DOI Heft:
October 20, 1883
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17755#0203
“FORCE OF HABIT!”
Our Railway Porter [the first time he acted as Deputy in the absence of the Beadle). “ T’kets r’dy !
All Tick-ets ready ! ”
ANOTHER LITTLE HOLIDAY CRUISE.
From Oban to Tobermory.—Beautiful sail. Arrive here earlier
than we had expected : we did this also at Oban. Fortunate, as
scarcely are we in than a hurricane commences outside in the
Atlantic. The Atlantic is scarcely two steps round the corner.
Rain downpouring in buckets. Next day much the same, with
lucid intervals of sun. Walk on shore in morning, ditto in after-
noon. Haven’t done so much walking for a long time as I have
within the last few davs since I came out sailing. We walked at
Larne, we walked at Oban, we walk here. The Waterfalls are in
Mr. Alexander’s private grounds—from the extent of his property
I should, call him Alexander the Great—and there is no charge
for admission as there is at some places where they’ve only got a
two-penny waterfall to show for sixpence. Crayley, with his glass
firmly screwed in his eye, and his head more on one side than
ever, examines the grand Waterfall critically, as though to detect
some flaw in it. Melleville regards it judicially, as if, with a
perfectly unbiassed mind, he wrere ready to hear both sides of any
question that may arise respecting the merits of the fall. (This
sounds theological.) I—such is the philosophic attitude of my mind
towards it—somehow seem to have seen it all before, and, not being
overpowered by it, begin, after a few seconds, to discover faces in
stones, and forms, more or less grotesque, in everything. Crayley,
having gradually given up criticism, is now lost in admiration.
“ And, like Niagara,
Finds it a staggerer,”
says Killick, favouring us with an impromptu, for which he is
instantly reproved by Crayley, who tells him that “really he
(Killick) has no sort of reverence for the beauties of Nature.”
“ It’s nothing extraordinary,” retorts Killick. “ I’ve seen better
in Wales ”
‘‘Never! ” returns Crayley, warmly. ‘‘ This is distinctively Scotch.
You ’ll seldom see anything like it in Wales, and never in the South
of England.”
“ Kot in the South! ” exclaims Killick, as if he were aghast at
what might be a daring imputation on his native place, which it
isn’t, and I very much doubt whether he has ever been there.
“ Why, in Devonshire and Cornwall the Waterfalls are magnificent,
and twice as fine as this.”
This is flatly contradicted by Crayley. If they w^ere alone, I
fancy it would end in a Sensation Scene, which could be thus
described in the bill:—“ The Howling Cataract—View of the Devil’s
Bridge—Moonlight—Killick meets Crayley—The Assertion!—The
Contradiction!!—The Altercation ! ! !—Fearful Struggle ! ! ! !—
Awful Fate of the Victim—(either Killick or Crayley)—Flight of
the Assassin—The Brand of Cain ! ! ! ! ” &c.
As it is, however, this melodramatic termination to a pleasant
outing does not come off, as Melleville interferes in his gentlest
and most soothing tones. It is (reporting it legally) Killick v.
Crayley, Melleville intervening. I am watching the case in the
interests of the general public.
“There are,” observes Melleville in a marginal-reference sort
of manner, but speaking as an authority,—“There are some fine
Waterfalls in Devonshire and Cornwall, not unlike this, but perhaps
there are finer in the North of England, and we ”—(this brings us
all into it)—“ must remember we are seeing this on an exceptional
day, after a very heavy rain, and, indeed, ivhile it is still raining. I
think we’d better get on.” Both parties are silent before this
timely rebuke. It reminds me of the effect of one of Mr. Harlow's
lectures to Sand ford and Merton. Killick is Sandford, and Crayley,
Merton. So we move onwards, as the rain is falling heavily, and
we should soon he under shelter, hut for the irrepressible impulse
which seizes upon every one of us to throw something into the
torrent (we are now standing at the highest point of the fall) merely
to see what becomes of it. If nothing else were obtainable, I believe
we should recklessly throw in our sticks and umbrellas, and even
our coats and hats, then laugh at them, and cheer idiotically. It
strikes me (philosophically and reflectively) that on occasions like
the present the savage nature of man has a fierce but momentary
struggle with his civilisation, and that if the savage nature once
got the upper hand, the result might take the form of the dreadful
practical joke of pushing the man nearest to the Waterfall suddenly
over, not exactly to procure his untimely end, but simply to
take him by surprise, to see how he liked it, and what the torrent
Our Railway Porter [the first time he acted as Deputy in the absence of the Beadle). “ T’kets r’dy !
