Punch (103.1892)

162 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 8, 1892.

A NUISANCE.

Miss Priscilla. " Yes ; it's a beautiful View. . But Toubists are in the habit of Bathing on the opposite Shore, and

that's rather a Drawback." Fair Visitor. "Dear me ! But at such a Distance as that—surely-"

Miss Priscilla. "Ah, but with a Telescope, you know!"

AT LIST!

{Jeremiad by a M-iddlc-aged Martyr to the great Seaside Superstition.)

[" To middle-aged people, at all events, nothing can be more trying and
deleterious than holidays."—Daily News.']

Oh, thanks to thee, thanks to thee, sage unconventional!

Heaven be blest, the truth 's out, then, at last!
Holiday woes—'twould take volumes to mention all!—

Now, in the lump, meet a shrewd counterblast.
Trying f Of course they are ! Most deleterious ?

Scribe, let me clasp thee, in thought, to this breast'
Holiday-hunting is Man's most mysterious,

Maddening quest!

Quixote, I swear, was a model of sanity,

When with the Holiday-seeker compared.
Fidgety folly, and fussy inanity.

These be the figments by which we are snared.
Soon as you 're drawn from your own cosy drawing-room,

Far over flood, field, or foam—for your sins—
Then, when your breast makes for vulturine gnawing room,

Bother begins!
Bother, that bugbear of bufferish Middle-Age !

Swift " scurry-funging " may do for the young,
The " hey-diddle-diddle, the Cat-and-the-fiddle'" age.

" Over the moon " I myself once had sprung,
Thirty years syne, in sheer fervour athletioal—

Now, like the dog, I would laugh, and look on.
Once, with sheer "drive," I'da sense sympathetieal—

Now I have none!
Holiday ? Term, Sir, is simply a synonym

For—waste of tissue! What doctor will dare
Tell his poor patients so ? 7'11 put my tin on him!

Rest ? Recreation P Pick-up ? Change of air ?
All question-begging fudge-phrases of sophistry!

Let city-toilers who 're fagged or " run down,"
Autumnal quiet (in home or in office), try ;

Not " out of town."

Out of town ? Where is the term that's claptrappier ?

Means out of temper, or out of your mind.
Boot-blaok or old crossing-sweeper's far happier,

Tied to his task in the town—as you '11 find.
Picking up coppers far better than picking up

Shells by the sea, or sham friends on the shore.
Bah! What have buffers to do with such kicking-up

Heels ? It's a bore!

Who '11 start a League to be called Anti-Holiday ?

Bet half the middle-aged men-folk will join!
Then we might get an occasional jolly day,

Free from the pests who perplex and purloin.
"Health-Resort" quackery, portmanteau-packery,

Cheat-brigade charges and chills I might miss.
Dear-bought jimcrackery, female knicknackery !—

Oh! 'twere pure bliss I

BRAYO, BOBBY!
[ ' The Brighton Police have received orders to move on all organ-grinders."]

Bless you, Brighton Bobby, bless Battered bands from Bremen,

you,

Berlin;

Boldly bringing balmy bliss ! Bearded bandits, born between

Barrel - organ barred — I guess Bari and Bergamo, hurl in !

you I Bathed—that's what they've

Banish blatant bands with this. never been!

Brazen blasts, by boobies blow- Britons all, oh, be not laggards,

ing, But, like Brighton, move them

Bad as barrel's buzz can be. on!

Bid them budge I I'd vote for Bad, bacteria-bearing black-

throwing
Beggars like these in the sea.

guards,

Beastly, blatant brutes, begone!

Another about the New Lord Mayor Elect.—"It's a Knill
wind that blows nobody any good." Signed, Bogie Moore.