DOI Heft:
March 2, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0117
March 2, 1889.]
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
107
“ BUS ”-ING ON THE CHEAP.
(What it may Gome to.)
Conductor, I have come from Hammersmith, and wish,
to be set down at the Bank. Here is a half-penny—could
you oblige me with change ?
What! Twopence for the journey from Greenwich to
the Royal Exchange ? Oh, this must he a Pirate Tram,
and I shall certainly speak to a Policeman.
It is satisfactory to have hot-water tins and the electric
light provided in the ’busses of the Universal Omnibus
Company; but I should feel more comfortable if the Con-
ductor always got his “ Sunday off.”
This Tram Line must be a triumphant success! Not
only does it return fifty per cent, dividend to its share-
holders, but it takes passengers from Hampstead to
Croydon for three-halfpence, and gives them mulled
claret in winter, and iced champagne-cup in summer,
gratis, on the journey.
No wonder that the Underground Railway has closed
its stations and gone into the Insolvency Court. The
rivalry between the “Road Saloon Company” and the
“General Car Company” is so great that the latter
actually carry their passengers for nothing, and supply
them with concertina melodies, sandwiches, and the
daily papers to beguile the tedium of the way.
Yes, that “wheeler” certainly does appear to be
rather thin, and I am convinced that he is only supported
on his legs by the rigidity of the pole to which he is
attached. But it is, of course, impossible for the Company
to pay thirty per cent., and carry passengers fifteen miles
for a penny, without economising their quadrupeds’ oats.
Hi, Conductor ! I asked to be put down at Hyde Park
Comer, and here I am at Piccadilly Circus! Why, the
man looks just as if he had been asleep ! It’s abomin-
able, and I shall complain to-eh, what ? “ Only five
hours’ sleep last night,” do you say? “ And fourteen
hours’ work a day, Sundays included ? ” H’m! Result
of free competition in fares, I suppose. But is that the
same thing as fair competition ?
DUE SOUTH.
Evening of the Fifth Day.—Beautiful night for walk-
ing home. Moon bright. Air fresh. Charming place!
Lovely weather! After many ups and downs at the
tables, I have come off a winner of ten francs. Had I
lost ten francs, I do not think the night would appear to
me so lovely as it does. It is a long way up to the Villa
Rouge Gagne, so my companion, who says he is out to
“see life,” purposes taking light refreshment en route.
Among the many light refreshment-places here, one of
the most successful seems to be an English Bar, on a
small scale. Here distinguished compatriots stroll in
after the tables, to take a “John Collins”—I believe
this is the name of the harmless beverage—or a few
oysters and stout, or a glass of beer, or spirits and water.
Odd to come all the way from London merely to play
roulette in a hot and crowded room, and afterwards to
sit at the bar of a small public-house overlooking the
blue Mediterranean. But I do—and so do very many
others. In front of this bar, within the last few minutes,
the policy of an empire could have been quietly arranged
over a “John Collins” or glass of whiskey-and-water
and a cigar. We stroll out into the moonlight, and just
look in “ Chez Peters.” Here? while the dignified but
obliging and industrious Monsieur Peters serves be-
hind the bar, sportsmen gather round the simple marble-
topped tables, discussing pigeon-shooting, and strange
stories of the chances of war, at trente et quarante and
roulette. One very big man, with a loud voice, is ener-
getically recounting to a small circle of admirers some
wonderful coups that he had made at the tables. Thirty
thousand francs at one go is the lowest amount he will
condescend to talk about.
“I put down, Sir,” says he, emphatically thumping
the marble table with his fist, and addressing no one in
particular, “ four times I put down a thousand francs at
each corner, and one of the numbers came up every turn.”
“No!” exclaim some young men who are listening,
open-mouthed.
“ Very odd! ” drily remarks a shrewd-looking person,
with the cynical air of an elderly Mephistopheles.
“ Yes, Gentlemen, I did,” says the big man, empha-
sising his narrative with more thumps on the marble
THINCS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISE.
“Well, I must say Good-bye, Miss Green. I’ve got my Sermon to
PREPARE.”—“Oh, SURELY YOUR SERMONS NEED NO PREPARATION I ”
table, “ and then I put down forty on passe, a hundred on six premiers, and
another forty on 22. They all turned up, and so I went on, and that evening
made just eighty thousand francs, in something under an hour.”
