_From "The Monthly Club" of Sharpe's London Magazine_.
The buildings of Margate now became evident, and every minute developed
some new feature in the landscape; all the party abandoned their sitting
to enjoy the view. The curved pier painted pea green and covered with
Cockneys, now was disclosed to our eyes, and my old friend from Leicester
was again staggered into a profound silence, by being told that a row of
houses with a windmill at the end of it, was _Buenos Ayres_. I saw his
amazement, but he did not betray his ignorance in speech as the French
actress did, who was in London some years since, and when dining on the
Adelphi Terrace was shown Waterloo Bridge. After gazing at it, with a
degree of pathos, partly national and partly theatrical, she heaved a sigh
for the brave fellows who had perished in the neighbourhood, and feelingly
inquired whereabouts the farm of _Haye Saint_ was--this is literally a
fact and is vouched for--nor is the absence of geographical knowledge in
the natives of France, confined to the lady--she is by no means a solitary
instance of the most glorious ignorance of localities.--The Turks too,
talk of Ireland as a disorderly part of London; and an American, during
the last winter, lecturing in Germany, referring to the great improvements
which have recently taken place in England, enumerated, amongst other
stupendous works of art, the Menai Bridge, which he informed his hearers
united IRELAND with WALES.
As we approached the harbour we seemed to fly--the jetty and pier became
more and more crowded--it was evident we had created "an interest;" the
hurry and bustle on board appeared to increase as we neared the shore, and
the sudden tranquillization of the hubbub by the magical words, "stop her,"
of the master evidently excited a mingled feeling of wonder and
satisfaction in the breast of our Leicestershire companion, whose
countenance had previously indicated a strong suspicion that it was the
captain's intention to try the relative strength of our vessel's bow and
the nob end of Mr. Jarvis's jetty.
I never shall forget his delight as we tranquilly glided to the side of
the landing-place, nor his violent indignation when stepping out of the
boat in a pair of jockey boots, and selecting, what appeared to his
ruralized vision, a _verdant_ spot; his feet slid from under him, and he
got a fall unmodified in its disagreeable results by the excitement of the
sport so prevalent in his native country.
"Who built this fine stone affair?" said R----, pointing to the pea-green
promenade on our right.
"The people of Margate," said some one.
"I thought nobody in England but the king could make a _pier_," said R----.
"Come, come," cried B----, "let us be grave for a minute or two; we look
more like a parcel of boys landing than a grave and learned body."
"Youth is the time for punning," said R----.
"It is no great crime when one is older," said B----.
"That I deny," answered our wag; "it may be good in _youth_, but it is
_bad in age._"
The groan which followed this last pun of the voyage reechoed along the
shore, and it was not until we reached Howe's hotel, a sort of Bath York
House stuck in the middle of Golden Square, London, that the tumult died
away.
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