Punch (103.1892)

October 15, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

169

'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE.

(Second Letter.)

Dear Chablie,—The post-mark, no doubt,
will surprise you. I'ni still at the
" Crown,"

Though I said in my last—wot wos true—

I was jest on the mizzle for town.
'Ad a letter from nunky, old man, with

Bit sick of " Ta-ra-ra "and " Knocked1'em;"

" Carissimar " gives me the 'ump,
For I 'ear it some six times per morning ; and

then there 's a footy old pump
Blows staggery toons on a post-'orn for full

arf a-hour each day,
To muster the mugs for a coach-drive. My
heye and a bandbox, it's gay !

At the " Crown" we git up little barnies, to
another small cheque. Good old nunk ! eke out the 'Arrygate lot,

For even the Spa's a bit samesome for six

times a week when it's 'ot;
Though they do go it pooty permiskus with

pickter-shows, concerts, and such
Yus, I must say they ladles it out fair and
free, for a sixpenny touch.

But even yer Fancy Dress Balls, and yer

lectures by Annie Besant,
All about Hastral Bodies and Hether, seems
not always quite wot yer want

So I'm in for a fortnit' more sulphur and
slosh, afore doing a bunk.

Ah ! I've worked it, my pippin, I 've worked

it; gone in for hexcursions all round,
To Knaresborough, Bolton, and Fountains.

You know, dear old pal, I '11 be bound,
As hantiquities isn't my 'obby, and ruins

don't fetch me, not much !
I can't see their " beauty," no more than the

charms of some dowdy old Dutch.

A Castle, all chunnicks of stone, or a

Habbey, much out of repair,
A skelinton Banquetting 'All, and a bit

of a broken-down stair,
May appear most perticular "precious "

to them as the picteresk cops ;
But give me the sububs and stucco,

smart villas, and spick-and-span

shops,

" Up to date" is our siney quay non in
these days. Fang der sickle, yer
know,

Wich is French for the same, I persoom,
and them phrases is now all the

Find 'em sprinkled all over the papers;
in politics, fashion, or art,

If you carnt turn 'em slick round yer
tongue, you ain't modern, or know-
ing, or smart.

Still a houting to Bolton ain't bad when the charry-

bang's well loaded up
With swell seven-and-sixpence-a-headers. 1 felt like

a tarrier-pup

On the scoop arter six weeks of kennel ,and drench in

the 'ands of a vet;
I 'd got free of the brimstoney flaviour and went it

according you bet!

'Ad a day at a village called Birstwith. The most too-

ralooralest scene,
'Oiler down among 'ills, dontcher know, ancient

and a jolly big green.
Reglar old Kip-van-Winkleish spot, sech as Caldecott

ought to ha' sketched.
Though I ain't noways nuts on the pasteral, even Yours

Truly wos fetched.

t, ■ • I, _j | j •■ , ,rn To wile awav time arter dinner. So thanks

Pooty sight and no error, old pal 'Iwos a , y , • f 1 f. .

Ln^j » A„»i,««„n,'„i cc,mn to that gent—six-loot-four!—

Fruit, flowers, aid live poultry, yer; M.C.-of hammytow.

know. Then we've conjurors, worblers, phreno-

Big markee and a range of old 'en-coops, logists ! One 'ad a go at my

sports, niggers, a smart local band, chump.
Cottage gardenm', cheese, roosters, and races ! ('E touzled my 'air up tremenjus, and said I'd

Bum mix, but I gave it a 'and. no hend of a bump

I do like to hencourage the joskins. One thing \ 0f somethink he called " Happrybativeness."

though, wos fiddle-de-dee, I ^ , * e*fe ^ant well I suppose,

Thev 'ad a " Befreshment Tent," Charlie. , but 1 dldn t ^m\g rells]l hls smlle' nor hls

