Mr. Punch's Country Life: Humours of Our Rustics, J. A. Hammerton [best mobile ebook reader TXT] 📗

"Well, Simpson, how do you like the hot weather?"

"Can't stand it, sir! It's hawful! Ain't got no stomach for my victuals, sir!"

[Pg 138]

Scene—A large open space near a cathedral town. Fat old farmers in white hats, and smart young farmers in Newmarket coats and neat riding boots; elderly shepherds in blue, grey, and white smocks. From time to time there is a stampede of bewildered bullocks, whose hind legs are continually getting hitched over each other's horns. Connoisseurs lean over pen-rails and examine pigs reverently, as if they were Old Masters. Others prod them perfunctorily. The pigs bear these inconveniences meekly, as part of the penalty of greatness. Sheep look over one another's shoulders and chew nervously on one side of their mouths.

First Enthusiast. Did y' iver see sech a sow as that theer? I niver did, and (aggressively) naw moor yo' didn't neither, 'Enery, did ye now?

'Enery (unimpressed). I doan't see naw 'dvantage in heving pigs so big as that theer.

[Pg 140]

First Enth. Big! She's like a elephant. Theer's a lop ear now—weighs thutty-four stoan if she weighs a hounce, she do!

'Enery. Ah. I 'ad one loike 'er, I 'ad. Eat three bucketsful a day, she did, and (with a sense of unforgettable injury) mis'able little pegs she 'ad with it all!

Second Enth. I go in fur Berkshire myself But Sussex are very good; they scale so much better 'n they look; full o' flesh they are—weigh a good stun moor nor ye'd take 'em fur, and then they cut up so well! (With a dreamy tenderness.) Yes, I'm fond o' they Sussexes, I am—very fond of 'em!

A Dealer (trying to dispose of a litter of small black pigs). Seven good ole stiddy little pigs! I don't care 'oo buys 'em (as if he usually required the strictest testimonials to character). I must sell 'em. Pig-buyin' to-day, sir? You'd better 'ave that little lot, sir.

[Pg 142]

Intending Purchaser (to Seller). What d'ye carl them yoes now? Southdowns?

Seller (after watching a rook out of sight, stirs up the sheep meditatively, and decides on candour). Well—bout aaff an' aaff.

Int. Purch. Old yoes—well, ye know, 'taint like young yoes, be it now?

Seller (when he has finished shredding tobacco in the palm of his hand). That's true enough.

Int. Purch. I dunno as I can do wi' any moor shep just now, if 'twas iver so.

Seller (listlessly). Cann't ye, now? Theer's bin a genl'man from Leicestershire 'ere, wawntin' me to run 'im off a dozen or so—fur his perrk, d'ye see?

Int. Purch. (with unaffected incredulity). Ah.

Seller (addressing space). They're a tidy lot o' yoes.

[Pg 144]

Int. Purch. (as if this was a new view of them, which would require consideration). Come off o' your own farm?

Seller. Druv 'em in myself this very marnin'.

Int. Purch. Ah. (A pause apparently spent in mental calculation.) What might ye be askin' for 'un now?

Seller. For them yoes?

Int. Purch. Ah.

Seller (falls into a brown study, from which he at length emerges to tap the nearest ewe on the forehead and expectorate). I wawnt five-an'-twenty shellin' a yead for them yoes.

Int. Purch. Five-an'-twenty?

Seller. Ah, that's what I wawnt.

Int. Purch. I s'pose ye aint seen ole Jim 'Arrows 'bout 'ere this marnin', hev ye?

[Pg 139]

Anything to oblige.—Old Lady. "I wish you would make him go faster. I shall be late for the market." Carrier. "Well, you see, mum, he always falls on his head if he trots down-hill. He can't trot up-hill, for he's broken-winded, and if you hurry him on the level he mostly has a fit of blind staggers. But we'll try if you like, mum. Come up, hoss!"

[Pg 141]

BYE-ELECTION HUMOURS

Free and Independent Voter. "Wull, if they can't zend zummat better than thic ther cart to fetch I to the poll, I ain't a-goin' to vote. Zo there's an end of it; and you can go back an' tell 'um zo!"

[Pg 143]

THE NEW SQUIRE

Farmer. "Well, Giles, what do you think of him?"

Giles. "I reckon he's allers in at meal-times, sir!"

[Pg 145]

Curate. "Oh—er—by the way, Mr. Bloggs, I was wondering whether you would give me a small subscription for a most excellent object: I mean the repairing of the cemetery wall."

Wealthy Parvenu. "Not me, sir. The cemetery wall don't need any repairing. Them as is inside can't get out, an' them as is outside don't want to get in. Good mornin'!"

[Pg 146]

First Rustic (just out of the County Hospital). An' they putt me under that theer chlorryfum—an' I simmed to go right oop into 'Evin—yes, I wur oop in 'Evin fur a toime, sure 'nough.

Second Rustic (with interest). An' did ye 'ear a pianner?

Elderly Farmer (who is being applied to for the character of his late shepherd). No, I never 'ad no fault to find wi' the fellow—(conscientiously) not as I knows on. He unnerstan's shep—I will say that fur 'en—he's a rare 'un at doctorin' of 'em, too. An' a stiddy chap an' that, keps a civil tongue in 'is yead, and don't go away on the booze. No, I aint got nawthen' to say 'gainst th' man.

The Inquirer. Would ye hev any objection to sayin' why ye're partin' wi' en?

Eld. F. Well, I dunno as theer was any partickler reason for 't. (He endeavours to think of one in a puzzle-headed way.) I s'pose I must ha' thowt I'd make a bit of a shift like—and theer ye hev it.

First Stock-breeder (to Second). Well, an' how's Muster Spuddock to-day?

[Pg 148]

Muster Spuddock. Oh, 'mong th' middlins—'mong th' middlins. Pretty well fur an old 'un?

First Stockbr. An' how's trade with you, eh?

Muster Sp. (beaming). Oh, nawthen' doin'—nawthen' doin' 't all!

First Stockbr. (with equal cheerfulness). Same 'ere, sir—same 'ere. On'y thing that's got money has been th' dead meat.

Muster Sp. (without appearing to envy the dead meat on this account). Ah, that's it. Ye cann't reckon on moor nor thrippence,—an' your own expenses, i' coorse.

First Stockbr. An' thet's borderin' nigh on fowerpence; an' when it comes to two pound a bullock——!

[They shake their heads with an unsuccessful attempt to look lugubrious at these cryptic considerations.

Muster Sp. Well, well; sheep food's goin' to be plentiful, too, right up to Christmas.

First Stockbr. That's the way to look

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