Punch (99.1890)

108 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [August SO, 1890.

STRIKING NURSERY RHYME.
(With a Moral.)

Tilbuby, Tilbury Dock!
The men struck—on a rock;

For their IT-ni-on

Said, "Wrong you have
done!"
Tilbury, Tilbury Dock!

Tilbury, Tilbury scare!
This "Striking" seems in the
air.

Conciliation

Should free the nation
From Tilbury, Tilbury scare!

THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST.

AT THE SEA-SIDE.

Dear Me. Punch,—When I last wrote to you I was anticipatorily
revelling in the sea-bathing, tennis tournaments, pier band, and even-
ing promenades of Flatsands. Alas! that I must confess it, but, after a

fortnight's visit to
that " salubrious
spot" {vide highly-
coloured advertise-
ments), I give it as
my opinion that
Flatsands is a
failure; and I
think that, when
you have listened
to, or rather pe-
rused, my tale of
woe, you will agree
with me that it is a
place to be avoided
at all costs.

On the difficul-
ties and length of
my j ourney thither
([ changed five
times, and spent
nine hours in doing
so), I will not
dwell, neither will
I lay stress on the
fact that, when I
did at last reach
my destination, a
prospect void of either Aunt, or conveyance of any kind, met my
view, or that a heavy sea-mist had gathered, and was falling in
the guise of penetrating, if fine, rain. After parleying with the
station-master for some time, I ascertained that the station 'bus
never put in an appearance in wet weather, and that I could not get
a closed fly, because the Flatsands' conveyances were all pony-
traps, and therefore hoodless. He, however, directed me towards
Balmoral, which was my Aunt's ^address, and told me that ten
minutes' walk would take me, and that my luggage should be sent
after me, on a truck.

After some difficulty, for the sea-fog was very thick, Ij discovered
Balmoral, but not my Aunt. The truculent-looking proprietor of
the house, who answered the door, condescended to inform me that
my relative "was the difficultest lady he'd ever had to do for.
And that she'd left two days a-gone." But where she had betaken
herself to, he either would not or could not tell me. "You'd best
try along this row," he said, and then slammed the door in my
face. Having nothing better to do, I followed his advice, and "tried
along the row." I rang at Osborne, Sandringham, and Windsor.
I knocked at Claremont (the bell was broken there), and walked
boldly into Marlborough House, for that royal residence in particular
was devoid of all ordinary means of heralding one's approach. I
was just giving up my quest in despair, when through the rain,
which was now falling heavily, I spied a small stucco villa standing
shrinkingly back behind a row of palings, which, in spite of their
green paint, looked more like domestic fire-sticks than anything
else. The somewhat suggestive name of Frogmore was inscribed
on the small gate, and I remembered that I quite shivered as I
walked up the sloppy path, with my usual inquiry ready to hand.
This time, though, I was right, and when, a few minutes later, I
was sitting before a roaring fire, imbibing hot tea, and listening to
my Aunt's account of her latest oomplaint (did I tell you she was
hypochondriacal f) I felt that really and at last I was in for a
pleasant visit.

The evening proved a short one, for Aunt retired at nine, for
which I was not sorry, as by that time the atmosphere of the sitting-
room was distinctly stuffy, and neither dinner, nor the fumes of the
invalid's hot»and-strong " night-cap " improved it. Nest morning
I sympathised with her on the faet that, soon after she had gone to
bed, the young: lady on the drawing?room floor (for two other families

shared Frogmore's roof with us) had begun to sing, and had con-
tinued her performances till midnight; but I found my commisera-
tion wasted, for she said that it had soothed her, which was con-
siderably more than it had done me. After breakfast—which was
late, on account of Aunt's health—I proposed a stroll on the Prome-
nade,, or an inspection of the tennis courts. '' Bless my soul!" cried
Auntie, "a person in my state of health does not go to places all over
promenades and tennis courts. You won't find any such things at a
nice quiet resort like Flatsands." I felt a little dashed, but replied
" that perhaps she was right, and that it was a nice change to be
without tennis; and that, as to promenades, they were quite super-
fluous where there was a pier, and a good band. " A pier, child! "
she screamed. " You won't find any such abominations as piers here,
or German bands either. Do you think that I should come anywhere
where there was a pier ? " I felt the smile on my face becoming fixed,
but I mastered my feelings sufficiently to murmur something about
bathing before lunch.

