Punch (100.1891)

24

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[January 10, 1891.

VOCES POPULI.

ON THE ICE.

Scene—The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having
their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and
impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in
the operation.

Chorus of Unemployed Skate-Fasteners. 'Oo'll'ave a pair on for
an hour? Good Sport to-day, Sir ! Try a pair on, Mum! (to any
particularly stout Lady). Will yerwalk inter my porler, Sir ? corpet

JKb, a^ thew'y! 'Ad the plea-

'''%^"'^^j*wW^h'/''>' &ure °' Pnttin' on your

skites last year, Miss! Best
skates in London, Sir !
[Exhibiting a primceval
pair.

The Usual Comic Cockney
(to his Friend, who has un-
dertaken to instruct Ami).
No 'urry, old man—this
joker ain't 'ar/finished with
me yet! [To.Skate-Fast-
ener.) Easy with that jim-
„ let, G-uv'nor. My 'eel ain't
"Look here! Ihis is rather a pretty figure.' >orn, like a 'orse's 'oof ! If

you 're goin' to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell 'ave to go
to bed in them skites ! . . . Well, what is it now ?

Skate-Fastener. Reglar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter
leave somethink be'ind, jest as security like—anythink '11 do—a
gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer I

The C. C. Oh, I dessay—not me !

Skate-F. (wounded). Why, yer needn't be afroid! I shorn't
run away—you'll find me 'ere when yer come back !

The C. C. Ah, that will be noice! But all the sime, a watch is
a thing as slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and
forgit all about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead ; it ain't silver!

Skate-F. (with respect). Ah, you do know the world, you do!

The C. C. Now, Ale, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old
of yer 'and ... Go slow now. What's the Yestry about not to put
some gravel down 'ere ? It's downright dangerous ! Whoo-up !
Blowed if I ain't got some other party's legs on ! . . . Sloide more ?
Whadjer forking about! I'm sloidin' every way at once, 1 am ! . . .
Stroike out? I've struck sparks enough out of the back o' my 'ed,
if that's all! . . . Git up? Ketch me! I'm a deal syfer settin'
dayown, and I '11 sty 'ere ! \_He stays.

A Nervous Skater (hobbling cautiously down the bank—to Friend).
I—I don't know how I shall be in these, you know—haven't had a
pair on for years. (Striking out.) Well, come— (relieved) —skating's
one of those things you never forget—all a question of poise and

equi-confound the things ! No, I'm all right, thanks—lump in

the ice, that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to

-thought I was gone that time ! Stick by me, old fellow, till I

begin to feel my-Oh, hang it all.' . . . Eh ? surely we have been

on more than five minutes! Worst of skating is, your feet get so
cold! . . . These are beastly skates. Did you hear that crack ?
Well, you may stay on if you like, but I'm not going to risk my
life for a few minutes' pleasure ! [He returns to bank.

The Fond Mother (from bank, to Children on the ice). That's
right. Alma, you 're doing it beautifully—don't walk so much!
(To French Governess). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne
glisse assez—nayse par, Ma'amzell ?

Mademoiselle. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine deja
tres bien—et avec un aplomb !

The F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy.
Look at Ella, Alma, and see how she does it!

Mad. Yous _ marchez toujours—toujours, Alma; tachez done de
glisser un petit peu—c'est beaucoup plus facile !

Alma. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un
cote—com me moi, Ma'amzell!

F. M. Ne repondy a Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella !

Ella, llegardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vite—oh, mais vite . . .
oh, I have hurt myself so !

Alma (with sisterly sympathy). That's what comes of trying to
show off, Ella, darling ! [Ella is helped to the bank.

A Pater?ial Skate- Fastener. 'Ere you are, Missie—set down on
this 'ere cheer—and you, too, my little dear—lor, they won't do
them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts ! Lemme tyke yer
little skites orf, my pooties. /'// be keerful, Mum—got childring
o' my own at 'ome—the moral o' your two, Mum !

The F. M. (to Governess). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker.
Avez-vous—er—des cuivres, Ma'amzell?

