Punch (45.1863)

September 19, 1863.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

115

TWO SEA VIEWS.

: Any Fresh Prawns this Markin, Sir

companion;

let us together betake

“ I recommend you,” said my Doctor, “ change of air, and quiet. Good
morning.”

“ Then,” cried Breezes, my friend and
ourselves to the sea-side.”

1 left it to Breezes, and Breezer took me to Brightgate, or Marton shall we
say ? At the close of one week I left Brightgate to Breezer.

I wanted quietude: Breezer said that he liked a little life: I retorted that I
liked as little as possible. 1 pined for the true enjoyment of the Awful Loneliness
of the Trackless Desert. Breezer’s notion of pleasure is to sit in an open Fly and
be slowly driven from the commencement of one Cliff to the end of the other,
and then for variety being driven back again. Give me, say i, the timid Gazelle
that glads you with her bright blue eye, or the untutored Armadillo burrowing
beneath the arid plains of Sahara. Breezer likes to look at what he calls “the
Gals,” and says, “ blow the Armadillo.” For me the Simoon and the Delusive
Mirage of Palaces. Breezer is contented with the sauds at low water, and the
rows of dazzling white houses with green blinds and blistered verandahs. I would
be far removed from the haunts of my fellow man. It is as much as Breezer
can do to take his ticket for Brightgate, and even then he won’t go by Express
train, because it tears him from Ids beloved London too abruptly. Every man
to his taste, but alas the Breezers now-a-days have it all their own way in the
matter of noise. Tell me of a really quiet sea-side place where I can enjoy the
comforts without any of the bustle of high-pressure civilisation. I’ll trouble
you. I am going to make a proposal; to put forward a new, original idea. I am
going to be a Promoter, and everybody knows what that means in these times of
company speculations. I must prepare the great public for my scheme gradually,
leading up to the trump card [and I shall have to blow my own trump for myself],
through the diary which I carry in my travelling Pack. Cast your eyes then, if you
please, over this extract.

At Brightgate, Morning, I a.m.—Awoke by cries of “ Yeo ho ! ” I should state
that w'e had procured rooms as near the sea as possible. Cries continued.
Horrid noise. Subsequently discovered they were the boatmen going out.

4.30 p.m.—More yeo-hoing. Boatmen coming in: not the same who went out.

4.85 a.m —Arrival of the sweeps. They come

work done early, and not to disturb anybody !

4 50 a.m,—More boatmen.. Going out, I believe, and perhaps a few coming in.

5.30 a.m.—The interval has been filled up by the sweeps. Hoarse boatmen are
beginning to cry out that they’ve got shrimps and prawns for sale.

6 a.m.—Breezer knocks at my door to know7 if I’ll bathe. No, I won’t. He
comes in and makes a noise. Hate a noise. Says he ’ll pull the clothes off if
I don’t get up. Hate that sort of thing when you want to snooze. He says I
oughtn’t to want to snooze. Asks me “ If 1 ’ve heard the shrimpers ? ” Mockery.

6 30 am.—I am going to snooze. Landlady knocks
at door, and wants to know what time I’ll be called.
I don’t care: say nine, or half-past eight:—no—say eight;
or stay, I’ll be called at half-past, and get up at nine:
no, I mean I’ll be down at nine. Thank you. Now I
shall snooze. Goodness gracious ! The boatmen are
co 11inrr in again. Post Horn! a Coach? Ob, no; boy
with Morning Paper.

7 30 a.m.—Vociferous itinerant vendors of fish of all
descriptions are now parading the street, and men with
vegetable carts, veritable London costermongers probably
come down for change of air.

8 a.m.—Housemaid knocks. “ Please did I say eight
or half-past that I wanted to be called at ? ” No matter,
I will get up directly. “What lime will I like breakfast
then ? ” When Breezer comes in.

8.15 a.m.—Breezer comes in. Very fresh, noisy and
hungry. “ Have I heard the shrimpers ? ” Yes, I have.
Post Horn. “ Morning Paper ! Morning Paper ! ”

8.30 a.m.—I get up. Every one seems to be going off by
an omnibus or a fly. Thank goodness the place will be
quiet. I am informed that this happens every morning.
City men leaving for town. Then it occurs to me that
there’ll be a similar noise in the evening. City men
returning from town. What a prospect! More Post
Horns and Morning Papers.

8.35 a.m.—Breezer rushes in to ask me “ if I like
prawns,” while I’m shaving. Cut myself. No: hate
prawns. Begin to shave again. Post horn! “ Morning
Paper ! ” Another gash.

9 to 10.30 a.m.—Note that seafaring men make a liveli-
hood by carrying baskets about and yelling horribly.

10.30 till 12 a.m.—Bathing women for a variety bawling
out, “ Any nice Soles to-day, Marm?” An insidious old
creature tries to haggle with me over the railing. Go away.
I don’t want any. 1 never do.

12.15 a.m.—Breezer has gone out. There is a lull in
fish-fagging. I shall now get my books and papers, and
commence my second essay on the Binomial Theorem.
First, however, 1 must look over an equation and elimi-
nate x.

12.35 a.m.—x is very gradually being eliminated ; and if
I can only arrive at the square—Heavens ! what has arrived
at the Square—at the corner ? Three dirty boys with
brazen instruments, accompanied by aD infant whom some-
body has trusted with a trombone; what awful sounds!
Go! go! They won't go. x must stop where he is for
the present.

1 P.M.—The boys will now be driven from their post. A
real German band has arrived at the other end of the
Terrace. Hang those boys; they don’t care a bit about it.
I’ll try to eliminate x. Post Horn ! Morning Paper !

1.15 P.M.—They’ll both go now, I should say. There’s
an organ man with a monkey just turning the corner. If
I were inclined to be satirical upon my wretched state, I
might say that during luncheon the private bands attended
and played the following selections :—

at this time so as to get their

Overture, “ Zampa ”...

“ La Mia Letitzia” . . . .

“ Whole Hog or None ! ”

March from Athalie . . . .

Vocal Music, “Home, Sweet Home '

German Band.
Whistling Organ Man.
Ethiopian Serenaders.
Organ with Donkey.

1 Two Female Voices.

o

(Accompanied by street boys at various distances.)
Drum and Pandsean Pipes in distance.

2.30 p.m.—What a headache I’ve got. Post Horn!
Second Edition Morning Paper! Here, boy, is a penny
,1.o go away. No, I don’t want to hear your horn again.

Don’t blow it, there’s a dear good boy. No, Sir, he
won’t. Well, really—Post Horn again! Second Edition,
Morning Paper. Ungrateful child, so young and yet so
depraved! ! 1

3 p.m.—Little boy has evidently told the street musicians
that there is a gentleman at No. 9 willing to give pence.
Here they all come! My old enemies the Negro Melodists ;
the monotonous Indian Prince, with his tum-ti-tum;
acrobats ; organ drawn by a donkey ! Come one, come all!
A new idea! Let me enter into the fun of the thing !
Play up! “ I would I were in Ole Virginny ! ” I would
you were, my blackguards. There’s com for you; leave
me. They part and swarm again.

3.30 p.m.—Breezer comes in. He has found a clever
man with cup and balls, and has brought him to perform
during his luncheon.

4 p.m.—Powers of mercy ! Here are the boatmen come