COUNTRY LIFE

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch," from its beginning in 1841 to the present day.

MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE

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Brown's Country House.—Brown (who takes a friend home to see his new purchase, and strikes a light to show it). "Confound it, the beastly thing's stopped!"

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MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE

HUMOURS OF OUR RUSTICS

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

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The Punch Library of Humour

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ON RUSTIC HUMOUR

Than the compilation of such a series of books as that which includes the present volume there could surely be no more engaging occupation for one who delights to look on the humorous side of life. The editor feels that if his readers derive as much enjoyment from the result of his labours as these labours have afforded him he may reasonably congratulate them! He has found himself many times over, as a book has taken shape from his gatherings in the treasure house of Mr. Punch, saying "This is the best of the lot"—and usually he has been right. There is none but is "the best!" There may be one that is not quite so good as the other twenty-four; but wild horses would not drag the name of that one from the editor. He feels, however, that in illustrating the humours of country life Mr. Punch has risen to the very summit of his genius. There is, of course, good reason for this, as it is notorious that the richest humour is to be found in the lowly[Pg 6] walks of life, and flourishes chiefly in rustic places where folks are simple and character

has been allowed to grow with something of that individuality we find in the untouched products of Nature. Your true humorist has always been in quick sympathy with the humblest of his fellow men. In the village worthy, in poor blundering Hodge, in the rough but kindly country doctor, the picturesque tramp, the droning country parson, the inept curate, the village glee singers, and such like familiar figures of rural England, the humorist has never failed to find that "source of innocent merriment" he might seek for vainly in more exalted ranks of our complex society. But he seeks among the country folk because his heart is there. The very best of Mr. Punch's humorists of the pencil, Charles Keene and Phil May in the past, and Mr. Raven-Hill and Mr. C. E. Brock to-day, have given more consideration to the country ways of life than to any other, and hence the exceeding richness of the present volume. It is thus in no sense a comic picture of Mr. Punch's notions of how the so-called country life is attempted by the townsman—one of the

most notable features of our present social conditions—but is, in effect, a refreshing breath of genuine rustic humour, kindly, whole-hearted, and "racy of the soil."

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MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE

THE AGRICULTURAL OUTLOOK

The Connoisseurs.—Groom. "Whew's Beer do you like best—this 'ere hom'brewed o' Fisk's, or that there ale they gives yer at the White Ho's'?"

Keeper (critically). "Well, o' the tew I prefers this 'ere. That there o' Wum'oods's don't fare to me to taste o' nawthun at all. Now this 'ere dew taste o' the cask!!"

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THE LANGUAGE OF FRUITS

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Land and Water.—Prospective Purchaser (arrived from town to see the locality as advertised some three weeks ago. He has not heard of the recent floods in this part of the country). "Look here. Are you selling this property by the yard or by the pint?"

[Pg 10]

A Country Sell.—Native Joker (dissembling). It's been very fine here for the last week.

Tourist (who has been kept in by the showers, indignantly). What's been very fine here?

Native. The rain. Very fine rain.

[Exit Native Joker, hurriedly.

"The Best of It."—First Gentleman Farmer. "Why, there goes that artful rogue, Billy Giles! Is he at his old tricks still?"

Second Ditto. "He has cheated everybody down about here, sir, except me! He tried it on this winter, but I was too clever for him! Sold me a cow, and—(triumphantly)—I made him take it back at half-price!!"

A CRY FROM KENT.

Prosperity's fled from our gardens and grounds;

How spindly our bines and how scanty our crops!

Wealth may be "advancing by leaps and by bounds,"

It certainly isn't by hops!

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First Tramp (to second ditto). "That's a stylish sort of dawg you're a-wearin'!"

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ENCOURAGING

Curate (who wishes to encourage local industry). "Well, Adams, how are you getting on with my watch?"

Adams. "Why, it be nigh finished now, zur, an' 'e do zeem to go mortal well, but dang me, if there bain't a wheel as I can't find a place vor summow!"

