Punch (99.1890)

September 20, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

133

OUT FOR ANOTHER HOLIDAY.

(By our Impartial and Not to-be-biassed Critic.)

I had been told that Ostend was an excellent place. "Quite
a Town of Palaces!" was the enthusiastic description that had
reached me. So I determined to leave "Delicious Dover" (as the
holiday Leader-writer in the daily papers would call it), and take

boat for the Belgian coast.
The sea was as calm as a
lake, and the sun lazily
touched up the noses of
those who slumbered on the
beach. There is an excel-
lent service of steamers
betweenEngland and
Belgium. This service has
but one drawback—a slight
one: the vessels have a way
g- i with them of perpetrating
'" practical jokes. Onlya
week or so ago one lively
mail-carrier started prema-
turely, smashing a gangway, and dropping a portmanteau quietly
into the ocean. On my return from foreign shores, I passed the same
cheerful ship lying in mid-channel as helpless as an infant. How-
ever, the accident (something, I fancy, had gone wrong with the
engines) appeared to be treated as more amusing than important.
Still, perhaps, it would be better were the name of this luckless boat
changed to Le Farceur ; then travellers would know what to expect.
But I must confess that my experiences were perfectly pleasant.
The steamer in which I journeyed crossed the Channel in the advertised
time, and if I wished to be hypercritical, 1 would merely hint that
the official tariff of the refreshments sold on board is tantalising.
"When I wanted cutlets, I was told they were "off," and when I
asked for "cold rosbif," that was "off" too. The garcon
(who looked more like a midshipman than a cabin-boy) took 'ten
minutes to discover this fact. And as I had to rely upon him for
information, I had to wait even longer before the desired (or rather
undesired) intelligence was conveyed to me. I pride myself upon
caring nothing about food, but this failure to obtain my'heart's (or
thereabouts') yearning caused me sore annoyance.

"Well, I reached Ostend. The town of palaces contained a Kursaal
and a Casino. There were also a number of large hotels of the
King's Road, Brighton, plus Northumberland Avenue type. Further,
there were several maisons meublees let out in flats, and (to j adge from
the prices demanded and obtained for them) to flats. The mite of
apartments on the ground floor consisted of a small bed-room, a tiny
drawing-room, and a balcony. The balcony was used as a satte d
manger in fine weather, and a place for the utterance of strong
expressions (so I was informed) when the rain interfered with al
fresco comfort. There was a steam tramway, and some bathing-
machines of the springless throw-you-down-when-you-least-ex-
peet-it sort. The streets, omitting the walk in front of the sea,
were narrow, and the shops about as interesting as those at the
poorer end of the Tottenham Court Road. But these were merely
details, the pride of Ostend being the Kursaal, which reminded me
of an engine-house near a London terminus. I purchased a ticket
for the Kursaal and the Casino. There was to be a concert at the
first and a ball at the last. I soon had enough of the concert, and
started for the ball.

It was then that I found a regulation in force that made my
cheeks tingle with indignation as an Englishman. Although the
tickets costing three francs a piece, were said to secure admittance
to the Kursaal and the Casino, I noticed that children—good and
amiable children—were not allowed to enter the latter place. I
could understand the feelings of a gentleman who attempted to
obtain access for his eldest lad—a gallant boy of some fourteen
summers, and a baker's dozen of winters. My heart went out to
that British Father as he disputed with the Commissaires at the
doorway, and called the attention of the Representative of "the
Control*" to the fact that his billet was misleading. " You are an
Englishman," said the Representative of the Control, "and the
English observe the law." "Yes," returned the angry Father;
"but in England the Law would support one in obtaining that for
which one had paid. My son has paid for admission to the Kursaal
and the Casino I He is refused admittance to the Casino, therefore
this ticket of his spreads false intelligence! It is a liar! It is a
miserable! It should be called the traitor ticket! " But all was
useless. The gallant lad had_ to remain with the umbrellas! I
could not help sympathising with that father. I oould not refrain
from agreeing with him, that where such a thing was possible,
something must be entirely wrong. I could not deny that under
the circumstances Ostend was a sham, a delusion, and a snare!
When he observed that Ostend was grotesquely expensive, I
admitted that he was right. When he said that it was not a patch

upon Boulogne or Dieppe, I again acquiesced. "When he asserted
that every English tourist would be wise to avoid the place, I
acknowledged that there was the genuine ring of truth in his
declaration. When he appealed to me, as a dispassionate observer,
to say whether I did not consider the conduct of the authorities
arbitrary, unjust, and absurd, I was forced to admit that I did con-
sider that conduct absolutely indefensible. Lastly, when he
announced that he intended never to say another word in praise of
Ostend, I confessed that I had come in my own mind to the same
determination.

