having a stuffy machine. They are much pleased with the delicate little
attention indicated above!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A QUIET DRIVE BY THE SEA
A Brighton bath-chairman's idea of a suitable route for an invalid lady]
* * * * *
A SEASIDE ROUNDEL
On the sands as loitering I stand
Where my point of view the scene commands,
I survey the prospect fair and grand
On the sands.
Niggers, half a dozen German bands,
Photographic touts, persistent, bland,
Chiromancers reading dirty hands,
Nursemaids, children, preachers, skiffs that land
Trippers with cigars of fearful brands,
Donkeys--everything, in short, but sand--
On the sands.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LETTER BUT NOT THE SPIRIT
Old Mr. de Cramwell, being bilious and out of sorts, is ordered to go to
the sea, and take plenty of exercise in the open air. (He begins at
once.)]
* * * * *
COMMON OBJECTS OF THE SEASHORE.
[Illustration: TAKING A ROW]
The "disguised minstrel", believed by the public to be a peer of the
realm collecting coin for a charity, but who is in reality the
sentimental singer from a perambulating troop of nigger banjoists,
"working on his own."
The preacher whose appreciation of the value of logic and the aspirate
is on a par.
The intensely military young man whose occupation during eleven months
in the year is the keeping of ledgers in a small city office.
The artist who guarantees a pleasing group of lovers for sixpence, frame
included.
The band that consists of a cornet, a trombone, a clarionet, some bass,
and a big drum, which is quite as effective (thanks to the trombone)
when all the principals have deserted in search of coppers.
And last (and commonest of all) the cockney who, after a week's
experience of the discomforts of the seaside, is weary of them, and
wants to go home.
* * * * *
A WINDY CORNER AT BRIGHTON
(_By an Impressionist_)
Old lady first, with hair like winter snows,
Makes moan.
And struggles. Then, with cheeks too richly rose,
A crone,
Gold hair, new teeth, white powder on her nose;
All bone
And skin; an "Ancient Mystery", like those
Of Hone.
Then comes a girl; sweet face that freshly glows!
Well grown.
The neat cloth gown her supple figure shows
Now thrown
In lines of beauty. Last, in graceless pose,
Half prone,
A luckless lout, caught by the blast, one knows
His tone
Means oaths; his hat, straight as fly crows,
Has flown.
I laugh at him, and----Hi! By Jove, there goes
My own!
* * * * *
ON THE SANDS
(_A Sketch at Margate_)
_Close under the Parade wall a large circle has been formed,
consisting chiefly of Women on chairs and camp-stools, with an
inner ring of small Children, who are all patiently awaiting the
arrival of a troupe of Niggers. At the head of one of the flights
of steps leading up to the Parade, a small and shrewish Child-nurse
is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger
Brothers, who have given her the slip._
_Sarah_ (_to herself_). Wherever can them two plegs have got to?
(_Aloud; drawing a bow at a venture._) Albert! 'Enery! Come up 'ere this
minnit. _I_ see yer!
_'Enery_ (_under the steps--to Albert_). I say--d'ye think she
_do_?--'cos if----
_Albert._ Not she! Set tight.
[_They sit tight._
_Sarah_ (_as before_). 'Enery! Albert! You've bin and 'alf killed little
Georgie between yer!
_'Enery_ (_moved, to Albert_). Did you 'ear that, Bert? It wasn't _me_
upset him--was it now?
_Albert_ (_impenitent_). 'Oo cares? The Niggers'll be back direckly.
_Sarah._ Al-bert! 'Enery! Your father's bin down 'ere once after you.
You'll _ketch_ it!
_Albert_ (_sotto voce_). Not till father ketches _us_, we shan't. Keep
still, 'Enery--we're all right under 'ere!
_Sarah_ (_more diplomatically_). 'Enery! Albert! Father's bin and left a
'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want it,
why, stay where you are, that's all!
_Albert_ (_to 'Enery_). I _knoo_ we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin'
up to git that 'ap'ny, I am.
_'Enery._ So 'm I.
[_They emerge, and ascend the steps--to be pounced upon immediately by
the ingenious Sarah._
_Sarah._ 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence _'ere_, I can tell
yer--so jest you come along 'ome with me!
[_Exeunt Albert and 'Enery, in captivity, as the Niggers enter the
circle._
_Bones._ We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual
Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent.
Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal?
