DOI issue:
September 14, 1889
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17688#0129
124
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 14, 1889.
47
i! (?i
r, W ? () p
v A
NO LIBEL.
Portrait of a recent Bare-faced Impostor.
A DEVONIAN PERIOD.
Advantages—Per Contra—The Mountaineer—Geology—Proposition
— Wasp — Excursion— Water mouth — Entertainments — Torrs
Walks—Ha'porths—Sunset.
Ilfracombe is decidedly not a fashionable watering-place. By
“fashionable” I understand such places as Eastbourne, Brighton,
Folkestone, Ryde, Cowes, Dieppe, Trouville, Deauville, and so on
where Society rings the changes on costumes, and lives Town life
with additional excitements, and under invigorating climatic
influences. If there be a beach, sands, and a pier, then there are
the inevitable niggers, Aunt Sallies, and all the stale tomfooleries of
the Derby Day. Of course, there is the usual treadmill promenade,
and the tall hat and gloves show for Church Parade on Sunday.
Yow from most of this Ilfracombe is free, with the exception of
the traditional top-hat and shiny best coat of the highly-respectable
bourgeoisie, on Sunday ; but these seem to be worn with a difference,
more out of respect to the day than for mere Yanity Fair’s sake;
though, of course, being out in such complete smartness, Jack and
Jill, and Jack’s and Jill’s worthy parents and brothers and sisters
feel themselves bound to walk up Capstone Hill, just to shake off the
drowsiness caused by the Rev. Proser’s discourse, and to obtain
a good appetite for the half-past one meal.
The curse of Ilfracombe on Sunday is that uncompromising, un-
charitable, intolerant Salvation Army, with its smug, stuck-up,
howling fanatics, and its brazen-lunged and drum-banging band.
Their preachers, preaching only to their own followers, are street
nuisances, and, on the rocks, where you would fain retire into
solitary communion with your best self, these ignorant, vulgar, con-
ceited sectarians come ranting and roaring, to the utter discomfort of
all quiet, retiring contemplative persons.
There is another occasional nuisance in orthodox imitation of the
Salvationist system, and this is a service for children on the rocks
every morning, patronised by a clergyman of position. Their emis-
saries ask little children to join them in hymn-singing; but, with
satisfaction I have noticed several little ones give these well-intentioned
but officious amateur Apostles a decided and unexpected snubbing.
The amusements are of such a simple kind as give much pleasure
to those who come to Ilfracombe to enjoy everything out of doors,
and who, being contented with rides, drives, and walks, avoid hot
rooms, crowds, music -halls, and theatres.
“The country is simply too beautiful for anything!” exclaims
Miss B Rond e sly. “Why it’s quite an insult to call it a miniature
Switzerland,” she says, going off into a wild laugh at the idea.
“It isn’t Switzerland at all,” complains Copley Markham; “I
wish it were.” And he suddenly jerks out his watch and consults it
gravely, as if considering whether he would just have time to catch
the next train to Switzerland or not.
“Splendid ferns everywhere,” says Miss Netley, who is seldom
out without an S
Alpine-stick and x
a basket, as if Aik /# SOsL V,, •
she were going to
market.
“I’ll tell you
where there are
lovely ones,’’cries
our mountaineer,
young Harry
Skrymmager,
who is always in
full climbing cos-
tume, with a for-
midable knife in
a sheath, fixed
into some mys-
terious part of his
back. “Mostuse-
ful thing,” he
explains. “I
learnt it” — he
speaks of the
knife as if it were
a musical instru-
ment— “when I
was in Norway.
You stick it into
a cleft in a rock, , ,, „ ,,
and it makes I The Wild Fern Gatherer.
handle. It digs up roots, opens gates—and it’s no end serviceable.”
