DOI Heft:
January 26, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0047
January 26, 1889.]
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYAPI.
37
STORIES OF THE WEIRD AND THE WONDERFUL.
THE UNUSUAL PENNY STEAM-BOAT.
Many years ago —it matters not how many—I was walking, one
cold wintry evening, on the Thames Embankment, and pondering as
to the advisability of taking a cab. For it was blowing a nor’-easter.
The spray from the angry
Thames was dashing over the
parapet, and causing even the
seasoned policeman to swear
beneath his breath.
“ You had better go by the
boat, Sir,” shouted a weather-
beaten salt, touching his tar-
paulin hat respectfully. Then,
as his head - covering was
carried away by the tempest,
he added, “ It’s cheaper than
a Hansom, and much more
comfortable.”
I was close to the Temple
Pier, and, partly to get under
shelter of the ticket-shed, and
partly to be rid of my obtru-
sive but well-meaning in-
formant, I hurried down the
steps leading to the river’s
edge. As I reached the plat-
form, the Thames, now moun-
tains high, rocked the barge from side to side as if it had been a
cockle-shell thrown upon the bosom of Niagara. Holding on to the
pigeon-hole of the office, I asked for a ticket to Battersea.
“ Here you are,” said the Booking-Clerk. “ Tuppence.”
I paid the required sum, and five minutes later was aboard The
Peerless Perceval, as I found the steamboat was called that was
bound to carry me to my destination. To my surprise, I had not set
foot on deck a moment before all unpleasant movements came to an
abrupt but welcome termination.
“ How is this ? ” I asked of an official wearing a uniform covered
with gold lace. “ Has the storm abated ? ”
“Not at all,” he returned, courteously removing his heavily-
bullioned cocked hat. “Not at all. But, the fact is, we keep The
Peerless Perceval steady by applying round the entire vessel a stream
of scented oil.”
This I found was absolutely the case. I had scarcely finished an
expression of my admiration of this sensible, if somewhat costly
arrangement, when a Purser approached, and bowing obsequiously,
requested the honour of my presence at dinner.
“ We dine early, Sir,” he explained, “ but I hope that the menu
will meet with your approval.”
A glance at the bill of fare which commenced with oysters and
turtle-soup and ended with sor&e souffle and the pick-me-up Surprise
Sarah Bernhardt, re-assured me.
“ And what may you charge for this ? ” I asked.
“Nothing, Sir,” replied the Purser, seemingly hurt at such a
question, “ it is included in the tupjience. I hope you will find the
wines good. We still have some Perier Jouet of ’74 that is drink-
able.”
“ And is the wine also included in the tuppence ? ”
“ Assuredly.”
I must confess that I found the dinner, both in viands and liquors,
all that it should be. Moreover, there were several extremely
pleasant persons dining at the same time, who welcomed my appear-
ance with great cordiality. One was a Duke, another a Lord Justice
of Appeal, a third a distinguished General. I will not disclose the
purport of our conversation, merely remarking that from an Imperial
point of view, it was of the profoundest importance.
After dinner, I strolled into an admirable smoking saloon furnished
in the most luxurious fashion. Lounges of russia leather, tables of
marqueterie, and walls covered with costly paintings. There was a
grand piano in the centre of the room, at which a popular entertainer
was presiding, and in the distance I could see a Hungarian
band tuning up and ready to commence playing whenever its services
were needed.
On deck there was an awning of fine purple velvet, that protected
the passengers from the inclemency of the weather. In fact, nothing
could, have been better or more complete than the arrangements of
this marvellous vessel.
Day after day, for weeks and months, I used to catch The Peerless
Perceval, and travel by her from the Temple Stairs to Battersea. I
picked up a number of most useful acquaintances on board, and,
owing to their influence, obtained the post I now occupy of Inspector
General of Pauper Imbeciles. Nothing could have been more real
and substantial than my connection with the boat, and for each
journey I took I invariably paid the sum of twopence.
After awhile I indulged in a month’s holiday in Switzerland. On
my return home, I put in an appearance at my office, and at my
usual time walked on to the Temple Pier. To my surprise, only one
of the ordinary boats drew up beside the barge at the appointed
hour.
“ Isn’t The Peerless Perceval still running ? ” I asked the Money-
takei, with some show of annoyance.
‘ ‘ The Peerless what ? ” interrogated the official.
“ "Why The Peerless Perceval ? ” I repeated. “ The steamer with
the excellent dinner, the morocco couches, the velvet awning,
the-”
“ What are you talking about?” interrupted the Money-taker.
“ I know nothing of The Peerless Perceval.”
And, on my word of honour, from that day to this I have never
been able to discover the vessel.
One word in conclusion. I have often been asked “ if this story is
absolutely true ? ” I need not point out that such a question is
really an insult, although I must admit that my narrative is indeed
strange and perplexing. But to set all doubts at rest, I solemnly
declare that I have told this story for the last twenty years—nay
more—that I never remember a time when I did not tell this story.
