Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, June 11, 1892

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102, June 11, 1892, by Various, Edited by F. C. Burnand

In the Place Verte. — The traveller, according to Bædeker , should at once direct his steps to the Cathedral. Not going to be bullied by Bædeker ! Shall assert my independence by directing steps somewhere else first. Carillon tinkling fitfully up in tower. Like an elderly ghost with failing memory, trying to play every tune she ever knew all at once on a cracked, old spinnet. Fancy I detect fragment of The Heavens are Telling , tripped up by the Old Hundredth , and falling over Haydn's Surprise . Ghost tries back, and just as she seems about to arrive at something definite—suddenly gives it up as hopeless. To Church of St. Paulus, to see the Calvary. Small but highly intelligent Belgian Boy, who speaks English, insists on volunteering services. (Why aren't our street-boys taught French and German in Board Schools?—make all the difference to foreigners in London.) Boy takes me up avenue of heroic-sized scriptural statues, introduces me to Moïse, Dahvit mit de 'arp, and others. Kind of him—but I wish he would go. Offer him twopence. Boy declines with indignation. Young Belgium evidently high-minded and sensitive. He informs me that, in a certain church he refers to as Sin Yack, there are RUBENS' peecture—moch fine, and plainly proposes to conduct me thither. Mustn't hurt his feelings again—so accept. Boy clumps on ahead, down alleys, and through back-streets, and round corners, looking round severely at intervals to see that I am not giving him the slip. Nice friendly little fellow—but despotic. Don't seem to be much nearer; Sin Yack evidently a saint of retiring disposition.... At last. Boy points him out triumphantly. Thank him, with apologies for taking him so much out of his way. Boy demands two francs. Hint, as delicately as possible, that I consider this estimate of the value of his time and society somewhat high. Boy peremptory. Give him fifty centimes. Boy abusive; follows me with uncomplimentary remarks. I can not go about Antwerp all day with a hostile boy harassing my rear like this! So undignified. However, shall find sanctuary with Sin Yack. Every door closed. Boy at a distance—chuckling, I am afraid. Shall walk on—not hurrying , but briskly. Boy gone at last—thank goodness!—with Parthian yelp of Rosbif!