The P. S. (disgustedly). Wot?— on'y two bloomin' browns fur
tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters I I want a shellin' orf
o' you fur that job, 7do . . . "Not another penny" ? Well, if
you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be

puttin' money by, you ought! That's right, tyke them snivellin'

kids 'ome—blow me if ever I-&c, &c, &c.

\_Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors.
The Egotistic Skater (in charge of a small Niece). Just see if you
can get along by yourself a little—I '11 come back presently. Practise
striking out.

The Niece. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

The E. S. (encouragingly). You will at first, till you get into it—
gives you confidence. Keep on at it—don't stand about, or you'll
catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you !

[Skates off to better ice.

The Fancy Skater (to less accomplished Friend). This is a pretty
figure—sort of variation of the " Cross Cut," ending up with " The
Yine ; " it's done this way (illustrating), quarter of circle on outside

edge forwards ; then sudden stop- (He sits down toith violence.)

Didn't quite come off that time !

The Friend. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

The F. S. I '11 show you again—it's really a neat thing when it's

well done ; you do it all on one leg, like this-

[Executes an elaborate back-fall.

His Friend. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap !

The F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a
figure I invented myself. " The Swooping Hawk" I call it.

His Friend (unkindly—as the F. S. comes down in the form of a
St. Andreio's Cross). Y—yes. More like a Spread Eagle though,
ain't it ?

A Pretty Girl (to Mr. Ackmey, ivho has been privileged to take
charge of herself and her plain Sister). Do come and tell me if I'm
doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You said you'd go round with me !

The Plain S. How can you be so selfish, Floeeie ? You've had
ever so much more practice than I have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish
you'd look at my left boot—it will go like that. Is it my ankle—or
what ? And this strap is hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it,
or take me back to the man, or something ? Floeeie can get on
quite well alone, can't she ?

Mr. A. (temporising feebly). Er—suppose I give each of you a
hand, eh?

The Plain S. No ; I can't go along fast, like you and Lauea.
You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone !
The Pretty S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey ?
Mr. A. I—I think—just for a little, if you don't mind !
The Pretty S. Mind ? Not a bit! There's Claea Willotjghby
and her brother on the next ring, I '11 go over to them. Take good
care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.

[She goes; Alice doesn't think Mr. A. is "nearly so nice as he
used to be."

The Reckless Rough. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all
of yer ! Parties must look out fur theirselves when they see me a
comin', I carn't stop fur nobody !

[Rushes round the ring at a tre?nendous pace.

An Admiring Sweeper (folloiving his movements with enthusiasm).
Theer he goes—the Ornimental Sky ter! Look at'im a buzzin'
round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot
er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Fbanky, my son—don't you stop
to apollergise ! . . . Ah, there he goes on his nut agen ! 'E don't
care, not 'el . . . Orf he goes agin! . . . That's another on'em
down, and ole Fbanky atop—'e'll 'ave the ring all to isself
presently ! Up agin ! Oh, ain't he lovely ! I never see his loike
afore nowheres . . . Round yer go—that's the stoyle! My eyes,
if he ain't upset another—a lydy this time—she's done 'er skytin
fur the d'y, any 'ow! and ole Feank knocked silly . . . Well, I
ain't larfed ser mueh in all my life ! [He is left laughing.

The Curate to his Slippers.

Take, oh take those boots away
That so nearly are out-worn ;
And those shoes remove, I pray—

Pumps that but induce the corn ;
But my slippers bring again,

Bring again—
Works of love, but worked in vain,
Worked in vain!

Oue Own First-class Clipper sends us the following from the
Manchester Guardian, Dec. 11th: —
Q.ROCERY.—Wanted, a live Sugar Wrapper. Apply, &c.

gHOE TRADE.—Wanted, good Hand-sewn Men. Apply, &c.

DRA.PERY.—Wanted, for the first three weeks in January, several Men,
for sale. Apply by letter, stating experience, &c, to-.

Would a Spirit Rapper be accepted for the first ? and a man who
had got a stitch in his side for the second ? As for the third, there
are so many people sold at Christmas time, that to provide a few
men for sale would be no very difficult task.

{j^* NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule
there will be no exception.