Punch (99.1890)

iSeptembie 6, 1890.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

117

RATHER SEVERE.

Regular [manoeuvring with Yeomanry). "Got to give up mit Amis, have I? Umph I This comes of going, out with a lot of

darned Volunteers I"

THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK.

Modern Nautical Version.
[By a Correspondent with Admiral Tryiton's Fleet.)
Fit the Last.—The Vanishing.

We sought it with search-lights, we sought it with care,

We pursued it with ships and hope ;
But it seemed to have suddenly vanished in air

From under the heaven's blue cope.

We shuddered to think that the ehaoe might fail,

And Tbyon, excited at last,
Went ramping like redskin in search of a trail,
For the ten days were nearly past.

" There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Admiral said.

" He is shouting like mad, only hark!
lie is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,

He has certainly found the—Snark! "

We gazed in delight, whilst a Bo'sun exclaimed—

(Your Bo'sun is always a wag !)—
" In the East there's a wision, a mirage it's named!

That the Snark ? Put yer head in a bag!"

Then Admiral Teton he ramped like a lion,

In prospect of splendid success.
But the Snark, with a spasm, plunged in a sea chasm ;

Of Seymour one couldn't see less.

" It's the Snark!" was the sound that first fell on our ears;

It seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and jeers ;

Then the words, " It is all a Yah-Boo-"

Then silence. Some fancied they heard in the air

A sigh (from the lips of J. B. ?)
That sounded like "--jum!" But some others declare

It was more like a half-choked big D.!

We hunted ten days and ten nights, but we found

Not so much as poor collier-barque.
By which we might tell that we steamed o'er the ground

Where Culm-Seymour had handled the-Snark!

In the depths of that two thousand square miles, they say,
'Midst the world's mocking laughter and glee,

Seymour softly and silently vanished away—
This Snark was a Yah-Booh-Jum, you see!

"A VERY SHORT HOLIDAY."

Fob the benefit of all tourists in Normandy, and visitors to Le
Havre, Etretat, and all round and about
that quarter, I gave an account, two
weeks ago, of the excellent fare pro-
vided for us by La famille Aubourg at
Gonneville. But _ on that occasion I
made the great mistake of calling their
curious old house—a perfect little museum
of curiosities and works of Art—"a
hotel." By my halidom! "Hotel,"
save the mark—and spend the shilling.
"Hotel," quotha! "Hotel" is far too
modern. Old English '' Inn " more like.
The kind of inn, good gossip, which was
kept in Shakspeabe's time by " mine
host," where everyone, with coin of the
realm in his purse, could take his ease
and be happy. So, to put me right on
this matter, M. Auboueg sends me a
truelle of burnished metal, on which is
^inscribed, "Hostellerie des Vieux Plats,
"Is this a dagger that I see Souvenir d'Aubourg," which truelle, if
before me ?" Eot large, yet will serve " to help fish,

No, e'est un souyenir d'Au- or pommes soufflees, or pomtnes Anna,
bourg, une petite truelle a and, mark ye, my masters, will also serve
poisson de l'Hostellerie dea to recall to my memory a right merrie,
Vieux Plats, Gonneyille. ev6n tho' 'twere an all too short, holiday.