ROBERT AT MARLOW.

"HERE we are again!" as the Clown says in the Pantermine, at butiful

Great Marlow, looking jest as bootiful as ever, though there is jest a

few tears a falling from the dark clowds coz the sun doesn't shine as it

did when we was in grand old Lundon last week, and turn all the drops of

rain into reel dimons. My son WILLIAM has cum with us, and he says as

how this lovely place makes quite a Poet of him, so he dashed off the

following description of it larst nite when the rain was a coming down

in palefuls, witch we all thinks to be amost as butiful as it's trew:--

"To Marlow have we come, a little city,

Famous for pretty girls and boating, he

Who has not seen it, will be much to pity,

So says King ROBERT, and I quite agree

Of all the towns on Thames there's none more pretty,

Pangbourne perhaps, but that you soon may see.

Our nice clean lodging's near the flowing river,

A noble stream, much like the Guadalquiver."

I haven't corrected none of his rayther rum spelling, but writ it down

jest as he wrote it all out of his hone hed. Not having ever herd of the

place that he says the River is like, I natrally arsked him where it

were, and he said in Sow Ameriky. What it is to be not only a Poet but a

geolergist as well! ah, it's all owing to the Bellowsmender's Skool.

I don't find much difference in the old Place xcep that it's gitting

bigger, witch it's a pity, but how can one be surprized. If peeple finds

out a perfec pairodice they natrally tells their friends of it, and so

more cums ewery year. Among others we've got a real live Hem Pea, but

he's here on the sly, having told the Tory Whip as he's bin obligated to

go to Swizzerland to see his pore sick Mother-in-Law! A nice sort of

green Whip he must ha' bin to be so eesily gammond. His wally told me as

he had shaved off his beard so nobody knowed him, but for fear of

accidence he passes ewery Satterday and Sunday at a farm yard inland.

Wot a lively life for a reel Swell!

I've ony bin here jest a few days, and I've had another startling

adwenture. I never seed such a plaice as this is for adwentures. I had

taken my favorit stroll to Temple Lock, and had my customary chat with

the werry intellegent Lock Keeper there on things in general, and

Locksmen's trubbles in partickler, and was walking gently home, wen I

herd the most unusual report of Guns close by me, on the hopposite Bank;

and jest as I came up to where they was a shooting, I seed three Gents

raise their sanguinary Rifels and haim bang at my dewoted hed! I hadn't

time to shout tout or to run away, so I had to stand it like a traitor

or a dezerter. Luckely they missed me, and, laying down their murdrous

weppons, went into the ouse. I was so prostrated with estonishment that

I remaned fixt on the spot. Luckely my son WILLIAM came by in a Bote, so

I hollowed to him, and, getting in, he pulled me across the foaming

River. I luckely remembered hearing 2 of the Tems Consewatifs a torking

at the LORD MARE'S Bankwet about the Buy Lors, and that one on em was a

fine of 40_s_. for ewerrybody as shot a gun across the River. So, harmed

with this nollidge, I at wunce adrest myself to the estonished Gents

about the enormous sum as they wood have to pay me if as how as I went

and told. I had bin a making the Calkerlashon all the way across, so I

was able to say boldly, eleven shots, at 40_s_. per shot, is twenty-too

pound! One of the gents turned gashly pail, and another sed as they

woodn't do it not never no more, so I kindly promist not to do wot I

might do, and rode away in our Bote with the feeling of a Judge a

pardoning 3 criminals. They did say as they could not have bin a haiming

at me becoz they fired up in the hair, where the birds was; but how was

I to know that, wen the dedly weppens was pinted bang at me, and how,

too, about the falling bullets? They must have bin quite fust-rate

shots, for wen a hole flock of pidgeons flew into their garden, amost

close to 'em, they all three fired at the lot, and acshally wounded one

of 'em, poor thing.

When warking by the side of the River this arternoon, I was arsked by a

young, but not werry successful angler, what o'clock it was. I told him,

in course, and he said as he coudn't fish no more, as it was lunch time,

so we warked along together, and he told me all his trubbels. He had bin

at it for five days, and had never cort but one fish, and he was too

little to keep. He was a nice brite young chap, so I simpathised with

him. He said other peeple cort plenty of fish, but they came and looked

at his bait, and then turned round and swum away; so I gave him a bit of

adwice as I had wunce herd of. Don't buy your flys, I ses, but make 'em

yourself. Anythink will do if it has 4 legs, and 2 wings made of gorze.

And when the fishes sees it they will say to one another, "Hullo, BILL,

here's a rum-looking fly--I never tasted one like him--so here goes,"

and he gobbles up your fly, and so you has him slick. How my young frend

did larf. Ah, says he, that's the frute of indulging your curiossity.

I'll set to work this evening and make one, as I've no dout he did.

I took a walk this morning in butiful Quarry Woods, but O what a site

met my gaze! It used to be one of the atrakshuns of the place for

anyboddy as could walk. What is it now? All the roads as bin dug up, and

left so, and at the entrance to the lovely paths there are orrid bords

put up, saying, "No path--trespassers persecuted." But it isn't true.

They are Paths, and they leads everywhere, and I wasn't persecuted. All

the finest trees are smeared over with dirty bills, saying, "No person

allowed to camp, land, or picknick," and sumbody had added, "Or cough,

or sneeze, without permission!" As a poor feller said to me, who was

hobbling along on the horful road, and who knew the late propryeter,

"Ah, a kind, Cristian Landlord ought to live as long as he posserbly

can, for he never can tell what's to foller."

There's a place there where the Wolunteers practises firing, and I'm

afraid they must be werry careless, for they writes up, "No one must

damage the property of the Corpse," which is werry kind of 'em, so far.

Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93. September 17, 1887 · 第 14 / 30 题