DOI issue:
October 1, 1887
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17658#0162
155
PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 1, 1887,
SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.
Mr Nautical Drama is not making1 much progress. Must go
more amongst men and things. That is the only way to gain ideas.
World lull of dramatis persona;, who will provide thtir own dialogue,
if you can only find them a good part. Interview old sailor ; capital
character—the very man to be " discovered drinking," (which must
have frequently occurred to him) as curtain rises. Talk to him half-
an-hour, hut without hearing a single
really telling line. Half-a-crown wasted!
Pleasure - hoat just "putting off," —
which is naturally a dilatory operation
—Skipper says they are only waiting
for me. I hesitate ; does Art demand
this sacrifice? Hitherto my voyages
have been chiefly confined to journey-
ings in a penny steamer from Chelsea
to Lambeth. But can I reasonably
expect to become familiar with marine
_, .„ matters without some actual experience ?
Chill-sea. If M_ ZoLA could gQ and liye for weekg
down a coal-mine, surely I may trust myself in a pleasure-boat for
one short half-hour ? It is only sixpence.
I subdue my diffidence, and embark—that is, I fall over the
stern, and stumble to the only vacant seat—a thwart in the middle.
Should have preferred a place nearer the gunwale. . . We are off;
boat pretty full, twenty-four passengers, to crew of two boatmen and
a cornet-player. People enjoying what they call "a blow on the
jetty," wave handkerchiefs to us as we pass. Curious, this blind im-
pulse to wave greetings to perfect strangers—does it spring from
vague enthusiasm for humanity ? Chatty old gentleman next to me
will talk: he tells me confidentially that it is a singular thing, but it
does so happen that he has never been on the sea without an accident
of some sort occurring,—never ! There is no superstitious nonsense
about him, it seems, so he thought he would " chance it" once more.
Very creditable—but more considerate if he would chance it in a
canoe. The Cornet-player quite a cockney Arion (though no-
body thinks, somehow, of pitching him overboard). He performs
appropriate airs during trip. A Life on the Ocean Wave, as we
start; Only a Pansy Blossom, (though I don't see the precise connec-
tion of this) as we tack; and the Harbour Lights, when we turn.
Somehow, this rather vulgarises the Ocean—for me. Sea fortunately
smooth: nobody at all unwell. I ftel nothing—except perhaps a
growing conviction that a very young infant opposite should not he
permitted to eat a jam-puff in public. Boatmen use no nautical ex-
pressions. Passengers lively at first, though, by time we turn, the
expression on our features, like that of young lady who wore the
wreath of roses, seems "more thoughtful than before." We are
close in now—the musician is sending round his hat. Resent this
privately, it is not seamanlike! In beaching, yacht swings round
with her broadside to breakers, causing sudden wave to drench the
Jonah gentleman and myself before we can disembark. He seems
rather gratified than otherwise by so apposite an illustration of his
ill-luck. The brown-eyed girl on sands watches me alight—on all
fours, dripping. Sea-trip a mistake, I feel damped rather than fired.
On the Beach again.—Cheap photographers, galvanic machines,
chiropodist, tea-stalls, grim old ladies eating shrimps, as if they were
cherries, out of paper bags. Open-air
music-hall, where comic songs are
shouted from platform by dreary men in
flaxen wigs to harmonium—this always
crowded. Enjoyment at Starmouth
hearty perhaps — but hardly refined.
Constantly haunted by song from open-
air platform about "The Ourls," with
refrain describing how "they squeeze,
And they tease. And they soy, ' Oh, _ OjSr
what joy !' " (or perhaps it should be -—^P"
—"sigh, 'Oh, what jy!"') Either Lamb-bath,
way, it has hit the popular taste here.
I may be prudish—but, even if a couple are engaged, it seems to me
that a nicer sense of propriety would deter them from dozing in a
sand-pit, coram publico, with their arms around one another's
neck. Nobody thinks anything of this at Starmouth, however.
What a matter of circumstance are our prejudices! I should once
have thought that nothing would induce me to drive about on a
char-a-banc—like one of the band in a circus procession. Yet I
have just returned from a drive in one—and enjoyed it!
She—my brown-eyed divinity of the Phrenology lecture—was on
one of the_ seats, which redeemed a drive otherwise prosaic. We
went to ruined castle ; scenery unpicturesque (she showed, I thought,
delicate perception of this by reading Family Herald all the way).