"I'm sorry to hear you've been ailing again, John. I must send you down something from the Rectory. How would you like some soup?"

"Thanky kindly, mum—but I bain't so terr'ble wrapped up in soup!"

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Convivial Party. "I shay, ole f'ller, how long doesh it take to gerout of thish wood?"

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Doctor. "Well, you got those leeches I sent for your husband, Mrs. Giles?"

Mrs. Giles. "Yes, zur; but what on earth be the good o' sending they little things vor a girt big chap like he? I jes' took an' clapped a ferret on 'un!"

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Hotel-keeper (who has let his "Assembly Room" for a concert). "Well, sir, I 'ope you found the arrangements in the 'all satisfactory last night?"

Mr. Bawlington. "Oh, yes; everything was all right. There was only one thing to object to. I found the acoustics of the building not quite——"

Hotel-keeper. "No, sir; excuse me. What you smelt was the stables next door!"

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Giles. "I be got up here, mister, but I don't zee 'ow ever I be goin' to get down."

Farmer. "Thee zhut thee eyes an' walk about a bit, an' thee'll zoon get down!"

An Old Offender.—Country Gentleman (eyeing his Gardener suspiciously). "Dear, dear me, Jeffries, this is too bad! After what I said to you yesterday, I didn't think to find you——"

Gardener. "You can't shay—(hic)—I wash drunk yesht'day, sh——!"

Country Gentleman (sternly). "Are you sober this morning, sir?"

Gardener. "I'm—shlightly shober, shir!!"

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Qualified Admiration.—Country Vicar. "Well, John, what do you think of London?" Yokel. "Lor' bless yer, sir, it'll be a fine place when it's finished!"

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Squire's Daughter. "Do you think it is quite healthy to keep your pigs so close to the cottage?"

Hodge. "I dunno, miss. Noan of they pigs ain't ever been ill!"

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VERJUICE!

Farmer's Wife (whose beer is of the smallest). "Why, you hevn't drunk half of it, Mas'r Gearge!"

Peasant (politely). "Thanky', mu'm—all the same, mu'm. But I bean't so thusty as I thought I wor, mu'm!!"

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OUR VILLAGE

Nephew (on a visit to the "Old Country"). "Ah, uncle, in Canada we don't do our hay-makin' in this 'ere old-fashioned way."

Uncle. "Why, you bean't never goin' to tell I as you've bin an' turned teetotal?"

Reciprocity.—Parson. "I have missed you from your pew of late, Mr. Stubbings——"

Farmer (apologetically). "Well, sir, I hev' been to meet'n' lately, but—y' see, sir, the Reverend Mr. Scowles o' the chapel, he bought some pigs o' me, and I thought I ought to gi' 'm a tarn!"

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Doctor. "Well, Mrs. Muggeridge, how are you getting on? Taken the medicine, eh?" Mrs. M. "Yes, doctor. I've taken all the tabloids you sent, and now I want a new persecution."

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On a Footing.—Almost every considerable town has a market for corn; therefore, it is but fit that Bedford Market-place should have its Bunyan.

Soundings!—(The living down at our village falling vacant, Lord Pavondale left it to the parish to choose the new rector.)

Influential Parishioner. "Then am I to understand, Mr. Maniple, that you object to bury a Dissenter?"

The Rev. Mr. Maniple (one of the competitors). "Oh, dear me, no, Mr. Jinks; quite the contrary!"

Visitor. "My good man, you keep your pigs much too near the house."

Cottager. "That's just what the doctor said, mum. But I don't see how it's agoin' to hurt 'em!"

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A QUIET VILLAGE

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A WET DIARY

January.—Buy a house in the Midland Counties. Put a housekeeper in it to look after it.

February.—Housekeeper writes to say that, owing to the floods, the neighbourhood is very damp and unhealthy.

March.—Housekeeper writes to say that the garden is under water.

