G. the G. The soil of Jersey is remarkably productive; if you plant a sixpence, it will come up a shilling in no time. The cabbages on this island grow to an extraordinary height, frequently attaining twenty feet—(outcry)—yes, if you measure up one side, and down the other. (They pass a couple of sheep on a slope.) The finest flock of sheep in the island. The dark one is not black, only a little sunburnt. The house you see on that hill over there was formerly slept in by CHARLES THE SECOND. He left a pair of slippers behind him—which have since grown into top-boots. There you see the only windmill in this part of the island—there used to be three, but it was found there was not enough wind for them all. From here you have a clear view of the coast of France; and, when the wind is blowing in this direction, you have an excellent opportunity of acquiring the French accent in all its purity. (This string of somewhat hoary chestnuts meets with a success beyond their intrinsic merits, the Morose Man being as much entertained as anybody.) On your right is an inland lake of fresh water—
The Muzzy Man (waking up with sudden interest). Can you drink it with perfect impunity?
G. the G. Depends how far you are accustomed to it as a beverage, Sir. (The car stops at an hotel.) We stop here two hours, Ladies and Gentlemen, to enable you to lunch, and examine the caves afterwards. You can leave anything you like on the cars except five-pound notes—and they might get blown away!
On the Way Home.
The Shopkeeper's Wife (to her Husband). Ah, TOM, it's just as well you stayed behind—you'd never have got through those caves! You wouldn't believe I could ha' done it unless you'd seen me—clambering down iron ladders, and jumping on to rocks, and squeezing through tunnels, and then up a cliff like the side of a house. I do wish you could ha' seen me, TOM!
Tom (philosophically). Ah, well, I was very comfortable where I was, settin' in the hotel room there, smoking my pipe. GREEN the Guide gave us, "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep," in first-rate style—he is a singer, and no mistake!
His Wife. Lor, I wish I'd known he was going to sing—I'd ha' stayed too! But here he is, waiting by the road for us—I do hope he's going to sing again!
Green the G. (mounting the car). I fear I am an unwelcome visitor.
The Eld. G. (graciously). It would be the first time in your life then, GREEN!
G. the G. Well, the fact is, I come to levy a little contribution on behalf of myself and the Coachman. Times are hard, Gentlemen, and both of us have large families to support. If you don't believe me, ask the Coachman. (The Elderly G. explains that his wrappings prevent him from getting at his purse just then, while the others contribute with more or less readiness and liberality.) Many thanks. Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of myself and the Coachman, and to express my sense of your generosity, I will sing you the great Jersey National Song, composed by myself, before leaving. (He sings a ditty with the following spirited Chorus):—