Starmouth children ran by side of carriage, turning head-over-heels,
and gasping comic songs for coppers. Had. last glimpse of them
standing gratefully in a row on their heads.
We did not alight to see castle, as coachman said there was
nothing to see. On way home, conductor made collection on his
own account. (The hat is not much worn at Starmouth.) Yet I
was happy—I have made her acquaintance! Charming as she is
beautiful—so simple and naive in the few remarks she made. She
is called Louise, and the person I took to be her maid is, it appears,
her aunt—a most shrewd and sensible old lady, full of quiet good
sense. We became friendly at once.
A Week later.—No time for notes lately—too absorbed in study of
Louise's character—most complex and fascinating. Am I drifting
into love ? Why not—who could help
it ? The rank she occupies is not, per-
haps, a lofty one; but at least there
is nothing unfeminine in the duty of
providing old ladies and children with
light refreshment from behind the
counter of an Oxford Street confec-
tioner. And her tastes are refined; Bhe
is a gentlewoman by nature and in-
stinct. The lady - phrenologist has
delineated her (privately), and declared
« A Blow on the Jetty." th*} L,orisf''' eollld le?rn s«ie°oe
and play the piano, it she turns her
attention that way." As a matter of fact, she has not, because
neither science nor the piano is in demand at a confectioner's; but
still she undoubtedly possesses a superior intellect; no ordinary girl
would enter into the Nautical Drama, for instance, as she does.
We have been to see Caste at the theatre. Louise very grave and
critical; she only laughed once, and that was when Eccles blew
rather loudly down his pipe to clear it. So many girls have an in-
convenient sense of humour—quite unsexing, I have always thought.
Her aunt is not precisely patrician in her manner, which would be
totally out of place in a Fancy Wool Repository—but, after all, I
shall not have to go through any experiences like poor D'Alroy's.
And I am sure my uncle's heart will warm to Louise at once. Why
hesitate, then ? I will not.
I have taken the plunge—Louise has consented. She tells me
that she was won by my appearance in the Professor's chair, and
still more by the character he gave me. How our choicest blessings
masquerade! Drama, for the moment, in the background —but
only apparently so. Literature has no stimulus like love, and I am
constantly talking the play over with Louise. She has made one
suggestion that convince me she has a keen sense of dramatic effect
—a hornpipe in one of the Acts. I am to read her the first Scene, as
soon as it is put into shape.
Her brother " Ale " is expected down to-night. Louise is certain
we shall " take to one another," he has " such spirits," and is " quite
a cure." Always thought a " cure " was a kind of jumping clown-
but Ale is a clerk in a leading establishment, somewhere in
Marylebone—a steady, industrious young fellow, no doubt. How-
ever, I shall meet him to-morrow.
I have met Alf. Although I love Louise with the first real
passion of a lifetime, I cannot disguise from myself that her brother
is an unmitigated Blazer. I would almost rather that he did not take
to me—but he does. In half an hour he is addressing me as " Old
gooseberry-pudden." If he is going to do this often, I shall have to
hint that I do not like it.
I have been strolling with him on the sands, where he has already
found several of his acquaintance. He will introduce me to all of
them. Hearty, high-spirited fellows, full of roueh but genuine
British humour. Prom the manner in which they all inquire " How
my bumps are getting on," I infer they were amongst Professor
Skittles' audience the other day. But they mean to be friendly
enough—I must, not let them see how they annoy me. ... It is
absurd to be stiff at Starmouth.
THE TYMPANUM.
(A Remonstrance at a Railway Station.)
The tympanum! The tympanum!
Oh! who will save the aural drum
By softening to some gentler
squeak
The whistle's shTillstaccato shriek ?
Oh! Engine-driver, did you know
How your blast smites one like a
blow,
An inward shock, a racking strain,
A knife-like thrust of poignant
pain, [nel murk
Whilst groping through the tun-
You would not with that fiendish
jerk
Let out that sudden blast of steam
Thy whistle weird perchance may
A sad and sore necessity, [be
B ut cannot Law and sense combine
To—well, in short, to draw the
Acrosstheopenletitshrill [line?—
From moor to moor, from hill to
hill, [gloom,
But in _ the tunnel's crypt-like
The Station's cramped reverberant
A gentler, graduated blast! [room,
Do let it loose, whilst dashing past,
So shall it spare us many a pang;
That dread explosive bursting
"bang"
Which nearly splits [the aural
Whose screaming almost makes j drum, [num'
us scream. I The poor long-suffering tympa-
KOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper, To this rule
there will be no exception.
PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 1, 1887,
SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.
Mr Nautical Drama is not making1 much progress. Must go
more amongst men and things. That is the only way to gain ideas.
World lull of dramatis persona;, who will provide thtir own dialogue,
if you can only find them a good part. Interview old sailor ; capital
character—the very man to be " discovered drinking," (which must
have frequently occurred to him) as curtain rises. Talk to him half-
an-hour, hut without hearing a single
really telling line. Half-a-crown wasted!
Pleasure - hoat just "putting off," —
which is naturally a dilatory operation
—Skipper says they are only waiting
for me. I hesitate ; does Art demand
this sacrifice? Hitherto my voyages
have been chiefly confined to journey-
ings in a penny steamer from Chelsea
to Lambeth. But can I reasonably
expect to become familiar with marine
_, .„ matters without some actual experience ?
Chill-sea. If M_ ZoLA could gQ and liye for weekg
down a coal-mine, surely I may trust myself in a pleasure-boat for
one short half-hour ? It is only sixpence.
I subdue my diffidence, and embark—that is, I fall over the
stern, and stumble to the only vacant seat—a thwart in the middle.
Should have preferred a place nearer the gunwale. . . We are off;
boat pretty full, twenty-four passengers, to crew of two boatmen and
a cornet-player. People enjoying what they call "a blow on the
jetty," wave handkerchiefs to us as we pass. Curious, this blind im-
pulse to wave greetings to perfect strangers—does it spring from
vague enthusiasm for humanity ? Chatty old gentleman next to me
will talk: he tells me confidentially that it is a singular thing, but it
does so happen that he has never been on the sea without an accident
of some sort occurring,—never ! There is no superstitious nonsense
about him, it seems, so he thought he would " chance it" once more.
Very creditable—but more considerate if he would chance it in a
canoe. The Cornet-player quite a cockney Arion (though no-
body thinks, somehow, of pitching him overboard). He performs
appropriate airs during trip. A Life on the Ocean Wave, as we
start; Only a Pansy Blossom, (though I don't see the precise connec-
tion of this) as we tack; and the Harbour Lights, when we turn.
Somehow, this rather vulgarises the Ocean—for me. Sea fortunately
smooth: nobody at all unwell. I ftel nothing—except perhaps a
growing conviction that a very young infant opposite should not he
permitted to eat a jam-puff in public. Boatmen use no nautical ex-
pressions. Passengers lively at first, though, by time we turn, the
expression on our features, like that of young lady who wore the
wreath of roses, seems "more thoughtful than before." We are
close in now—the musician is sending round his hat. Resent this
privately, it is not seamanlike! In beaching, yacht swings round
with her broadside to breakers, causing sudden wave to drench the
Jonah gentleman and myself before we can disembark. He seems
rather gratified than otherwise by so apposite an illustration of his
ill-luck. The brown-eyed girl on sands watches me alight—on all
fours, dripping. Sea-trip a mistake, I feel damped rather than fired.
On the Beach again.—Cheap photographers, galvanic machines,
chiropodist, tea-stalls, grim old ladies eating shrimps, as if they were
cherries, out of paper bags. Open-air
music-hall, where comic songs are
shouted from platform by dreary men in
flaxen wigs to harmonium—this always
crowded. Enjoyment at Starmouth
hearty perhaps — but hardly refined.
Constantly haunted by song from open-
air platform about "The Ourls," with
refrain describing how "they squeeze,
And they tease. And they soy, ' Oh, _ OjSr
what joy !' " (or perhaps it should be -—^P"
—"sigh, 'Oh, what jy!"') Either Lamb-bath,
way, it has hit the popular taste here.
I may be prudish—but, even if a couple are engaged, it seems to me
that a nicer sense of propriety would deter them from dozing in a
sand-pit, coram publico, with their arms around one another's
neck. Nobody thinks anything of this at Starmouth, however.
What a matter of circumstance are our prejudices! I should once
have thought that nothing would induce me to drive about on a
char-a-banc—like one of the band in a circus procession. Yet I
have just returned from a drive in one—and enjoyed it!
She—my brown-eyed divinity of the Phrenology lecture—was on
one of the_ seats, which redeemed a drive otherwise prosaic. We
went to ruined castle ; scenery unpicturesque (she showed, I thought,
delicate perception of this by reading Family Herald all the way).
Starmouth children ran by side of carriage, turning head-over-heels,
and gasping comic songs for coppers. Had. last glimpse of them
standing gratefully in a row on their heads.