April.—Housekeeper writes to say that there is two foot of water in the drawing-room, and that the furniture is floating about.

May.—Housekeeper writes to say that eighty feet of the garden wall has been washed away.

June.—Housekeeper writes to say that the two horses, one cow, and four pigs are drowned.

July.—Go and stop in the house myself.

August.—Escape from the bedroom windows in a boat.

September.—In bed with rheumatic fever.

October.—Housekeeper writes to say that the floods are out worse than ever.

November.—Somebody writes to say that the housekeeper has been drowned.

December.—Will try and sell house in the Midland Counties.

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Our Curate (who is going to describe to us his little holiday in lovely Lucerne). "My dear friends—I will not call you 'ladies and gentlemen,' since I know you too well——"

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First Tramp. "Says in this 'ere paper as 'ow some of them millionaires works eight and ten hours a day, Bill."

The Philosopher. "Ah, it's a 'ard world for some poor blokes!"

A Real Convert.—Local Preacher (giving an account to the vicar of the parish of a dispute he has had with the leading lights of his sect). "Yes, sir, after treatment the likes o' that, I says to 'em, 'For the future,' says I, 'I chucks up all religion, and I goes to Church!'"

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The Humours of House Hunting.—Lady. "Very healthy place, is it? Have you any idea what the death-rate is here?" Caretaker. "Well, mum, I can't 'xactly zay; but it's about one apiece all round."

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OVERHEARD AT A COUNTRY FAIR

"'Ere y' are! All the jolly fun! Lidies' tormentors two a penny!"

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NOT QUITE HER MEANING

The Vicar's Daughter. "I'm glad to find you've turned over a new leaf, Muggles, and don't waste your money at the public-house."

Muggles. "Yes, miss, I have it in by the barrel now, and that do come cheaper!"

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TOWN THOUGHTS FROM THE COUNTRY

Oh, to be in London now that April's there,

And whoever walks in London sees, some morning in the square,

That the upper thousands have come to town,

To the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown,

While the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow

In London—now!

And after April, when May follows

And the black-coats come and go like swallows!

Mark, where yon fairy blossom in the Row

Leans to the rails, and canters on in clover,

Blushing and drooping, with her head bent low!

That's the wise child: she makes him ask twice over,

Lest he should think she views with too much rapture

Her first fine wealthy capture!

But,—though her path looks smooth, and though, alack!

All will be gay, till Time has painted black

The Marigold, her mother's chosen flower,—

Far brighter is my Heartsease, Love's own dower.

Mrs. Ramsbotham is staying with her niece in the country. She is much delighted with the rich colour of the spring bulbs, and says she at last understands the meaning of "as rich as Crocus."

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His Bitter Half.—John. "Drink 'earty, Maria. Drink werry nigh 'arf."

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HORTICULTURAL CUTTINGS

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A Conundrum to fill up a Gap in the Conversation.—Why is a person older than yourself like food for cattle?

Because he's past your age (pasturage).

Everything comes to the Man who waits.—Country Rector's Wife (engaging man-servant). And can you wait at dinner?

Man. Aw, yes, mum; I'm never that hoongry but I can wait till you've done.

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A QUESTION OF VESTED INTEREST

Vicar. "Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

Spokesman. "Please, sir, we be a deputation from farmers down Froglands parish, to ask you to pray for fine weather for t'arvest."

Vicar. "Why don't you ask your own Vicar?"

Spokesman. "Well, sir, we reckon 'e be'unt much good for this 'ere. 'E do be that fond of fishin'."

A Rustic Moralist.—Rector (going his rounds). "An uncommonly fine pig, Mr. Dibbles, I declare!"

Contemplative Villager. "Ah, yes, sir: if we was only, all of us, as fit to die as him, sir!!"

Query.—Has the want of rain this summer, and consequent failure of the hay crops, affected the market for Grass Widows?

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TRIALS OF A NOVICE

The Boy (to Brown, who has just taken a "little place" in the Country). "Plaze, zur, wot be I to start on?"