“ No ! ” again murmur the younger portion of his audience, while the elderly
Mephistopheles, lighting a cigarette as he raises his eyebrows, and observes,
“ Did you really ? Very strange! ”
I certainly became interested in his stories. They made me thirsty. Some
one suggests oysters and stout. I think, hearing of all these vast sums of money
being won, has given me a strong inclination for oysters and stout, as sug-
gested. Though I had not thought of them before, I now feel that I can’t
possibly go on for another five minutes without them. An additional incentive
is, that the friend who has joined us, and who suggested this form of nourish-
ment, is in excellent spirits, having unexpectedly won forty francs, and offers
to provide the entertainment at his own expense. Offer immediately accepted.
And so we sit down to oysters and stout, and bread and butter “ Chez Peters,”
at Monte Carlo, and for all that we see of the Southern sky, the brilliant moon,
and the blue Mediterranean, we might as well be at Rule’s, in Maiden Lane, or
Wilton’s, in King Street, St. James’s. But when we leave “Peters;” and
walk up the hill, then we feel the effects, not of the supper, but of the invigo-
rating air, and the clear atmosphere ; and as we look upwards at the deep blue
sky, and the brilliant moon, we say to one another, Shakspearianly, “ ‘ On
such a night ’ we could stay out for any length of time, and walk anywhere,
without fatigue’’—which sentiment may be more poetically expressed in the
words of the immortal bard, who sang, “We won’t go home till morning, Till
daylight doth appear.” As a matter of fact, it is, 12'30, and we retire now, one
of the party to Villa Rouge Gagne, and the other two to the Hotel Windsor.
On a Current Controversy.
{By a Sufferer from. Smoke.)
No Coal! That’s a prospect of which we the cost shun,
Though seventy years hence, savants say,’tis our goal.
But Coal has cost me such a deal of exhaustion,
I could almost desire the exhaustion of Coal!
When dear old Mrs. R. was visiting her American cousins, “there was
nothing,” said she, “that I enjoyed so much as the Terrebene soup and sparkling
Micawber wine! ”
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
107
“ BUS ”-ING ON THE CHEAP.
(What it may Gome to.)
Conductor, I have come from Hammersmith, and wish,
to be set down at the Bank. Here is a half-penny—could
you oblige me with change ?
What! Twopence for the journey from Greenwich to
the Royal Exchange ? Oh, this must he a Pirate Tram,
and I shall certainly speak to a Policeman.
It is satisfactory to have hot-water tins and the electric
light provided in the ’busses of the Universal Omnibus
Company; but I should feel more comfortable if the Con-
ductor always got his “ Sunday off.”
This Tram Line must be a triumphant success! Not
only does it return fifty per cent, dividend to its share-
holders, but it takes passengers from Hampstead to
Croydon for three-halfpence, and gives them mulled
claret in winter, and iced champagne-cup in summer,
gratis, on the journey.
No wonder that the Underground Railway has closed
its stations and gone into the Insolvency Court. The
rivalry between the “Road Saloon Company” and the
“General Car Company” is so great that the latter
actually carry their passengers for nothing, and supply
them with concertina melodies, sandwiches, and the
daily papers to beguile the tedium of the way.
Yes, that “wheeler” certainly does appear to be
rather thin, and I am convinced that he is only supported
on his legs by the rigidity of the pole to which he is
attached. But it is, of course, impossible for the Company
to pay thirty per cent., and carry passengers fifteen miles
for a penny, without economising their quadrupeds’ oats.
Hi, Conductor ! I asked to be put down at Hyde Park
Comer, and here I am at Piccadilly Circus! Why, the
man looks just as if he had been asleep ! It’s abomin-
able, and I shall complain to-eh, what ? “ Only five
hours’ sleep last night,” do you say? “ And fourteen
hours’ work a day, Sundays included ? ” H’m! Result
of free competition in fares, I suppose. But is that the
same thing as fair competition ?
DUE SOUTH.
Evening of the Fifth Day.—Beautiful night for walk-
ing home. Moon bright. Air fresh. Charming place!