Yet further still—from what I have been assured by those upon
whose veracity I would stake my very life, I have every reason for
believing that this story was told hundreds of years ago by my grand-
father before me! Need I say after this that it is distinctly true,
and can absolutely be relied upon ?
THE BURGLE SONG.
(Not by Tennyson.)
Night’s shadow falls on villa walls,
A ladder’s up to the top story;
The host, sans quakes, his dinner takes,
The modern burglar’s in his glory.
Go, burglar, go, bedroom windows trying,
Go, burglar, handy jemmy plying, plying, plying!
0 bark, 0 hear ! They ’re roused, I fear,
From dinner, and we must be going.
The door we bar, we ’ll be afar
Ere they succeed the gaff in blowing.
Go! Don’t you hear sire shouting, son replying ?
Go,'burglar, down the ladder flying, flying, flying!
Oh. hang it! Why will the fool try
To run me down ? He’s too dashed clever.
Confound his soul! That bullet-hole
Will stop his little game for ever.
Go, burglar, go, like the dickens flying,
And lie there, plucky citizen, dying, dying, dying !
HARD TRAINING :
Or, How we Reach the Suburbs.
It must be already quite six degrees below zero in this com-
partment !
Is it possible that this is one of the patent new Refrigerating
Chambers for the foreign Dead Meat trade, into which we have been
put by mistake ?
I hardly think that can be the case, because they are always
extremely punctual with trucks of “perishables” for the London
markets, whereas this train is already two hours and fifteen minutes
behind time.
The Company, by carefully omitting to supply foot-warmers or
other life-saving appliances in winter, must surely class its
passengers as “ imperishables.”
I see they are going to introduce “ combustible bricks” to warm
cabs. I should like to have half a one here to express my opinion
of the Directors with.
That must be the sixth fog-signal that we have run over in the
last two minutes. I should feel more assurance of our safety if the
Guard had not just confidentially assured me that “he was blowed
if he knew whereabouts we were on the blessed line.”
What is the difference between the Manager and passengers by
late trains in this weather ?—He is knighted, and they are benighted!
Original Shakspearian Pleading.—The Observer of last Sunday,
in an article on billiards, quoted Cleopatra's invitation to Charmian,
“Let’s to billiards” (Act II., Sc. 5, Ant. and C/eo.), as an ana-
chronism. We should have thought that any student of the Bard
knew by this time that the original—very original—reading m the
first Folio was, “Let us to Pyramids,” which, of course, m the
mouth of the Egyptian Queen, is peculiarly appropriate.
VOL. xcvi.
E
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYAPI.
37
STORIES OF THE WEIRD AND THE WONDERFUL.
THE UNUSUAL PENNY STEAM-BOAT.
Many years ago —it matters not how many—I was walking, one
cold wintry evening, on the Thames Embankment, and pondering as
to the advisability of taking a cab. For it was blowing a nor’-easter.
The spray from the angry
Thames was dashing over the
parapet, and causing even the
seasoned policeman to swear
beneath his breath.
“ You had better go by the
boat, Sir,” shouted a weather-
beaten salt, touching his tar-
paulin hat respectfully. Then,
as his head - covering was
carried away by the tempest,
he added, “ It’s cheaper than
a Hansom, and much more
comfortable.”
I was close to the Temple
Pier, and, partly to get under
shelter of the ticket-shed, and
partly to be rid of my obtru-
sive but well-meaning in-
formant, I hurried down the
steps leading to the river’s
edge. As I reached the plat-
form, the Thames, now moun-
tains high, rocked the barge from side to side as if it had been a
cockle-shell thrown upon the bosom of Niagara. Holding on to the
pigeon-hole of the office, I asked for a ticket to Battersea.
“ Here you are,” said the Booking-Clerk. “ Tuppence.”
I paid the required sum, and five minutes later was aboard The
Peerless Perceval, as I found the steamboat was called that was
bound to carry me to my destination. To my surprise, I had not set
foot on deck a moment before all unpleasant movements came to an
abrupt but welcome termination.
“ How is this ? ” I asked of an official wearing a uniform covered
with gold lace. “ Has the storm abated ? ”
“Not at all,” he returned, courteously removing his heavily-
bullioned cocked hat. “Not at all. But, the fact is, we keep The
Peerless Perceval steady by applying round the entire vessel a stream
of scented oil.”
This I found was absolutely the case. I had scarcely finished an
expression of my admiration of this sensible, if somewhat costly
arrangement, when a Purser approached, and bowing obsequiously,
requested the honour of my presence at dinner.
“ We dine early, Sir,” he explained, “ but I hope that the menu
will meet with your approval.”
A glance at the bill of fare which commenced with oysters and
turtle-soup and ended with sor&e souffle and the pick-me-up Surprise
Sarah Bernhardt, re-assured me.
“ And what may you charge for this ? ” I asked.
“Nothing, Sir,” replied the Purser, seemingly hurt at such a
question, “ it is included in the tupjience. I hope you will find the
wines good. We still have some Perier Jouet of ’74 that is drink-
able.”