Young Skrymmager is full of useful information. He has recently
passed an examination for something or other, but happening to
arrive in the first three, and there being, unfortunately, only two
vacancies, he finds himself temporarily cast adrift, literally crammed
with stores of useful knowledge, which he takes every opportunity
of distributing in small parcels, so to speak, to his friends, on every
possible opportunity. I suppose it is owing to his having been so
long and closely engaged in study that he is now so restless as to
be unable to sit still for more than five minutes together, even at
meals. He is politeness itself. “Let me hand this,” he says to
Our Mrs. Cook, jumping up from his seat suddenly, and seizing a
dish of hot potatoes. Whereat, of course, Miss Brondesly gives a
little scream, and exclaims, “ Oh, that Harry Skrymmager! He’s
quite like a whirlwind! ” and then she is shaken with one of her
irresistible laughing fits at the absurdly striking resemblance which
young Skrymmager, politely handing a dish of potatoes, must
evidently bear to a whirlwind.
Immediately the meal is over Skrymmager draws his weapon,
takes a stick, put3 on his hat and asks, “Now who’s for Score Woods
and for fern-collecting ? then on to Lee, and perhaps round by
Morthoe and Woolacombe Sands, and so back to dinner ? ”
“ How far is that ? ” inquires the Poet, cautiously.
“ Oh, no distance,” replies Harry Skrymmager, vaguely; “but
it’s lovely country. There are Silurian rocks, and then there is that
red strata peculiar to the geological period called Devonian. Fancy
elephants and lions having been all over the place.” Mrs. Cook,
locking up the biscuits in the sideboard, pauses in horror. Elephants
and lions ! When F Where f—and to think of all the little Cookies
about? She had not caught exactly what Mr. Skrymmager was
saying, and supposed that the beasts had got loose out of a travelling
menagerie, ‘1 as they did once at least, so I have heard, somewhere
in Kent,” she says; “ and a lion came in at the door of a house where
three old maids lived, just as they were quietly at tea.”
“Oh,” says Skrymmager, “I meant thousands of years ago.
There was a skeleton of a lion from here somewhere by Lynton, and
there’s a pebbly beach right at the top of a hill, showing,” he
continues, dealing out a parcel or two from his useful-know-
ledge stores, “ that, at some time or other, all this was under sea,
because you ’ll find corals, encrinites, trilobites and shells, and the
discoveries in the Siluro-Carboniferous interval are still more
interesting.”
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 14, 1889.
47
i! (?i
r, W ? () p
v A
NO LIBEL.
Portrait of a recent Bare-faced Impostor.
A DEVONIAN PERIOD.
Advantages—Per Contra—The Mountaineer—Geology—Proposition
— Wasp — Excursion— Water mouth — Entertainments — Torrs
Walks—Ha'porths—Sunset.
Ilfracombe is decidedly not a fashionable watering-place. By
“fashionable” I understand such places as Eastbourne, Brighton,
Folkestone, Ryde, Cowes, Dieppe, Trouville, Deauville, and so on
where Society rings the changes on costumes, and lives Town life
with additional excitements, and under invigorating climatic
influences. If there be a beach, sands, and a pier, then there are
the inevitable niggers, Aunt Sallies, and all the stale tomfooleries of
the Derby Day. Of course, there is the usual treadmill promenade,
and the tall hat and gloves show for Church Parade on Sunday.
Yow from most of this Ilfracombe is free, with the exception of
the traditional top-hat and shiny best coat of the highly-respectable
bourgeoisie, on Sunday ; but these seem to be worn with a difference,
more out of respect to the day than for mere Yanity Fair’s sake;
though, of course, being out in such complete smartness, Jack and
Jill, and Jack’s and Jill’s worthy parents and brothers and sisters
feel themselves bound to walk up Capstone Hill, just to shake off the
drowsiness caused by the Rev. Proser’s discourse, and to obtain
a good appetite for the half-past one meal.
The curse of Ilfracombe on Sunday is that uncompromising, un-
charitable, intolerant Salvation Army, with its smug, stuck-up,
howling fanatics, and its brazen-lunged and drum-banging band.
Their preachers, preaching only to their own followers, are street
nuisances, and, on the rocks, where you would fain retire into
solitary communion with your best self, these ignorant, vulgar, con-
ceited sectarians come ranting and roaring, to the utter discomfort of
all quiet, retiring contemplative persons.
