Ouf! Free from their "howlings and whinings" awhile,
(Which, as the _Times_ tells us, are frightful--are frightful.)
But here Nature smiles, a true Smithian smile,
And the change from the House is delightful--delightful!
A smile which, as GOSCHEN would say, one can _hear_;
A _susurrus_ sweeps over the river--the river.
Oh, Henley in May to my heart is as dear
As to Spaniards the gay Guadalquivir--dalquivir!
No doubt they are yelping and yapping like mad;
In such hobbles cantankerous spleen lands--rous spleen lands.
I peacefully sprawl on the turf, and am glad;
The Blue Devils never reach Greenlands--reach Greenlands.
By Jove, they have led me a doose of a life!
Their conduct is sheer criminality--nality.
Here, though, thank Heaven, I'm far from the strife,
Here the wicked won't vex OLD MORALITY--RALITY!
True, 'tisn't for long, a clear week at the most.
They would worry us out of our Whitsuntide--Whitsuntide.
But still we all feel, though I don't want to boast,
Like Park-hacks in paddock, or "tits" untied--"tits" untied.
They mock my wide smile, and my scantness of thatch;
I think, though, in managing skill I am--skill I am,
All things considered, much more than a match
For swaggering, swashing Sir WILLIAM--WILL-I-AM!
Lawks! this _is_ lovely! But, SMITHY my lad,
In the midst of Arcadian beauty--an beauty,
You mustn't forget (the reflection is sad)
What is due to your Country and Duty--and Duty.
That's why I have brought down this Holiday Task.
Though slumber-inviting the weather--the weather,
I'll turn my true hands, whilst in sunshine I bask,
To the use of the brush and wash-leather--wash-leather!
It's got a bit rusty from sheer want of use;
Though they tell me I'm promptish at pouncing--at pouncing.
Ah me! E'en an angel comes in for abuse,
Or _me_ they would not be denouncing--denouncing.
A crocodile's sure to be down on the Gag,
And HARCOURT'S a fair alligator--ligator;
He's awfully wide in the jaw, for a wag,
But _I_'ll tie up the would-be dictator--dictator!
They're out without muzzles, the whole noisy pack,
(I wish some sharp Bobby would run 'em in--run 'em in,)
But _I'll_ be prepared for them when they come back.
The fight for free jaw I have done 'em in--done 'em in.
Good gracious! One's duty to Country and Queen
Cannot be well done, as all know, by a--know, by a
Man amidst yelpings of furious spleen,
Suggestive of sheer hydrophobia--phobia!
And so, whilst _sub tegmine fagi_ I sit,
And pass in May sunshine a jolly day--jolly day,
I think I'll just brush up this weapon a bit,
And so make a good use of my holiday--holiday.
They're bound to come back, and if barking they come,
I'll be ready--and willing--to muzzle 'em--muzzle 'em.
Dumb dogs may bite, but when _this_ makes 'em dumb,
To bite us, I fancy, will puzzle 'em--puzzle 'em!
[_Left smiling and scrubbing._
* * * * *
MR. DUNTHORNE of Vigo Street is exhibiting a collection of
"Atmospheric Notes," which are not, as Esoteric Buddhists might
conclude, missives forwarded by astral current from a Mahatma, but
a series of very charming pastels, by Mr. GEORGE HITCHCOCK. They are
records of land, sea, and sky effects in Holland, characterised by a
poetry and feeling, and a subtlety of colour that give equal pleasure
to mind and eye. _Mr. Punch_ predicts, that the fortunate possessor of
any one of these Notes, will be in no hurry to change it.
[Illustration: "COUNTRY AND DUTY."
MR. W. H. S. "IT'S GOT A LITTLE RUSTY,--BUT I'LL HAVE IT READY IN
TIME!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN UNKIND SUGGESTION.
_Cabby (who has been paid his legal fare in threepenny bits and
coppers)._ "WHERE DID YER GET THIS LOT FROM, EH? BEEN A ROBBIN' THE
CHILD'S MONEY-BOX?"]
* * * * *