Mr. Punch's Country Life Part 14

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE PITY O' IT!"

"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!"]

AT A CATTLE MARKET

AN AUTUMN REMINISCENCE

SCENE--_A large open s.p.a.ce 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._

BY THE PIG-PENS

_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.

_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!

[_The sow grunts complacently._

_'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 Berks.h.i.+re myself, but Suss.e.x 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 Suss.e.xes, 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.

[_Persuasively, to a pa.s.ser-by, who however appears to think he had much better not._

BY THE SHEEP-PENS

_Intending Purchaser_ (_to Seller_). What d'ye carl them yoes now?

Southdowns?

[_He fixes his eyes on the cathedral spire, and awaits the next move._

_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 Leicesters.h.i.+re 'ere, wawntin' me to run 'im off a dozen or so--fur his perrk, d'ye see?

_Int. Purch._ (_with unaffected incredulity_). Ah.

[_A protracted silence, employed by each in careful inspection of his boots._

_Seller_ (_addressing s.p.a.ce_). They're a tidy lot o' yoes.

_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 sh.e.l.lin' a yead for them yoes.

_Int. Purch._ Five-an'-twenty?

_Seller._ Ah, that's what _I_ wawnt.

[_A longer silence than ever._

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

[_After some further preliminaries of this kind the moment at length arrives at which a bargain can be struck without any suggestion of unbecoming haste on either side._

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE NEW SQUIRE

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