There is another occasional nuisance in orthodox imitation of the
Salvationist system, and this is a service for children on the rocks
every morning, patronised by a clergyman of position. Their emis-
saries ask little children to join them in hymn-singing; but, with
satisfaction I have noticed several little ones give these well-intentioned
but officious amateur Apostles a decided and unexpected snubbing.
The amusements are of such a simple kind as give much pleasure
to those who come to Ilfracombe to enjoy everything out of doors,
and who, being contented with rides, drives, and walks, avoid hot
rooms, crowds, music -halls, and theatres.
“The country is simply too beautiful for anything!” exclaims
Miss B Rond e sly. “Why it’s quite an insult to call it a miniature
Switzerland,” she says, going off into a wild laugh at the idea.
“It isn’t Switzerland at all,” complains Copley Markham; “I
wish it were.” And he suddenly jerks out his watch and consults it
gravely, as if considering whether he would just have time to catch
the next train to Switzerland or not.
“Splendid ferns everywhere,” says Miss Netley, who is seldom
out without an S
Alpine-stick and x
a basket, as if Aik /# SOsL V,, •
she were going to
market.
“I’ll tell you
where there are
lovely ones,’’cries
our mountaineer,
young Harry
Skrymmager,
who is always in
full climbing cos-
tume, with a for-
midable knife in
a sheath, fixed
into some mys-
terious part of his
back. “Mostuse-
ful thing,” he
explains. “I
learnt it” — he
speaks of the
knife as if it were
a musical instru-
ment— “when I
was in Norway.
You stick it into
a cleft in a rock, , ,, „ ,,
and it makes I The Wild Fern Gatherer.
handle. It digs up roots, opens gates—and it’s no end serviceable.”
Young Skrymmager is full of useful information. He has recently
passed an examination for something or other, but happening to
arrive in the first three, and there being, unfortunately, only two
vacancies, he finds himself temporarily cast adrift, literally crammed
with stores of useful knowledge, which he takes every opportunity
of distributing in small parcels, so to speak, to his friends, on every
possible opportunity. I suppose it is owing to his having been so
long and closely engaged in study that he is now so restless as to
be unable to sit still for more than five minutes together, even at
meals. He is politeness itself. “Let me hand this,” he says to
Our Mrs. Cook, jumping up from his seat suddenly, and seizing a
dish of hot potatoes. Whereat, of course, Miss Brondesly gives a
little scream, and exclaims, “ Oh, that Harry Skrymmager! He’s
quite like a whirlwind! ” and then she is shaken with one of her
irresistible laughing fits at the absurdly striking resemblance which
young Skrymmager, politely handing a dish of potatoes, must
evidently bear to a whirlwind.
Immediately the meal is over Skrymmager draws his weapon,
takes a stick, put3 on his hat and asks, “Now who’s for Score Woods
and for fern-collecting ? then on to Lee, and perhaps round by
Morthoe and Woolacombe Sands, and so back to dinner ? ”
“ How far is that ? ” inquires the Poet, cautiously.
“ Oh, no distance,” replies Harry Skrymmager, vaguely; “but
it’s lovely country. There are Silurian rocks, and then there is that
red strata peculiar to the geological period called Devonian. Fancy
elephants and lions having been all over the place.” Mrs. Cook,
locking up the biscuits in the sideboard, pauses in horror. Elephants
and lions ! When F Where f—and to think of all the little Cookies
about? She had not caught exactly what Mr. Skrymmager was
saying, and supposed that the beasts had got loose out of a travelling
menagerie, ‘1 as they did once at least, so I have heard, somewhere
in Kent,” she says; “ and a lion came in at the door of a house where
three old maids lived, just as they were quietly at tea.”
“Oh,” says Skrymmager, “I meant thousands of years ago.
There was a skeleton of a lion from here somewhere by Lynton, and
there’s a pebbly beach right at the top of a hill, showing,” he
continues, dealing out a parcel or two from his useful-know-
ledge stores, “ that, at some time or other, all this was under sea,
because you ’ll find corals, encrinites, trilobites and shells, and the
discoveries in the Siluro-Carboniferous interval are still more
interesting.”