"No bathing to-day!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS

A Nocturne which would seem to show that "residential flats" were not wholly unknown even in primeval times!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Blinks._ "The sun 'll be over the yard-arm in ten minutes. _Then_ we'll have a drink!"

_Jinks._ "I think I'll have one while I'm waiting!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIALS OF A CONVALESCENT

_Tompkins_ (_in a feeble voice, for the fourth or fifth time, with no result_). "Chairman!!! chairman!!!"

_That Awful Boy._ "Lydies and gentlemen----!!"]

SEASIDE ASIDES

(_Paterfamilias in North Cornwall_)

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Oh! how delightful now at last to come Away from town--its dirt, its degradation, Its never-ending whirl, its ceaseless hum.

(A long chalks better, though, than sheer stagnation.)

For what could mortal man or maid want more Than breezy downs to stroll on, rocks to climb up, Weird labyrinthine caverns to explore?

(There's nothing else to do to fill the time up.)

Your honest face here earns an honest brown, You ramble on for miles 'mid gorse and heather, Sheep hold athletic sports upon the down (Which makes the mutton taste as tough as leather).

The place is guiltless, too, of horrid piers.

And likewise is not Christy-Minstrel tooney; No soul-distressing strains disturb your ears.

(A German band has just played "_Annie Rooney_".)

The eggs as fresh as paint, the Cornish cream The boys from school all say is "simply ripping."

The b.u.t.ter, so the girls declare, "a dream."

(The only baccy you can buy quite dripping.)

A happiness of resting after strife, Where one forgets all worldly pain and sorrow, And one contentedly could pa.s.s one's life.

(A telegram will take _me_ home to-morrow.)

SCENE: MARGATE BEACH ON EASTER MONDAY.--_First Lady._ "Oh, here comes a steamer. How high she is out of the water."

_Second Lady._ "Yes, dear, but don't you see? It's because the tide's so low."

[Ill.u.s.tration: AWKWARD

_The aristocratic Jones_ (_rather ashamed of his loud acquaintance, Brown_). "You must excuse me, but if there's one thing in the world I particularly object to, it's to having anybody take my arm!"

_Brown._ "All right, old fellow!--_you_ take _mine_!"]

THE SEASIDE VISITOR'S VADE MEc.u.m.

_Question._ Is it your intention to leave London at once to benefit by the ocean breezes on the English coast?

_Answer._ Certainly, with the bulk of my neighbours.

_Q._ Then the metropolis will become empty?

_A._ Practically, for only about three and a half millions out of the four millions will be left behind.

_Q._ What do you consider the remaining residuum?

_A._ From a West End point of view a negligible quant.i.ty.

_Q._ Do not some of the Eastenders visit the seaside?

_A._ Yes, at an earlier period in the year, when they pay rather more for their accommodation than their neighbours of the West.

_Q._ How can this be, if it be a.s.sumed that the East is poorer than the West?

_A._ The length of the visit is governed by the weight of the purse.

Belgravia stays a couple of months at Eastbourne, while three days at Margate is enough for Sh.o.r.editch.

_Q._ Has a sojourn by the sea waves any disadvantages?

_A._ Several. In the first instance, lodgings are frequently expensive and uncomfortable. Then there is always a chance that the last lodgers may have occupied their rooms as convalescents. Lastly, it is not invariably the case that the climate agrees with himself and his family.

_Q._ And what becomes of the house in town?

_A._ If abandoned to a caretaker, the reception rooms may be used by her own family as best chambers, and if let to strangers, the furniture may be injured irretrievably.

_Q._ But surely in the last case there would be the certainty of pecuniary indemnity?

_A._ Cherished relics cannot be restored by their commonplace value in money.