AT A CATTLE MARKET

An Autumn Reminiscence

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.

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 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.

[Persuasively, to a passer-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 Leicestershire '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 space). 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 shellin' 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.

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!"

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!"

THE NEW SQUIRE

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

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

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'!"

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?

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 on it.

[They go off to dine at the ordinary, with a sense that matters might be worse.

Jones, who can't sleep well in London during the hot weather, goes to have a quiet night in a village!

[Portrait of one of the village Cochins, &c.

Education.—Squire. "Hobson, they tell me you've taken your boy away from the National School. What's that for?" Villager. "'Cause the master ain't fit to teach un!" Squire. "O, I've heard he's a very good master." Villager. "Well, all I knows is, he wanted to teach my boy to spell ''taters' with a 'p'!!!"

Compliments of the Season.—Farmer's Wife (to little rustic, her protégè). "Well, Sam, your master and I are going up to London for the cattle show."

Cow Boy. "Oh, I'm sure I hope yeou'll take the fust prize, 'm—that I dew!"

"In the Long Run."—Town Gent. "Now do you find keeping poultry answers?" Country Gent (lately retired). "O, 'es, s'posed to answer. Y' see there's the original cost of the fowls—'f course the food goes down to me, y' know. Well, then, I purchase the eggs from the children, and they eat them!!!"

"ONLY TWO FEET AT THE WINDOW"

(Old song adapted)

Milkman (aghast, anxiously). "Hullo! Wot's that?"

Old Woman. "Hish! Our lodger, just come. Open-air cure!"

Agricultural.—The poorest farmer in the land, if unable to feed his calves, can always graze his shins.

At the Cattle Show.—- Young Farmer. "Are you fond of beasts, Miss Gusherton?"

Miss Gusherton. "Oh, really, Mr. Pawker, if you mean that as a declaration, you must speak to mamma!"

Rector. "Why, doctor, where are you off to? I thought the meet was down at the cross roads."

Doctor. "Well, the fact is, I've got a patient up here that I must see, and the hounds are certain to come this way."

Rector. "I see. Killing two birds with one stone, eh?"

Short-sighted Old Gentleman. "Excuse me, but I think you've dropped one of your parcels!"

"Opposition."—First Town Councillor (who had recently been to Venice). "Now that we've a people's park, and a lake in it, I should suggest that half a dozen gondolas might be purchased, as they'd give quite a——" Second Ditto (untravelled). "Oh, I don't see the good of havin' any more o' them foreign birds! We've plenty of ducks an' geese already! 't any rate a pair would be enough to breed from. As to 'alf a dozen, I consider it'd be a waste o' public money, an' I'll oppose it tooth and——" [They don't part friends.

The Squire. "I don't seem to know your face, my man. Do you live about here?"

Old Rustic. "Yes, sir. But, yer see, I ain't often at the public-'ouse!"

First Doubtful Character. "This yer's all 'umbug about a thief not bein' able to look a honest man in the heye."

Second Doubtful Character. "Well, if 'e can't, 'e can punch 'im in the heye!"

LITTLE AND GOOD

Gentleman. "Who do these pigs belong to, boy?"

'Chaw.' "Why, this 'ere owd zow."

Gentleman. "Yes, yes; but I mean who's their master?"

'Chaw.' "Why, that there little 'un; he's a varmun to foight!"

TRUE POLITENESS

(Another incident at a Tenants' Ball)

Daughter of the house (dishevelled and torn after one turn round the room with clumsy partner). "Do you mind very much, Mr. Quickstep, if we sit out the rest of it?"

Mr. Quickstep. "Jest as you like, miss. I'm only a-dancin' for your pleasure!"

Miss Marjorie. "And how is your son James getting on, Mr. Giles?"

Giles (whose son has gone to London "in service"). "Well, to tell ye the truth, Miss Marji, Oi'm very troubled about 'im. Oi 'ad a letter last week, an' 'e says that 'e's livin' in a buildin' with 'undreds of people in it, an' it's three or fowr 'ouses one on top o' t'other. 'E says there's a railway carriage without an ingin' that goes up the middle o' th' buildin', an' the lights is all in bottles, an' you turns 'em on with a tap without usin' a loocifer, an'——"

Miss Marjorie. "But why are you troubled about James?"

Giles. "Aye, Oi fear 'e must 'a took to drink, miss!"

Sympathy.—Giles (ruefully). "Villiam, I've been an' gone an' 'listed!"

William. "Lor'! 'ave yer, though? Got the shillin'?"

Giles. "Yes."

William. "Well, then, let's go an' 'ave a glass at the 'Barley-Mow.' Don't let's be down'earted!"

Quite a Different Thing.—Vicar's Wife. "Well, Mrs. Bloggs, I'm glad to hear your husband has given up drinking. I hope he's all the better for it?" Mrs. Bloggs. "Oh, yes, 'm, that he be. Why, ever since 'e took the pledge, he's been more like a friend than a husband!"

Scene.—A Country Drawing-Room.

Visitor (to old lady and daughters, one of whose hobbies is the keeping of a small herd of Jerseys). "By the way, I didn't see you at our local agricultural show."

Daughter. "Oh, no! We never go unless we exhibit ourselves."

A Slight mistake.—Farmer. "Where 'ave ye been all this time? And where's the old mare—didn't ye have her shod as I told ye?" Jarge. "Shod! Law, no, marster. I bin a buryin' she! Didn't I think thee said 'shot'!"