(_By Our Easter Eggsperimentalist._)
I have no hesitation in asserting that Lynton and Lynmouth are
frequently called the English Switzerland. I have seen such an
announcement made in the local Guide-books, and heard the opinion
adopted by many of the inhabitants. I am inclined to think that the name
is not a misnomer, for certainly the twin villages, with their miniature
manor-houses and cottage-like country-seats, are not unsuggestive of a
German box of toys. But there is very little of the foreigner in the
inhabitants. Rarely have I seen so much enthusiasm exhibited as on the
occasion of the opening of the Cliff Railway, an event which came off on
Easter Monday. The conveyance in question was suggestive of the
Switchback, or perhaps of the Swissback, when local surroundings are
taken into consideration. The inaugural programme was a long one. We had
a procession, with some eccentric mummers garbed as "Ancient Foresters,"
an opening ceremony, with a Royal salute, fired by three Coastguardsmen,
a banquet at the Valley of Rocks Hotel, life-boat exercise, and,
finally, a grand display of fireworks. I took part in every function. I
applauded the Ancient Foresters, in white beards and brown heads of
hair. I was the earliest to use the railway. I made a speech at the
banquet, I helped to man the life-boat, and, finally, I was the first to
cry "O-o-o-o-o-h!" at the initial rocket of the grand display. So I
think I may be allowed to say that I know something about the place and
its inhabitants. _Imprimis_, Lynton has an excellent hotel, in the shape
of the one to which I have already referred. Secondly, it has a great
benefactor in the person of worthy Mr. NEWNES, M. P., the genial and
clever Chairman of the Cliff Railway Company. Thirdly, the loveliness of
the scenery is greatly enhanced by the fact that practically there are
no residents (probably not half a dozen) in the neighbourhood. It is
true that there is a villa here and there, but none of them is large
enough in itself to spoil the effect of the rocks, the cascades, and the
mountain passes. I admit that when I went to Lynton I was under the
impression that I was going to take part in the inauguration of some
score miles of railway, opening out a new route to the Far West. That
this was an erroneous idea was more my fault than my misfortune. After
trying on foot an ascent from Lynmouth to Lynton, I came to the
conclusion that this line of railway was of far greater importance than
any other in existence. That the track was rather less than a thousand
feet, instead of being rather more than a million miles, I considered
merely a matter of detail. Should it be necessary some day to dispense
with the coach-journey from Barnstaple to Lynton--a journey which, on
account of the exercise in which the travellers are encouraged to
indulge on foot, must be of the greatest possible benefit to their
health--why then the railway could be extended from point to point. All
that would be required would be proportionately computed additional
capital. The formula would run as follows:--If 900 feet of railway from
Lynmouth to Lynton costs so much, 18 miles of railway from Lynton to
Barnstaple will cost so much more. The simplest thing in the world! And
with this practical suggestion for the future I conclude my report, with
the observation that the twin villages of Lynton and Lynmouth deserve
the greatest possible prosperity. Nature, represented by "Ragged Jack,"
the "Devil's Cheese Wring," and Watersmeet, is lovely beyond compare;
and Art could have no better illustration than that furnished by the
unsurpassed resources of the Valley of Rocks Hotel.
* * * * *
HUGHIE AND REGIE.--"On what sort of paper should a fellah who's awfully
gone on a gal, don'tcher-know, write to his mash, eh?" "Why--on--_papier
mashé_, of course." "Thanks awfully." (_Goes off to get some._)
* * * * *
"It's going to rain to-morrow," said Mrs. R., confidently--"I am sure of
it, because I always read Professor BEN NEVIS'S remarks in the _Times_.
What a clever man he is, and how useful!"
* * * * *
NOMENCLATURE.--Isn't it _the_ place _par excellence_ where umbrellas and
waterproofs are in request? If not, why call it, Hayling Island?
* * * * *
"IN THE KNOW."
(_By Mr. Punch's Prophet._)
The collapse of _Gasbag_ can have surprised no careful reader of these
columns. His public performances have been uniformly wretched, save and
except on the one occasion when he defeated _Ranunculus_ in the
Decennial Pedigree Stakes at Newmarket last year, and any fool could
have seen that _Ranunculus_ had an off hind fetlock as big as an
elephant's. That comes of training a good horse on Seidlitz powders and
bran-mash. The muddy-minded moon-calves who chatter in their usual
addle-pated fashion about the chances of _Jimjams_, ought to deceive
nobody now that their insane folly has been exposed by me for about the
thousandth time; but the general public is such a blathering
dunderheaded ass that it prefers to trust itself to the guidance of men
like Mr. JEREMY, who knows as much about a horse as he does about the
Thirty-nine Articles. If _Jimjams_, with 9 lbs. advantage and a thousand
sovereigns of added money, could only run a bad second to _Blue Ruin_,
who, on the following day, romped in from _The Ratcatcher_ in a common
canter,--_The Ratcatcher_ having simply spread-eagled _The Parson_ over
the old D. T. course, when the ground was as heavy as Rotten Row in
April,--how in the name of common sense can _Jimjams_ be expected to
show up against high-class yearlings like _Ballarat_ and _Tifftoff_ on
the Goodwin Sands, T. Y. C.? The whole thing is only another instance of
the hare-brained imbecility and downright puddling folly with which the
cackling herd will follow any brazen-headed nincompoop who sets up to
advise them on turf matters. _Jimjams_ has just as much chance of
winning this race as Mr. JEREMY has of being Archbishop of Canterbury.
_Verb. sap._ At any rate my readers will not be able to reproach me with
not warning them in time.
The latest rumour is that _Mrs. Grundy_ has gone lame after her trial
with _The Vicar_. As I always predicted her break-down, I cannot say I
am surprised, though I must own I should like to know what the
pestilential pantaloons think of themselves who have been for months
advising us to invest our money upon her. All BOOZING BILLY'S stock have
come to grief, sooner or later. I thought Lord SOFTED was a fool to give
£5,000 for such a mangy-coated weed as _Mrs. Grundy_. Now I know it.
Those who want a good thing ought to keep their eyes on _Toothpick_.
When he met _Pepperpot_, at a stone less than weight for age, with a
baby on his back, at Esher last year, the betting being then 20 to 7
against the _Harkaway_ filly, he showed what his true form was.
_Pepperpot_, of course, is a rank impostor, but a careful man might do
worse than put a spare threepenny-bit on _Toothpick_, who always runs
better in a snow-storm. As for _Dutchman_, everybody knows he's not a
flyer, and only a man whose brains are made of fish-sauce could
recommend him.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ANY EXCUSE BETTER THAN NONE.
_Cautious Customer._ "BUT IF HE'S A YOUNG HORSE, WHY DO HIS KNEES BEND
SO?"
_Dealer (reassuringly)._ "AH, SIR, THE POOR HANIMAL 'AS BEEN LIVING IN A
STABLE AS WAS TOO LOW FOR 'IM, AND 'ES 'AD TO STOOP!"]
* * * * *
"WANTED A WORD!"--Lord BURY wants a word to express electric action.
Anything Lord BURY deals with should be of grave import. Attempting to
find a new verb is quite an undertaking--to BURY. How would "bury" do?
"We buried him;" meaning, "we electrified him." "We went along Bury
well;" meaning, "the progress caused by electricity was satisfactory."
"We 'Buried along' at a great rate," and so forth.
* * * * *