"You can't bathe here," snapped Aunt—"they don't allow it.
The shore is too dangerous. But you can come out with me, if you
like, to the tradespeople—I see my bath-chair coming along the road."

And that, Mr. Punch, is how I spent my fortnight at Flatsands.
Walking by the side of my Aunt's chair, and giving orders to the
tradespeople in the morning; walking beside the same chair and
blowing up the tradespeople for not having carried out the orders,
in the afternoon; sitting in a hot room from five to nine o'clock,
then lying awake till midnight, listening to the drawing-room
young lady singing Italian and German songs out of tune, and with
an English accent.

Three things only occurred to in any way vary the monotony of
my existence. The first was the arrival of the singing young lady's
brother. He was seventeen, and his lungs were as thick as his
boots. He tobogganed down-stairs on a tea-tray the first day he
arrived; the second day he passed me in the hall and asked, with
a grin, "if I was one of the mummies in this old mausoleum?"
the third day he left, saying that the place was "too jolly beastly
slow" for him. The second event was the sudden extraordinary
mania that Aunt (did I tell you she was rich ?) took for the singing
lady. I discovered, much to my chagrin, I must say, that often,
instead of going to bed at nine, as I believed she did, she used to
ensconce herself in the drawing-room, and there sit and listen to
indifferent music till all hours. It was this second event which
brought about the third excitement. For having been a little
imprudent one night, in the matter of " night-caps," or careless as
to draughts, my Aunt was taken seriously ill. At least she chose
to think herself so, though I now have vague suspicions that the
singing lady knew more about it all than she eared to tell. All I
know is. that the doctor was sent for, and that, after a long confab
in the sick room, he came to me and ordered my immediate return
home. " Your poor Aunt requires perfect quiet," he said.

Having no choice in the matter, I packed my boxes; not exactly
with reluctance, but still with an uncomfortable feeling of being
wanted out of vthe way. Aunt's last words to me rather confirmed
my suspicions. "Ah! you are off, are you? Well, I may pull
through this time—I think I feel better already." Then, with a
pecking kiss, and . an inaudible remark anent the ingratitude of
relations,, she dismissed me. As I left the house I distinctly heard
that singing creature run up-stairs and into Aunt's room.

On the way back to town I decided that she (Aunt I mean) was
right—relations are disgustingly ungrateful.

Yours, much hurt, The Odd Girl Out.

To the Champion (Cricket) County.

" Skilful Surrey's sage commands."

There is a cue from Waiter Scott !
(Not Surrey's " Waiter.") Punch claps hands,

And sings out, " Bravo, Shuter's Lot! "

THEATRICAL PROBABILITIES.

New pieces by Henry Author Jones, author of Judah, The
Deacon, fyc. .—-The Archbishop; The Salvationist, or Boothiful
for Ever ! The Mural Dean (a pastoral play) ; The Chorister, a
stirring drama, showing how a Chorister struggled with his con-
science. Of course the Rev. Mr. Wiiiard will have the principal
part in each piece. Then there will be special nights for the
Ministers of all denominations. There will be a Matinee of Pre-
cedence, to which Cardinal Manning and all his clergy will be
invited. After the play is over, the Right Reverend Dr. WrrxARD
will preach a sermon to the Cardinal, on his duties generally.

As long as only the orthodox witness these performances all will
go well. But what a first night that will be when the Right Reverend
Dr. WniARD and. the Reverend Henry Author Jones find that
some play has been produced in the presence of an audience com-
posed entirely of Dissenters! Absitomen! This may never happen
if only serious persons in orders, or rather with orders, are admitted.

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