Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 7

dream and dream that yonder glittering light No more shall top the tall Clock Tower's height; To hear no more the party speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach; (No, no, not HICKS! Thank heaven, he's far away!) To lend one's mind and fancy wholly Unto the influence of the calmly jolly; Forgetful, whilst the salt breeze round one rustles; Of all the clamorous Congresses of Brussels, Of all the spouting M.P.'s party tussles, Of all the noisy votaries of CARL MARX; Of all save slumber and Unmitigated Larks!
IV.
Dear are the memories of our wedded lives, Dear also are the outfits of our wives, And their huge trunks: but this is a sweet change! For surely now our household hearths are cold, Charwomen prowl thereby: our halls look strange, Our suites are swathed like ghosts. Here all is joy, And, by the stirless silence rendered bold, The very gulls stand round with furléd wings. What do you think of it, TOBY, my boy? The Session's Bills are half-forgotten things. Is there discussion in our little Isle? Let Parties broken so remain. Factions are hard to reconcile: Prate not of Law and Order--by the main! There is a fussiness worse than death Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Lost labour, and sheer waste of breath, Sore task to hearts dead beat by many wars, And ears grown dumb with listening to loud party jars.
V.
But propt on sand and pebbles rolly-olly How sweet (while briny breezes fan us lowly) With half-dropt eyelids still, Beneath a boat-side tarry, coally, To watch the long white breakers drawing slowly Up to the curling turn and foamy spill-- To hear far-off the wheezy Town-Crier calling, "Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" Truly, TOBIAS mine, This _solitude à deux_ is most divine; A Congress we--of Two; where no outfalling Is possible. Our Anti-Labour line Is wordlessly prolonged, stretched out beside the brine.
VI.
Such Lotos-eating all at times must seek! The Lotos blows by many an English creek. Punch is no "mild-eyed melancholy" coon, Born, like the Laureate's islanders, to moon In lands in which 'tis always afternoon. No, TOBY, no! Yet stretch your tawny muzzle Upon these tawny sands! We will not puzzle, For a few happy hours, our weary pates With Burning Questions or with Dull Debates. We have had enough of Measures, and of Motions, we, "Ayes" to starboard, "Noes" to larboard (in the language of the sea), Where the wallowing SEYMORE spouted like a whale, and COBB made free. Let us take our solemn davy, TOBY, for a space (Punch perceives complete approval in that doggish face)-- Let us take our davy, TOBY--_for a time_, now mind!-- In this briny Lotos Land to live and lie reclined, On the sands like chums together, careless of mankind!
[_Sleeps._
* * * * *
[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S ANTI-LABOUR CONGRESS.]
* * * * *
SOME CIRCULAR NOTES.

CHAPTER II
.
_ON TOUR--RESTAURATION--METHOD--RAPID ACT--PATRIOTISM--CHORUS--DINNER--FORWARDS--ENTRéE--EXIT--DESTINATION._
With DAUBINET I soon acquire the careless habit of speaking any French that comes into my head, irrespective of grammar, genders, or idioms. If he doesn't understand it in French he will do so in English, or _vice versa_. On this mutual comprehension system we get along as easily as the express does, and as easily as the boat does too, to-day,--for we are in luck, the weather is delicious and the sea propitious,--and so we arrive hungry and happy at the excellent buffet at the Calais Station, the praises of which I have sung more than once in my lifetime.
[Illustration]
Far be it from me to draw comparisons, but I if want to start well and wisely for the Continong, give me the short sea-passage _via_ Dover and the excellent restauration at Calais, with a good twenty-five minutes allowed for refreshment; _though why this interval shouldn't be extended to three-quarters of an hour, and less time occupied on the journey to Paris, I have never yet been able to ascertain._ In the not very dim and distant future no doubt it will be so. I record the above observation in italics, in order to attract the attention of all whom it may and does and ought to concern. Perhaps they'll kindly see to it.
Our _déjeuner_ at Calais is as good as it usually is at that haven of Restauration. After the buffeting of the waves, how sweet is the buffet of the shore. I sit down at once, as an old Continental-travelling hand, tell the waiter immediately what I am going to take, and forthwith it is brought; then, in advance, I command the coffee, and have my French money all ready in an outside-pocket, so that there shall be no unnecessary delay. All station-feeding is a fearsome pastime. You are never quite sure of the trains, and you never quite trust the waiter's most solemn asseveration