All Tick-ets ready ! ”
ANOTHER LITTLE HOLIDAY CRUISE.
From Oban to Tobermory.—Beautiful sail. Arrive here earlier
than we had expected : we did this also at Oban. Fortunate, as
scarcely are we in than a hurricane commences outside in the
Atlantic. The Atlantic is scarcely two steps round the corner.
Rain downpouring in buckets. Next day much the same, with
lucid intervals of sun. Walk on shore in morning, ditto in after-
noon. Haven’t done so much walking for a long time as I have
within the last few davs since I came out sailing. We walked at
Larne, we walked at Oban, we walk here. The Waterfalls are in
Mr. Alexander’s private grounds—from the extent of his property
I should, call him Alexander the Great—and there is no charge
for admission as there is at some places where they’ve only got a
two-penny waterfall to show for sixpence. Crayley, with his glass
firmly screwed in his eye, and his head more on one side than
ever, examines the grand Waterfall critically, as though to detect
some flaw in it. Melleville regards it judicially, as if, with a
perfectly unbiassed mind, he wrere ready to hear both sides of any
question that may arise respecting the merits of the fall. (This
sounds theological.) I—such is the philosophic attitude of my mind
towards it—somehow seem to have seen it all before, and, not being
overpowered by it, begin, after a few seconds, to discover faces in
stones, and forms, more or less grotesque, in everything. Crayley,
having gradually given up criticism, is now lost in admiration.
“ And, like Niagara,
Finds it a staggerer,”
says Killick, favouring us with an impromptu, for which he is
instantly reproved by Crayley, who tells him that “really he
(Killick) has no sort of reverence for the beauties of Nature.”
“ It’s nothing extraordinary,” retorts Killick. “ I’ve seen better
in Wales ”
‘‘Never! ” returns Crayley, warmly. ‘‘ This is distinctively Scotch.
You ’ll seldom see anything like it in Wales, and never in the South
of England.”
“ Kot in the South! ” exclaims Killick, as if he were aghast at
what might be a daring imputation on his native place, which it
isn’t, and I very much doubt whether he has ever been there.
“ Why, in Devonshire and Cornwall the Waterfalls are magnificent,
and twice as fine as this.”
This is flatly contradicted by Crayley. If they w^ere alone, I
fancy it would end in a Sensation Scene, which could be thus
described in the bill:—“ The Howling Cataract—View of the Devil’s
Bridge—Moonlight—Killick meets Crayley—The Assertion!—The
Contradiction!!—The Altercation ! ! !—Fearful Struggle ! ! ! !—
Awful Fate of the Victim—(either Killick or Crayley)—Flight of
the Assassin—The Brand of Cain ! ! ! ! ” &c.
As it is, however, this melodramatic termination to a pleasant
outing does not come off, as Melleville interferes in his gentlest
and most soothing tones. It is (reporting it legally) Killick v.
Crayley, Melleville intervening. I am watching the case in the
interests of the general public.
“There are,” observes Melleville in a marginal-reference sort
of manner, but speaking as an authority,—“There are some fine
Waterfalls in Devonshire and Cornwall, not unlike this, but perhaps
there are finer in the North of England, and we ”—(this brings us
all into it)—“ must remember we are seeing this on an exceptional
day, after a very heavy rain, and, indeed, ivhile it is still raining. I
think we’d better get on.” Both parties are silent before this
timely rebuke. It reminds me of the effect of one of Mr. Harlow's
lectures to Sand ford and Merton. Killick is Sandford, and Crayley,
Merton. So we move onwards, as the rain is falling heavily, and
we should soon he under shelter, hut for the irrepressible impulse
which seizes upon every one of us to throw something into the
torrent (we are now standing at the highest point of the fall) merely
to see what becomes of it. If nothing else were obtainable, I believe
we should recklessly throw in our sticks and umbrellas, and even
our coats and hats, then laugh at them, and cheer idiotically. It
strikes me (philosophically and reflectively) that on occasions like
the present the savage nature of man has a fierce but momentary
struggle with his civilisation, and that if the savage nature once
got the upper hand, the result might take the form of the dreadful
practical joke of pushing the man nearest to the Waterfall suddenly
over, not exactly to procure his untimely end, but simply to
take him by surprise, to see how he liked it, and what the torrent