(_The Children giggle, but remain seated._) Not one? Now I arsk
_you_--What _is_ the use o' me comin' 'ere throwin' away thousands and
thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the trouble to
stand up and sing for them? Oh, you'll make me so wild, I shall begin
spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly--I _know_ I shall! (_A little Girl in
a sun-bonnet comes forward._) Ah, 'ere's a young lady who's bustin' with
melody, _I_ can see. Your name, my dear? Ladies and Gentlemen, I have
the pleasure to announce that Miss Connie Cockle will now appear. Don't
curtsey till the Orchestra gives the chord. (_Chord from the
harmonium--the Child advances, and curtsies with much aplomb._) Oh, lor!
call _that_ a curtsey--that's a _cramp_, that is! Do it all over again!
(_The Child obeys, disconcerted._) That's _worse_! I can see the s'rimps
blushin' for yer inside their paper bags! Now see Me do it. (_Bones
executes a caricature of a curtsey, which the little Girl copies with
terrible fidelity._) That's _ladylike_--that's genteel. Now sing _out_!
(_The Child sings the first verse of a popular music-hall song, in a
squeaky little voice._) Talk about nightingales! Come 'ere, and receive
the reward for extinguished incapacity. On your knees! (_The little Girl
kneels before him while a tin medal is fastened upon her frock._) Rise,
Sir Connie Cockle! Oh, you _lucky_ girl!
[_The Child returns, swelling with triumph, to her companions,
several of whom come out, and go through the same performance, with
more or less squeakiness and self-possession._
_First Admiring Matron_ (_in audience_). I do like to see the children
kep' out o' mischief like this, instead o' goin' paddling and messing
about the sands!
_Second Ad. Mat._ Just what _I_ say, my dear--they're amused and
edjucated 'ow to beyave at the same time!
_First Politician_ (_with the "Standard"_). No, but look here--when
Gladstone was asked in the House whether he proposed to give the Dublin
Parliament the control of the police, what was his answer. Why....
_The Niggers_ (_striking up chorus_). "'Rum-tumty diddly-umty
doodah-dey! Rum-tumty-diddly-um was all that he could
say. And the Members and the Speaker joined together
in the lay. Of 'Rum-tumty-diddly-umty doodah-dey!'"
_Second Pol._ (_with the "Star"_). Well, and what more would you have
_'ad_ him say? Come, now!
_Alf_ (_who has had quite enough ale at dinner--to his fiancee_). These
Niggers ain't up to much Loo. Can't sing for _nuts_!
_Chorley_ (_his friend, perfidiously_). You'd better go in and show 'em
how, old man. Me and Miss Serge'll stay and see you take the shine out
of 'em!
_Alf._ P'raps you think I can't. But, if I was to go upon the 'Alls now,
I should make my fortune in no time! Loo's 'eard me when I've been in
form, and she'll tell you----
_Miss Serge._ Well, I will say there's
many a professional might learn a lesson from Alf--whether Mr. Perkins
believes it or not.
[_Cuttingly, to "Chorley"._
_Chorley._ Now reelly, Miss Loo, don't come down on a feller like that.
I want to see him do you credit, that's all, and he couldn't 'ave a
better opportunity to distinguish himself--now _could_ he?
_Miss Serge._ _I'm_ not preventing him. But I don't know--these Niggers
keep themselves very select, and they might object to it.
_Alf._ I'll soon square _them_. You keep your eye on me, and I'll make
things a bit livelier!
[_He enters the circle._
_Miss Serge_ (_admiringly_). He has got a cheek, I must say! Look at
him, dancing there along with those two Niggers--they don't hardly know
what to make of him yet!
_Chorley._ Do you notice how they keep kicking him beyind on the sly
like? I wonder he puts up with it!
_Miss S._ He'll be even with them presently--you see if he isn't.
[_Alf attempts to twirl a tambourine on his finger, and lets it
fall; derision from audience; Bones pats him on the head and takes
the tambourine away--at which Alf only smiles feebly._
_Chorley._ It's a pity he gets so 'ot dancing, and he don't seem to keep
in step with the others.
_Miss S._ (_secretly disappointed_). He isn't used to doing the
double-shuffle on sand, that's all.
_The Conductor._ Bones, I observe we have a recent addition to our
company. Perhaps he'll favour us with a solo. (_Aside to Bones._) 'Oo
_is_ he? 'Oo let him in 'ere--_you_?
_Bones._ _I_ dunno. I thought _you_ did. Ain't he stood nothing?
_Conductor._ Not a brass farden!
_Bones_ (_outraged_). All right, you leave him to me. (_To Alf._) Kin it
be? That necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! You
are--you _are_ my long-lost convick son, 'ome from Portland! Come to
these legs! (_He embraces Alf, and smothers him with kisses._) Oh,
you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion--you
_dirty_ boy! (_He playfully "bashes" Alf's hat in._) Now show the
comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (_Alf attempts a music-hall ditty, in
which he, not unnaturally, breaks down._) It ain't my son's fault,
Ladies and Gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at
him and makin' him shy! (_To a small Child, severely._) You oughter know
_worse_, you ought! (_Clumps of seaweed and paper-balls are thrown at
Alf who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish._) Oh, what
a popilar fav'rite he is, to be sure!