Oh my! Ginger-ale and weak tea ! I rummy remarks on my nose.
Nothink stronger, old pal, s'elp me bob ! Fancy When a tall gurl as pooty as paint, and

me flopping down on a form _ with cheeks like a blush - rose in

A-m.unching plum-putty, and lapping Bohea bloom,

as wos not even warm! 'As 'er lamps all a-larf on yer face, and a

This 'ere 'Arrygate's short of amusements. m JS?^^^^^ ^^J^^-u n
twa>0 iL^a n^ \>or,A* ™ +v,0 Tisn t mceto Slt sqLaro on a chair, with a

There's niggers and bands on the
_ "Stray"

(Big lumpy old field in a 'ole, wich if properly

managed might pay.)
Mysterious Minstrels with masks on, a

bleating contralto in black,
With a oriul tremoler, my pippin!—yus,

feller a-sharpenii:g 'is wit
On your nob, and a rumpling your 'air till
it's like a birch-broom in a fit!

One caper we 'ad, on the lawn, wos a spree,

and no error, old man.
They call it a "Soap-Bubble Tournyment."

these are the pick of the pack. Soapsuds, a pipe, and a fan,

Four six-foot posts stuck in the giound
with a tape run around — them's the
" props,"

And lawn-tennis ain't in it for larks. Oh,
the ladies did larf, though tip-tops I

Bit sniffy fust off. "Oh! " sez they, " wot

a most hintellectual game ! "
But 1 noticed that them as sneered most wos

most anxious to win, all the same.
The gent he stands slap in the middle, and

tries to blow bubbles like fun,
Wich his pardner fans over the tape ; don't

it jest keep the girls on the run!

Every bubble as crosses the tape afore bust-
ing counts one to that pair,

And the pair as counts most wins the prize.
They are timed by a hegg - boiler.
There!

It wos all a pantermime, Charlie, to see 'ow

them gurls scooted round,
Jest like Japanese jugglers, a-fanning the

bubbles, as would 'ug the ground.

Some gents wos fair frosts at the bizness;
one good-'earted trim little toff

Would blow with the bowl wrong end
uppards. His pardner went pink and
flounced off.

He gurgled away like a babe with a pap-
bottle, guggle—gug—gug!

And I 'eard 'er a-giving 'im beans as 'e
mizzled, much down in the mug.

'Owsomever, it ain't for amusements as

'Arrygate lays itself hout;
No, dear ooy, it's for doses and douches;

and there it scores freely, no doubt.
Wy, there 's thirty-two Springs in the Bog

Field—a place like a graveyard gone

wrong—

Besides Starbeck, the Tewit, and others, all
narsty, and most on 'em strong.

Since Sir Slingsby discovered the first one,

now close on three cent'ries ago,
Wot a lush of mixed mineral muck these

'ere Arrygate Springs 'ave let flow !
Well, ere's bully for Brimstone, my bloater,

and 'ooray for 'Arrygate air!
Wich 'as done me most good I don't know,

and I'm scorched if I very much care !

I know 'Arrygate girls cop the biscuit for

beauty. They've cheeks like the rose,
Their skin is jest strorberries and cream;

it's the sulphur, dear boy, I suppose.
As for me, I look yaller as taller alongside

'em Charlie, wus luck!
I 'eard one call me saffron-faced sparrer,

and jest as I thought 'er fair struck.

J'd nail 'em, in time, I've no doubt, when I

once got the 'ang of their style.
There's a gal at the Montpellier Baths.

Scissoree ! 'ow I've tried for a smile,
When she tips me my tannersworth ! Shucks!

she's as orty and stiff as yer please.
Primrose Dames isn't in it for snubs with

these arrygant 'Arrygatese!

But I reckon my "Douche" is now due.
Doctor Black's that pertikler, old
man.

These 'Arrygate doctors 'ave programs—
you've got to pan out to their plan.

Up early, twro swigs afore breakfust, and
tubs when they tell yer's the rule.

Well, the feller as flies to U Sawbones, and
don't toe the line is a fool.

Beglar Doctor-Shop, 'Arrygate is; see their

photos all over the town.
Mine is doing me dollups of good ; I'm quite

peckish, and jest a bit brown.
I'm making the most of my time, and

a-laying in all I can carry.
So 'ere ends this budget of brimstone and
baths from vour sulphur-soaked

'Arry.

vol. cm.