Brown. "Oh—er—er—let's see——Oh, confound it!—er—er—make a bonfire!"

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A Village Fiasco.—Gifted Amateur (concluding pet card trick). "Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have seen the pack of cards burnt before your eyes, and the ashes placed inside the box, which mysteriously transformed itself into a rabbit, which, in turn, disappeared into space. I will now ask this gentleman to name the card he selected, when it will at once appear in my hand. Now, sir, what card did you select from the pack?" Giles (who has been following the trick most intently). "Blessed if I recollect!"

[Pg 37]

AFTER THE FIRE

Rustic (to burnt-out Farmer). "We r—r—rescued the b—b—beer zur!"

[Pg 38]

LOCAL PECULIARITIES

At Bilston they always hit the right nail on the head.

At Bolton it is impossible for those who run up ticks to bolt off.

At Broadstairs the accommodation for stout visitors is unrivalled.

At Colchester they are all "natives."

At Coventry, strange to say, they can furnish no statistics of the number of persons who have been sent there.

At Kidderminster there is certain to be something fresh on the tapis.

At Liverpool they are extremely orthodocks.

If you write to Newcastle (Staffordshire) take care to under-Lyne the address.

At Newmarket they take particular interest in the question of races.

At Portsmouth everything is ship-shape.

At Rye you will meet none but Rye faces.

At Sheffield you will always find a knife and fork laid for you.

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"A GOOD WIT WILL MAKE USE OF ANYTHING"

Scene—A Pit Village. Time—Saturday Night.

Barber (to bibulous customer). "Now, sir, if you don't hold your head back, I can't shave you!"

Pitman. "A'well, hinney, just cut me hair!"

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What our Architect has to put up with.—Our Architect (Spotting Sixteenth Century gables). "That's an old bit of work, my friend!"

"Oi, sir, yeu be roight, theer, that you be!"

O. A. (keen for local tradition). "You don't know exactly how old, I suppose?"

"Well, noa, sir; but old it be! Whoi, I's knowed it myself these noine years!"

Our Village Industrial Competition.—Husband (just home from the City). "My angel!—crying!—Whatever's the matter?"

Wife. "They've—awarded me—prize medal"—(sobbing)—"f' my sponge cake!"

Husband (soothingly). "And I'm quite sure it deserv——"

Wife (hysterically). "Oh—but—'t said—'twas—for the best specimen—o' concrete!"

Our Choir-master (after lamentable failure on part of Pupil). "Confound it! I thought you said you could 'Read at sight'?"

Pupil. "So I can. But not first sight."

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OUR FÊTE

Village Worthy. "It ain't so bad for Slowcombe, mum; but, lor' bless 'ee! 'tain't nothing to what they 'ud do in London!"

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Village Doctor. "And what do you intend to make of this little man, Mrs. Brisket?"

Proud Mother. "Butcher, sir. 'E's bound to be a butcher. Why, 'e 's that fond o' animals, we can 'ardly keep 'im out o' the slaughter-'ouse!"

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Heaven helps those who help themselves.—

Doctor. "Well, John, how are you to-day?"

John. "Verra bad, verra bad. I wish Providence 'ud 'ave mussy on me an' take me!"

Wife. "'Ow can you expect it to if you won't take the doctor's physic?"

[Pg 44]

CONCLUSIVE

Lodger. "I detect rather a disagreeable smell in the house, Mrs. Jones. Are you sure the drains——"

Welsh Landlady. "Oh, it can't be the drains, sir, whatever. There are none, sir!!"

[Pg 45]

Yorkshire Farmer (who has laid a wager—to gentleman on weighing machine). "Will ye tell us how mooch ye weigh, mister?"

Gentleman. "Well, I'm seventeen stone seven."

Farmer. "What did a' tell ye, lads? A' couldn't be wrang, for a's t' best joodge o' swine in t' coontry!"

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