Mr. Punch at the Seaside Part 8

Hire bath-chairs, put the bath-chairmen inside, and drag them as fast as you can up and down the parade.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: INOPPORTUNE

_Enthusiast of the "No Hat Brigade"_ (_to elderly gentleman, who has just lost his hat_). "Fine idea this, sir, for the hair, eh?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Jones._ "Hullo, Brown, what's the matter with you and Mrs. Brown?"

_Brown._ "Matter? Why, do you know what they call us down here? They call us Beauty and the Beast! Now I should like to know what my poor wife has done to get such a name as that!"]

THE TREACHEROUS TIDE

[Ill.u.s.tration]

I sat on a slippery rock, In the grey cliff's opal shade, And the wanton waves went curvetting by Like a roystering cavalcade.

And they doffed their crested plumes, As they kissed the blushing sand, Till her rosy face dimpled over with smiles At the tricks of the frolicsome band.

Then the kittywake laughed, "Ha! ha!"

And the sea-mew wailed with pain, As she sailed away on the shivering wind To her home o'er the surging main.

And the jelly-fish quivered with rage, While the dog-crabs stood by to gaze, And the star-fish spread all her fingers abroad, And sighed for her grandmothers' days.

And the curlew screamed, "Fie! fie!"

And the great gull groaned at the sight, And the albatross rose and fled with a shriek To her nest on the perilous height.

Good gracious! the place where I sat With sea-water was rapidly filling, And a hoa.r.s.e voice cried, "Sir, you're caught by the tide!

And I'll carry ye off for a shilling!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SAIL OVER THE BAY]

"LOCAL COLOUR."--PLACE: South Parade, Cheapenham-on-Sea.--_Edith._ "Mabel dear, would you get me _Baedeker's Switzerland_ and the last Number of the _World_."

_Mabel._ "What do you want _them_ for?"

_Edith._ "Oh, I'm writing letters, and we're in the Engadine, you know, and I just want to describe some of our favourite haunts, and mention a few of the people who are staying there--here, I mean."

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENT BEES]

THE LAY OF THE LAST LODGER

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I.

Oh dreary, dreary, dreary me!

My jaw is sore with yawning-- I'm weary of the dreary sea, With its roaring beach Where sea-gulls screech, And shrimpers shrimp, And limpets limp, And winkles wink, And trousers shrink; And the groaning, moaning, droning tide Goes splashing and dashing from side to side, With all its might, from morn to night, And from night to morning's dawning.

II.

The sh.o.r.e's a flood of puddly mud, And the rocks are limy and slimy-- And I've tumbled down with a thud--good lud!-- And I fear I swore, For something tore; And my shoes are full Of the stagnant pool; And hauling, sprawling, crawling crabs Have got in my socks with star-fish and dabs; And my pockets are swarming with polypes and prawns, And noisome beasts with sh.e.l.ls and horns, That scrunch and sc.r.a.pe, and goggle and gape, Are up my sleeve, I firmly believe-- And I'm horribly rimy and grimy.

III.

I'm sick of the strand, and the sand, and the band, And the n.i.g.g.e.rs and jiggers and dodgers; And the cigars of rather doubtful brand; And my landlady's "rights", And the frequent fights On wretched points Of ends of joints, Which disappear, with my brandy and beer, In a way that, to say the least, is queer.

And to mingle among the throng I long, And to poke my joke and warble my song-- But there's no one near On sands or pier, For everyone's gone and I'm left alone, The Last of the Seaside Lodgers!

[Ill.u.s.tration: FILEY]

NOTE BY OUR MAN OUT OF TOWN--Watering places--resorts where the visitor is pumped dry.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A STARTLING PROPOSITION

_Seedy Individual_ (_suddenly and with startling vigour_)--

"Aoh! Floy with me ercross ther sea, Ercross ther dork lergoon!!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: CROWDED STATE OF LODGING HOUSES

_Lodging-House Keeper._ "On'y this room to let, mem. A four-post--a tent--and a very comfortable double-bedded chest of drawers for the young gentlemen."]