Punch (99.1890)

November 8, 1890.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 225

HOW IT'S DONE.

(A Handbook to Honesty.)

No. IV.—The Grand Old
(Jobbing) Gardeneb.
Scene -the Garden of a modest

Suburban Vilta. Present,

Simple Citizen, with budding

horticultural ambitions, and

Jobbing Gardener, " highly re-
commended'1'' for skill and low

charges. The latter is a grizzled

personage, very bowed as to

back, and baggy as to breeches,

but in his manner combining

oracular " knoioingness" and

deferential plausibility in a

remarkable degree.

Simple Citizen. You see' Smug-
gins, things are a little bit in
the rough here, at present.

Grand Old Gardener. Ah, you
may well say that, Sir! Bin
allowed to run to rack and ruin,
this here pooty bit o' garding
has. Want a lot o' clearing,
scurry funging, and topping and
lopping, afore it '11 look anythink
like. But it's got the making
of a puffeck parrydise in it, a
puffeck parrydise it has—with
my adwice.

S. C. Glad to hear you say so, Smuggins. Now what I propose
is-

G. 0. G. [laying a horny hand on S. C.'s coat-sleeve). If you'll
ascuse me, Sir, I']1 jest give yer my ideas. It '11 save time. (Lays
down artfully the lines of a plan involving radical alteration of
paths, and lawns, and beds, shifting of shrubs, cutting down of trees,
rooting up of trailers, and what he calls " toppin' an' loppin'" to a
tremendous extent.) Then,^ Sir.^you'U 'ave a bit o' garding as'11
be the
I

FANCY SKETCH FOR NOVEMBER 5.

Magistrate letting off a Crackeb with a Little Caution.

'ad the same idees at first, but
when he comes to know me, he
says, says he, Smuggins, -you're
always right, he says. If you
wos to run a reaping-machine
through my horchids, or a trac-
tion-engine over my turf, I should
know as you wos a-doing of the
rieht thing—in the loDg run!
Oh, you leave it to me, Sir, and
you won't repent it. And- ahem
—here's my little haccount, Sir,
—hup to date.

\_Presents dirty piece of Hue
paper, giving scanty details,
and a spanking total. Simple
Citizen pays, and tries to look
pleasant.

Scene III.

The Same, six months later.
Present, Simple Citizen, and a
Sympathetic Friend.
Sympathetie Friend. "Well,
well, it does look a waste, Apple-
tabd.

Simple Citizen (purple). A
waste! I should think it did,
indeed! And to think of the
pretty, green, bowery place it
was when I took it! Unprofit-
able, perhaps, but pleasant. Now it
is neither pleasant nor profitable.
S. F. And all through that rascally ravaging Smuggins r
S. C. {furiously). The scoundrel!—the sleek, insinuating,
slaughtering scoundrel! He tore up my paths, he altered my beds,
he mutilated my lawns, he stripped my trailers, he hacked my trees
into bare hideousness, all to make work and money for himself and
his partner in iniquity, that nefarious " florist" friend of his. I
was a greenhorn, Mumpson, a juggins, and I let them fool me to the
top of my bent. He out up the shrubbery into those horrible flat
beds, in order that I might "grow my hown wegerbles," as he
phrased it. He got money from me for the best and most expensive

