a large mar-
quee, called the Exhibition Tent, from
ten till dusk ; and I fancy, too, that beside
this trophy, were boots, and dozens of
champagne, and cigarettes, and soap adver-
tisements, and walking-sticks, and all
sorts of queer things."

"Dear me, how funny! " giggled little
Mary. " And what were they for ? "

"To encourage the love of rifle-shooting,
I imagine ; but I am not quite sure. The
people who presented them may have had
some other object in view, but of that I
know nothing. Then there were all manner
of fancy tents, furnished in the oddest
fashions; and then there were Ladies loung-
ing about, doing nothing in particular; and
for a fortnight it was a regular pic-nic."

" Was there any shooting ? "

"To the best of my recollection there
was. I fancy it used to be called pot-
hunting. I don't think that many of the
Volunteers used to shoot—I mean not the
real ones. I remember, distinctly, that
the strangest costumes used to be worn at
the ranges."

"Was there much discipline?" asked
Richard, who was now putting the ques-
tions.

" I don't think there was much," replied
the old man, "except, perhaps, amongst
the police."

"Do you remember who were the greatest
marksmen in 1888 ? "

"To be sure I do. The winner of the
Queen's Prize was an engraver who used
to work on the noblest paper in the whole
world; while the Albert Jewel (which was
the any-rifle-equivalent to the Queen's
Prize), was carried off by Quarter-master
Arrowsmth, who as you know, is a mil-
lionnaire."

"Surely not the Mr. Arrowsmith who
published ' Called Sack,' and the ' Tinted
Venus,' and whose latest edition cle luxe
(the thirtieth) of ' Tracked Out' at ten
guineas a copy, has received only recently
so warm a welcome in every quarter of
the civilised world P "

" The very same ! "

'' And when the camp of the National Riiie
Association was expelled from Wimbledon,
and tried first on the Brighton Downs, and
then at Wormwood Scrubs, and next at
Heme Bay, and subsequently for some
time in Olympia, until last year it was
held in the Thames Tunnel —did it
flourish?"

"That, my dear little ones," said the
old man, who was getting rather weary of
the conversation, ' you must judge for
yourselves. You now have the past and
the present before you, and consequently
are in a position to take your choice! "

"Honours Easy."— Voild Zola decore!
But not " decorous," a word that does not
exist in the French language. Zola a
Knight of the Legion of Honour! If the
French Honour list is alphabetical, then,
with Zola they must have got to the very
end of it.