Punch (99.1890)

October 25, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 197

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

Being a few Notes taken en route in search of a Perfect Cure.

The Engineers who constructed the gradually ascending road
which, slowly mounting the valley, finally takes you over the ridge,
as it were, and deposits you at a height of 3800 feet, dusty but
grateful, on the plain of Engelberg, must have been practical jokers
of the first water. They lead you up in the right direction several
thousand feet, then suddenly turn you round, and apparently take
you clean back again. And this not once, but a dozen times. They
seem to say, " You think you must reach the top this time, my fine
fellow ? Sot a bit of it. Back you go again."

Still we kept turning and turning whither the Practical-joking
Engineers led us, but seemed as far off from our journey's end as
ever. A roadside inn for a moment deluded us with its light, but
we only drew up in front of this while our gloomy charioteer
sat down to a good square meal, the third he had had since three
o'clock, over which he consumed exactly five-and-twenty minutes,
keeping us waiting while he disposed of it at his leisure, in a fit of
depressing but greedy sulks.

At length we moved on again, and in about another half-an-hour
apparently reached the limit of the Practical-joking Engineers'
work, for our surly charioteer suddenly jumped on the box, and
cracking his whip furiously, got all the pace that was left in them
out of our three sagacious horses, and in a few more minutes we
were tearing along a level road past scattered chalets, little wooden
toy-shops, and isolated pensions, towards a colossal-looking white
palace that stood out a grateful sight in the distance before us,
basking in the calm white-blue blaze shed upon it from a couple of
lofty electric lights, that told us that up here in the mountains we
were not coming to rough it, but to be welcomed by the latest
luxuries and refinements of first-rate modern hotel accommodation.
And this proved to be the case. Immediately he arrived in the large
entrance-hall, the Dilapidated One was greeted by the Landlord of
the Hotel et Kurhaus, Titlis, politely assisted to the lift, and finally
deposited in the comfortable and electrically-lighted room which
had been assigned to him.

" "We are extremely full," announced the polite Herr to Dr. Mel-
chisidec; " and we just come from finishing the second dinner,"—
which seemed to account for his being " extremely full,"—" but as
soon as you will descend from your rooms, there will be supper ready
at your disposition."

"You'll just come and look at the Bath-chair before you turn
in?" inquired Dr. Melchisidec, of the Dilapidated One, "It's
arrived all right from Zurich. Come by post, apparently."

"Oh, that's nothing," continued young Jerbyman, "why,
there's nothing you can't send by post in Switzerland, from a house
full of furniture, down to a grand piano or cage of oanaries. You've
only got to clap a postage-stamp on it, and there you are! " And
the arrival of the Bath-chair certainly seemed to indicate that he
was telling something very like the truth.

"I don't quite see how this guiding-wheel is to act," remarked
Dr. Melchisidec, examining the chair, which was of rather pan-
tomimio proportions, critically; "but Buppose you just get in and
try it! 'Pon my word it almost looks like a ' trick-chair'! " which

The Trick Chan.

indeed it proved itself to be, jerking up in a most unaccountable
fashion the moment the Dilapidated One put his foot into it, and
unceremoniously sending him flying out on to his head forthwith.
" A little awkward at first," he remarked, assisting the Dilapidated
One on to his feet. " One has to get accustomed to these things, you
see ; but, bless you, in a day or two you won't want it at all. You '11
find the air here like a continual draught of champagne. 'Pon my
word, I believe you feel better already," and with this inspiriting
assurance the Dilapidated One, who had not only covered himself
with dust, but severely bruised his shins, saying that " he thought.

perhaps, he did—just a little," was again assisted to the lift, and
safely consigned to his room, where he was comfortably packed away
for the night.

" I say," says young Jebbtman, next morning, "what a place for
bells!"

And young Jebbyman was right, for I was awoke in the small
hours of the morning by a loud peal from the Monastery, as if the

A Peripatetic Peal.

Prior had suddenly said to himself, "What's the use of the bells
if you don't ring 'em ? By Jove, I will!" and had then and there
jumped from his couch, seized hold of the ropes, and set to
work with a right good will. Then the hotels and pensions took it
up, and so, what with seven o'clock, eight o'clock, and nine o'clock
breakfasts, first and second dejeuners, first and second dinners,
interspersed with "Office Hours" sounded by the Monastery, and
the sound of the dinner-bells carried by the cattle, Dingle-berg,
rather than Engelberg, would be a highly appropriate name for this
somewhat noisy, but otherwise delightful health-resort.

" I call this ' fatal dull' after Paris," remarked a fair Americaine
to young Jebetman ; and, perhaps, from a certain point of view,
she may have been right; but, fatal dull, or lively, there can be
no two opinions about the life-giving properties of the air.

Old Joe Encobe.—Last Wednesday in the Fabeae v. Publisher
discussion, a Correspondent, signing himself John Taylor, of
Dagnall Park, Selhurst, wrote to The Times to " quote an anecdote"
about Douglas Jeeeold and "a Publisher." Rarely has a good old
story been so spoilt in the telling as in this instance. The true story is
of Albert Smith and Douglas Jeeeold, and has been already told in
the Times by a Correspondent signing himself " E. Y." It is of the
same respectable age as that one of Albert Smith signing his initials
"A. S.," and Jeeeold observing, " He only tells two-thirds of the
truth." Perhaps Mr. John Tatlor, of Dagnall Park, Selhurst, is going
to favour us with a little volume of " new sayings by old worthies "
at Christmas time, and we shall hear how Shebidan once asked
Tom B-— " why a miller wore a white hat ? " And how Ebskine,
on hearing a witness's evidence about a door being open, explained
to him that his evidence would be worthless, because a door could not
be considered as a door " if it were a jar," and several other excellent
stories, which, being told for the first time with the verve and local
colouring of which the writer of the letter to The Times is evidently
a past-master, will secure for the little work an enormous popularity.

A Scott and a Lot.—" Thirty Years at the Play " is the title of
Mr. Clement Scott's Lecture to be delivered next Saturday at the
Grarrick Theatre, for the benefit of the Actors' Benevolent Fund.
Thirty years of Play-time I All play, and lots of work. Mr. Ieving
is to introduce the lecturer to his audience, who, up to that moment,
will have been " Strangers Yet," and this Clement will be Scott-
free to say what he likes, and to tell 'em all about it generally.
"Scott" will be on the stage, and the "Lot" in the auditorium.
Lot'b "Wife also.__

Etheb-Dblnking in Ieeland.—Mr. Ernest Habt (bless his
heart and earnestness !) lectured last week on "Ether-Drinking in
Ireland." He leotured "The Society for the Study of Inebriety "—
a Society which must be slightly " mixed"—on this bad habit, and
no doubt implored them to give it up. The party sang, "How
Happy could we be with Ether" and the discussion was continued
until there was nothing more to be said.

Cleegt in Paeliament.— As Bishops " sit" in the Upper House,
why should not "the inferior olergy" "stand" for the Lower
House? If they get in, why shouldn't they be seated? Surely
what's right in the Bishop isn't wrong in the Rector ?

Liteeart Advertisement.—The forthcoming work by the
Vulnerable Archdeacon F-ee-b, will be entitled, The Pharrarsee
and the Publisher.