Lovely weather! After many ups and downs at the
tables, I have come off a winner of ten francs. Had I
lost ten francs, I do not think the night would appear to
me so lovely as it does. It is a long way up to the Villa
Rouge Gagne, so my companion, who says he is out to
“see life,” purposes taking light refreshment en route.
Among the many light refreshment-places here, one of
the most successful seems to be an English Bar, on a
small scale. Here distinguished compatriots stroll in
after the tables, to take a “John Collins”—I believe
this is the name of the harmless beverage—or a few
oysters and stout, or a glass of beer, or spirits and water.
Odd to come all the way from London merely to play
roulette in a hot and crowded room, and afterwards to
sit at the bar of a small public-house overlooking the
blue Mediterranean. But I do—and so do very many
others. In front of this bar, within the last few minutes,
the policy of an empire could have been quietly arranged
over a “John Collins” or glass of whiskey-and-water
and a cigar. We stroll out into the moonlight, and just
look in “ Chez Peters.” Here? while the dignified but
obliging and industrious Monsieur Peters serves be-
hind the bar, sportsmen gather round the simple marble-
topped tables, discussing pigeon-shooting, and strange
stories of the chances of war, at trente et quarante and
roulette. One very big man, with a loud voice, is ener-
getically recounting to a small circle of admirers some
wonderful coups that he had made at the tables. Thirty
thousand francs at one go is the lowest amount he will
condescend to talk about.
“I put down, Sir,” says he, emphatically thumping
the marble table with his fist, and addressing no one in
particular, “ four times I put down a thousand francs at
each corner, and one of the numbers came up every turn.”
“No!” exclaim some young men who are listening,
open-mouthed.
“ Very odd! ” drily remarks a shrewd-looking person,
with the cynical air of an elderly Mephistopheles.
“ Yes, Gentlemen, I did,” says the big man, empha-
sising his narrative with more thumps on the marble
THINCS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISE.
“Well, I must say Good-bye, Miss Green. I’ve got my Sermon to
PREPARE.”—“Oh, SURELY YOUR SERMONS NEED NO PREPARATION I ”
table, “ and then I put down forty on passe, a hundred on six premiers, and
another forty on 22. They all turned up, and so I went on, and that evening
made just eighty thousand francs, in something under an hour.”
“ No ! ” again murmur the younger portion of his audience, while the elderly
Mephistopheles, lighting a cigarette as he raises his eyebrows, and observes,
“ Did you really ? Very strange! ”
I certainly became interested in his stories. They made me thirsty. Some
one suggests oysters and stout. I think, hearing of all these vast sums of money
being won, has given me a strong inclination for oysters and stout, as sug-
gested. Though I had not thought of them before, I now feel that I can’t
possibly go on for another five minutes without them. An additional incentive
is, that the friend who has joined us, and who suggested this form of nourish-
ment, is in excellent spirits, having unexpectedly won forty francs, and offers
to provide the entertainment at his own expense. Offer immediately accepted.
And so we sit down to oysters and stout, and bread and butter “ Chez Peters,”
at Monte Carlo, and for all that we see of the Southern sky, the brilliant moon,
and the blue Mediterranean, we might as well be at Rule’s, in Maiden Lane, or
Wilton’s, in King Street, St. James’s. But when we leave “Peters;” and
walk up the hill, then we feel the effects, not of the supper, but of the invigo-
rating air, and the clear atmosphere ; and as we look upwards at the deep blue
sky, and the brilliant moon, we say to one another, Shakspearianly, “ ‘ On
such a night ’ we could stay out for any length of time, and walk anywhere,
without fatigue’’—which sentiment may be more poetically expressed in the
words of the immortal bard, who sang, “We won’t go home till morning, Till
daylight doth appear.” As a matter of fact, it is, 12'30, and we retire now, one
of the party to Villa Rouge Gagne, and the other two to the Hotel Windsor.
On a Current Controversy.
{By a Sufferer from. Smoke.)
No Coal! That’s a prospect of which we the cost shun,
Though seventy years hence, savants say,’tis our goal.
But Coal has cost me such a deal of exhaustion,
I could almost desire the exhaustion of Coal!
When dear old Mrs. R. was visiting her American cousins, “there was
nothing,” said she, “that I enjoyed so much as the Terrebene soup and sparkling
Micawber wine! ”