We did not alight to see castle, as coachman said there was
nothing to see. On way home, conductor made collection on his
own account. (The hat is not much worn at Starmouth.) Yet I
was happy—I have made her acquaintance! Charming as she is
beautiful—so simple and naive in the few remarks she made. She
is called Louise, and the person I took to be her maid is, it appears,
her aunt—a most shrewd and sensible old lady, full of quiet good
sense. We became friendly at once.
A Week later.—No time for notes lately—too absorbed in study of
Louise's character—most complex and fascinating. Am I drifting
into love ? Why not—who could help
it ? The rank she occupies is not, per-
haps, a lofty one; but at least there
is nothing unfeminine in the duty of
providing old ladies and children with
light refreshment from behind the
counter of an Oxford Street confec-
tioner. And her tastes are refined; Bhe
is a gentlewoman by nature and in-
stinct. The lady - phrenologist has
delineated her (privately), and declared
« A Blow on the Jetty." th*} L,orisf''' eollld le?rn s«ie°oe
and play the piano, it she turns her
attention that way." As a matter of fact, she has not, because
neither science nor the piano is in demand at a confectioner's; but
still she undoubtedly possesses a superior intellect; no ordinary girl
would enter into the Nautical Drama, for instance, as she does.
We have been to see Caste at the theatre. Louise very grave and
critical; she only laughed once, and that was when Eccles blew
rather loudly down his pipe to clear it. So many girls have an in-
convenient sense of humour—quite unsexing, I have always thought.
Her aunt is not precisely patrician in her manner, which would be
totally out of place in a Fancy Wool Repository—but, after all, I
shall not have to go through any experiences like poor D'Alroy's.
And I am sure my uncle's heart will warm to Louise at once. Why
hesitate, then ? I will not.
I have taken the plunge—Louise has consented. She tells me
that she was won by my appearance in the Professor's chair, and
still more by the character he gave me. How our choicest blessings
masquerade! Drama, for the moment, in the background —but
only apparently so. Literature has no stimulus like love, and I am
constantly talking the play over with Louise. She has made one
suggestion that convince me she has a keen sense of dramatic effect
—a hornpipe in one of the Acts. I am to read her the first Scene, as
soon as it is put into shape.
Her brother " Ale " is expected down to-night. Louise is certain
we shall " take to one another," he has " such spirits," and is " quite
a cure." Always thought a " cure " was a kind of jumping clown-
but Ale is a clerk in a leading establishment, somewhere in
Marylebone—a steady, industrious young fellow, no doubt. How-
ever, I shall meet him to-morrow.
I have met Alf. Although I love Louise with the first real
passion of a lifetime, I cannot disguise from myself that her brother
is an unmitigated Blazer. I would almost rather that he did not take
to me—but he does. In half an hour he is addressing me as " Old
gooseberry-pudden." If he is going to do this often, I shall have to
hint that I do not like it.
I have been strolling with him on the sands, where he has already
found several of his acquaintance. He will introduce me to all of
them. Hearty, high-spirited fellows, full of roueh but genuine
British humour. Prom the manner in which they all inquire " How
my bumps are getting on," I infer they were amongst Professor
Skittles' audience the other day. But they mean to be friendly
enough—I must, not let them see how they annoy me. ... It is
absurd to be stiff at Starmouth.
THE TYMPANUM.
(A Remonstrance at a Railway Station.)
The tympanum! The tympanum!
Oh! who will save the aural drum
By softening to some gentler
squeak
The whistle's shTillstaccato shriek ?
Oh! Engine-driver, did you know
How your blast smites one like a
blow,
An inward shock, a racking strain,
A knife-like thrust of poignant
pain, [nel murk
Whilst groping through the tun-
You would not with that fiendish
jerk
Let out that sudden blast of steam
Thy whistle weird perchance may
A sad and sore necessity, [be
B ut cannot Law and sense combine
To—well, in short, to draw the
Acrosstheopenletitshrill [line?—
From moor to moor, from hill to
hill, [gloom,
But in _ the tunnel's crypt-like
The Station's cramped reverberant
A gentler, graduated blast! [room,
Do let it loose, whilst dashing past,
So shall it spare us many a pang;
That dread explosive bursting
"bang"
Which nearly splits [the aural
Whose screaming almost makes j drum, [num'
us scream. I The poor long-suffering tympa-
KOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper, To this rule
there will be no exception.