“ And is the wine also included in the tuppence ? ”
“ Assuredly.”
I must confess that I found the dinner, both in viands and liquors,
all that it should be. Moreover, there were several extremely
pleasant persons dining at the same time, who welcomed my appear-
ance with great cordiality. One was a Duke, another a Lord Justice
of Appeal, a third a distinguished General. I will not disclose the
purport of our conversation, merely remarking that from an Imperial
point of view, it was of the profoundest importance.
After dinner, I strolled into an admirable smoking saloon furnished
in the most luxurious fashion. Lounges of russia leather, tables of
marqueterie, and walls covered with costly paintings. There was a
grand piano in the centre of the room, at which a popular entertainer
was presiding, and in the distance I could see a Hungarian
band tuning up and ready to commence playing whenever its services
were needed.
On deck there was an awning of fine purple velvet, that protected
the passengers from the inclemency of the weather. In fact, nothing
could, have been better or more complete than the arrangements of
this marvellous vessel.
Day after day, for weeks and months, I used to catch The Peerless
Perceval, and travel by her from the Temple Stairs to Battersea. I
picked up a number of most useful acquaintances on board, and,
owing to their influence, obtained the post I now occupy of Inspector
General of Pauper Imbeciles. Nothing could have been more real
and substantial than my connection with the boat, and for each
journey I took I invariably paid the sum of twopence.
After awhile I indulged in a month’s holiday in Switzerland. On
my return home, I put in an appearance at my office, and at my
usual time walked on to the Temple Pier. To my surprise, only one
of the ordinary boats drew up beside the barge at the appointed
hour.
“ Isn’t The Peerless Perceval still running ? ” I asked the Money-
takei, with some show of annoyance.
‘ ‘ The Peerless what ? ” interrogated the official.
“ "Why The Peerless Perceval ? ” I repeated. “ The steamer with
the excellent dinner, the morocco couches, the velvet awning,
the-”
“ What are you talking about?” interrupted the Money-taker.
“ I know nothing of The Peerless Perceval.”
And, on my word of honour, from that day to this I have never
been able to discover the vessel.
One word in conclusion. I have often been asked “ if this story is
absolutely true ? ” I need not point out that such a question is
really an insult, although I must admit that my narrative is indeed
strange and perplexing. But to set all doubts at rest, I solemnly
declare that I have told this story for the last twenty years—nay
more—that I never remember a time when I did not tell this story.
Yet further still—from what I have been assured by those upon
whose veracity I would stake my very life, I have every reason for
believing that this story was told hundreds of years ago by my grand-
father before me! Need I say after this that it is distinctly true,
and can absolutely be relied upon ?
THE BURGLE SONG.
(Not by Tennyson.)
Night’s shadow falls on villa walls,
A ladder’s up to the top story;
The host, sans quakes, his dinner takes,
The modern burglar’s in his glory.
Go, burglar, go, bedroom windows trying,
Go, burglar, handy jemmy plying, plying, plying!
0 bark, 0 hear ! They ’re roused, I fear,
From dinner, and we must be going.
The door we bar, we ’ll be afar
Ere they succeed the gaff in blowing.
Go! Don’t you hear sire shouting, son replying ?
Go,'burglar, down the ladder flying, flying, flying!
Oh. hang it! Why will the fool try
To run me down ? He’s too dashed clever.
Confound his soul! That bullet-hole
Will stop his little game for ever.
Go, burglar, go, like the dickens flying,
And lie there, plucky citizen, dying, dying, dying !
HARD TRAINING :
Or, How we Reach the Suburbs.
It must be already quite six degrees below zero in this com-
partment !
Is it possible that this is one of the patent new Refrigerating
Chambers for the foreign Dead Meat trade, into which we have been
put by mistake ?
I hardly think that can be the case, because they are always
extremely punctual with trucks of “perishables” for the London
markets, whereas this train is already two hours and fifteen minutes
behind time.
The Company, by carefully omitting to supply foot-warmers or
other life-saving appliances in winter, must surely class its
passengers as “ imperishables.”
I see they are going to introduce “ combustible bricks” to warm
cabs. I should like to have half a one here to express my opinion
of the Directors with.
That must be the sixth fog-signal that we have run over in the
last two minutes. I should feel more assurance of our safety if the
Guard had not just confidentially assured me that “he was blowed
if he knew whereabouts we were on the blessed line.”
What is the difference between the Manager and passengers by
late trains in this weather ?—He is knighted, and they are benighted!
Original Shakspearian Pleading.—The Observer of last Sunday,
in an article on billiards, quoted Cleopatra's invitation to Charmian,
“Let’s to billiards” (Act II., Sc. 5, Ant. and C/eo.), as an ana-
chronism. We should have thought that any student of the Bard
knew by this time that the original—very original—reading m the
first Folio was, “Let us to Pyramids,” which, of course, m the
mouth of the Egyptian Queen, is peculiarly appropriate.
VOL. xcvi.
E