i the pride o' yer eye, and a tidy bit o' profit into the bargain, or
don't know my bizness. An' I oughter too, seeing as I wos 'ed
gardener to the Book of Friz-Fuzz for close on twenty year, afore ' * , " ashleaf kidneys " and "Proosh
the rheumaticks took me like wot you see. Hu-a-a-h!!! »,,! \ \.^e ian Blues," then planted cheap re
S. C. Yes; but, Smuggins, all • " /,'' jfelS fuse from a small greengrocer's,
these alterations will run into _ "T^^w-OOW-' My "ashleaf kidneys" turned out
time and—expense, I'm afraid. <s^S^, fiS^sC <w faBL^^^J^^f' waxy marbles; my Prooshian
G. 0. G. (confidentially). You ^JSS§8k 4§|k!$ jM&W » I NsSfSTi^f" -Blues refused to pod; I spent—or
leave that to m«, Sir! The fust K. , jfiEmf \! i-V. '^SlS^^^W^r:' !* rather he received—pounds upon
expense '11 be the biggest, and a % ,\» 't K ^%$3". ^^M^w^wC^ „ my vinery and cucumber frames,
saving in the long run, take my ^^Ka^^^Smi^fy^BIBt^ ' mlWlrfwi■Sfem™M%x> My grape-bunches went mouldy,
word. And then you will 'ave a ^B^mBSBSmf^ S\ E^^^mMmJmSmM^^ and I never got a cucumber
garding, you will, one as that 'ere ^^^^^^^f^^^^m^n^^^^mW^^^^M^ W&r$9BwMm more ^an s'x inehes long. His
muddled up bit o' greenery nex ^^^U^^^^S^^^^^SSKSs^^^^^Mt WmlWmim% "friend, the florist," did, no
door won't be a patch on it, for ^^^^fe^S^gW^w.ll^^^^^^^Mffi^WK ffl^p^^k^ doubt. He stole my shrubs over-
all he's so proud of it. (Gets '^^J^^^^^^M^^^n^j^^^^^^MK WfmSSsS^^ sight, and#sold 'em back to me
Simple Citizen into his clutches, ^^^^^^^^^m^m^^^\^in^'^uWS^\i\ ifilPI^^S^^ nex* morning. He bled my
and ivorks him to his will.) '^^^^^'^^^^^^'^^mm^^lfmi^ W\! IHSkM^RJ} maidservants for "beer and
Scene ll.-The Same, six months ^|»MPBPk /Kjlfy-^l _ jB MlT all r^und^^had^irlevery way6

S. C. (returning from a fort- ^^^^KjL. -^^L^s~J^ exMMtan? b^^and'SenrwhOT

night's absence). What, Smuggins, V-^S^S^^ \ f^f" the day of detection was immi-

still at itP And—eh—by Jove, wS^ST^^ Mir nent—disappeared. If ever I

what have you been up to ? Why "" catch sight of that mulberry nose

I hardly know the place again! . of his, I shall he tempted to-

G. O. G. (complacently). I should 'ope not, Sir
different from when you last saw it, I flatter myself. Fact it is a
garding, now. Then it wos a wildernidge!

S. C. Yes, but Smuggins, hang it all, you've cut almost every
bit of greenery away !

G. 0. G. (contemptuously). Greenery! !! And who wants
greenery? Greenery ain't gardening, greenery ain't not by ehorks.
Any fool, even that cove nex door, can grow greenery .'

S. C. Yes, but Smuggins, I don't like my limes to look like
gouty posts, my branchy elms to show as bare as broom-sticks, and
my fruit-trees to be trimmed into timber-screens!

G. O. G. (persuasively). No, Sir, cert'ny not. Faot is they'd
bin let grow wild so long that cutting on 'em freely back wos the
only way to save 'em. Jest wait till next year, Sir, and you'W see.

o. C. (doubtfully). Humph! Looks beastly now, anyhow. And
you've altered all the paths, and nearly all the beds. 'I didn't tell
you-

G. O. G. (emphatically). No, Sir, you didn't. You give me
cart blarnch, you did, and I've done my level best. The Dook

S. F. (soothingly). Ah, yes, just so. But let's hope that you'll
never come across this particular Grand Old Gardener—or his like—
again. (Waggishly.) By Jove, Appleyabd, no wonder the world
went wrong, seeing that " the first man " was—a Gardener!!!

Learned by Abt.—"Beasts in Bond Street!" "Sheep in the
Salon! " Messrs. Dowdeswells have taken the wind out of the
sails of the Agricultural Hall, and Mr. Denovan Adam has given us
the opportunity of seeing a superb collection of Scottish Highland
Cattle. Mountain, meadow, moss and moor have all been laid under
contribution. The result is we can have the chance of studying these
hornymental animals without being tossed, and staring at them with-
out being gored. In the same gallery may be seen a series of pastels
of Hampst-ead Heath, by Mr. Henry Muhbman—a merman ought to
be a sea-painter by rights, but no matter! The poet has told us that,
" 'Amsted am the place to ruralise on a summer's day! " The artist
convinces us it is the place to "pastelise," and he seems to have
pastelised to the tune of forty pictures very successfully.