_Chorley_ (_to Miss S._). Poor fellow, he ain't no match for those
Niggers--not like he is now! Hadn't I better go to the rescue, Miss Loo?
_Miss S._ (_pettishly_). I'm sure I don't care _what_ you do.
[_"Chorley" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the
unfortunate Alf._
_Alf_ (_rejoining his fiancee with a grimy face, a smashed hat, and a
pathetic attempt at a grin_). Well? I _done_ it, you see!
_Miss S._ (_crushingly_). Yes, you _have_ done it! And the best thing
you can do now, is to go home and wash your face. _I_ don't care to be
seen about with a _laughing-stock_, I can assure you! I've had my
dignity lowered quite enough as it is!
_Alf._ But look 'ere, my dear girl, I can't leave you here all by
yourself you know!
_Miss S._ I dare say Mr. Perkins will take care of me.
[_Mr. P. assents, with effusion._
_Alf_ (_watching them move away--with bitterness_). I wish all Niggers
were put down by Act of Parliament, I do! Downright noosances--that's
what _they_ are!
* * * * *
[Illustration: STOPPING AT A WATERING PLACE]
* * * * *
[Illustration: EAST-BORN]
* * * * *
[Illustration: WEST-BORN]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: TAKING IN SAIL]
* * * * *
DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS.--_Young Housekeeper._ "I'm afraid those soles I
bought of you yesterday were not fresh. My husband said they were not
nice at all!"
_Brighton Fisherman._ "Well, marm, that be your fault--it bean't mine.
I've offered 'em yer every day this week, and you might a' 'ad 'em o'
Monday if you'd a loiked!"
* * * * *
AT MARGATE.--_Angelina_ (_very poetical, surveying the rolling ocean_).
"Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink."
_Edwin_ (_very practical_). No drink! Now, hang it all, Angy, if I've
asked you once I've asked you three times within the last five minutes
to come and do a split soda and whiskey! And _I_ can do with it!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LAST DAY AT THE SEASIDE--PACKING UP
_Maid_ (_to Paterfamilias_). "Please, sir, missus say you're to come in,
and sit on the boxes; because we can't get 'em to, and they wants to be
corded."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The General._ "And what are you going to be when you
grow up, young man?"
_Bobbie._ "Well, I can't quite make up my mind. I don't know which would
be nicest--a soldier, like you, or a sailor, like Mr. Smithers."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THEM ARTISES!"
_Lady Artist._ "Do you belong to that ship over there?"
_Sailor._ "Yes, miss."
_Lady Artist._ "Then would you mind loosening all those ropes? They are
much too tight, and, besides, I can't draw straight lines!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE DISORDER OF THE BATH]
How Belinda Brown appeared with "waves all over her hair" before taking
a bath in the sea--and
How she looked after having some more "waves all over it."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CAUTION TO BATHERS
Don't let them jolt you up the beach till you are dressed.
_Jones_ (_obliged to hold fast_). "Hullo! Hi! Somebody stop my boots!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A FIX
_Separated husband._ "Fetch him out, sir!"
_Proprietor of moke._ "Why, if I went near her, she'd lie down; she
always goes in just before high water; nothing'll fetch her out till the
tide turns!"]
* * * * *
THE HUSBANDS' BOAT, A MARGATE MELODY
See! what craft Margate Harbour displays,
There are luggers and cutters and yawls,
They sail upon sunshiny days,
For land-sailors arn't partial to squalls.
There's Paterfamilias takes out the lot
Of the progeny he may own,
But the Saturday Evening boat has got
A freight that is hers alone.
By far the most precious of craft afloat,
Is the Saturday Evening "Husbands' Boat".
There are husbands with luggage, and husbands with none,
There are husbands with parcels in hand,
They bring down to wives whom they lately have won,
Who pretty attentions command.
There are husbands who know whate'er time it may be
Their wives on the jetty will wait
For that Hymeneal argosy,
With its matrimonial freight.
Oh! the most precious of craft afloat
Is the Saturday Evening "Husbands' Boat".
But the Monday Morning is "Monday black",
That when at school we knew,
For the husbands to business must all go back,
And the wives look monstrous blue;
So loud the bell rings, and the steamer starts
On her way to Thames Haven again,
And amid those who leave are as many sad hearts,
As there are amid those who remain.
Coming or going of craft afloat,
The most prized one is the "Husbands' Boat".
* * * * *
[Illustration: FINIS!
(THE END OF THE SEASON.)]
* * * * *
[Illustration: FINIS]
* * * * *
BRADBURY, AGNEW & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.