P.S.—I may add that I was accompanied by my son, who was also
refused admittance. But this is a matter of purely personal interest,
and has nothing whatever to do with it.

THE CACHET OE CASH AT DRURY LANE.

A Million of Money, "a new military, sporting, and spectacular
Drama," is a marvel of stage management. No better things than
the tableaux of the Derby Day, the grounds of the "Welcome Club,
and the departure of the Guards from Wellington Barracks for
foreign parts
have been
seen for many
a long year.
In such a piece
the dialogue
is a matter of
secondary
consideration,
and even the
story is of no
great import-
ance. That the

plot should Medal found in the Neighbourhood of Drury Lane,
remind one of Drury Lane successes in the past is not surprising,
considering that one of the authors (who modestly places his name
second on the programme, when everyone feels that it should come
first) has been invariably associated with those triumphs of scenic art.
Augustus Dbubioianus has beaten his own record, and the Million
of Money so lavishly displayed behind the scenes, is likely to be
rivaled by the takings in front of the Curtain—or to be more exact,
at the Box-office. The Authors, in more senses than one, have
carried money into the house. But they have done more—they
have inculcated a healthy moral. While Mr. Henby Aethue
Jones is teaching audiences a lessen in Judah, that would have
received the enthusiastic approval of the philanthropic Earl of
Shaftesbury, after whom Shaftesbury Theatre is, no doubt, called,
the great Haeeis and the lesser Pettit are showing us in the
character of the Rev. Gabriel Maythorne, a Parson that would
as certainly have secured the like hearty good-will at the same
shadowy hands. The Rev. Gentleman is a clergyman that extorts
the admiration of everyone whose good opinion is worth securing.
He apparently is a " coach," and (seemingly) allows his pupils so
much latitude that one of them, Harry Dunstable (Mr. Wabneb),
is able to run up to town with his (the Reverend's) daughter secretly,
marry her, and stay in London for an indefinite period. And he
(the Parson) has no absurd prejudices—no narrow-mindedness. He
goes to the Derby, where he appears to be extremely popular at
luncheon-time amongst the fair ladies who patronise the tops of
the drags, and later on becomes quite at home at an illuminated
fete at the Exhibition, amidst the moonlight, and a thousand
additional lamps. It is felt that the Derby is run with this good
man's blessing; and everyone is glad, for,_ without it, in spite of
the horses, jockeys, carriages, acrobats, gipsies, niggers, grooms,
stable-helps, and pleasure-seekers, the tableau would be assthetically
incomplete. And the daughter of the Reverend is quite as interest-
ing as her large-hearted sire. She, too, has no prejudices (as instance,
the little matrimonial trip to London); and when she has to part with
her husband, on his departure_(presumably enroute to the Bermudas),
she requires the vigorous assistance of a large detachment of Her
Majesty's Guards to support her in her bereavement. Of the actors,
Mr. Chables Glenney, as a broken-down gentleman, is certainly
the hero of the three hours and a half. In Act III., on the night of
the first performance, he brought down the house, and received two
calls before the footlights after the Curtain had descended. He has
many worthy colleagues, for instance, Mr. Haeey Nichoixs, Miss
Mhiwabd, 'Mr. Chables Wabneb, and Miss Fanny Beough, are
all that could be desired in their respective lines. But, well cast
as it undoubtedly is, the play has vitality within it that does not
depend for existence upon the efforts of the company. It is good all
round—scenery, dresses, preperties, and effects—and will keep its
place at Drury Lane until dislodged by the Pantomime at Christmas.

Chasge of Name a t,a Suisse.—Tessin and its quarrelsome inha-
bitants to be known in future as a Can't-get-on instead of a Canton.

vox. xcix,