Part 1

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MR. PUNCH AT THE SEASIDE

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON

Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch", from its beginning in 1841 to the present day.

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MR. PUNCH AT THE SEASIDE

AS PICTURED BY

CHARLES KEENE, JOHN LEECH, GEORGE DU MAURIER, PHIL MAY, L. RAVEN-HILL, J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE, GORDON BROWNE, E. T. REED, AND OTHERS....

_WITH 200 ILLUSTRATIONS_

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

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THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo. 192 pages fully illustrated_

LIFE IN LONDON

COUNTRY LIFE

IN THE HIGHLANDS

SCOTTISH HUMOUR

IRISH HUMOUR

COCKNEY HUMOUR

IN SOCIETY

AFTER DINNER STORIES

IN BOHEMIA

AT THE PLAY

MR. PUNCH AT HOME

ON THE CONTINONG

RAILWAY BOOK

AT THE SEASIDE

MR. PUNCH AFLOAT

IN THE HUNTING FIELD

MR. PUNCH ON TOUR

WITH ROD AND GUN

MR. PUNCH AWHEEL

BOOK OF SPORTS

GOLF STORIES

IN WIG AND GOWN

ON THE WARPATH

BOOK OF LOVE

WITH THE CHILDREN

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EDITOR'S NOTE

One of the leading characteristics of the nineteenth century was the tremendous change effected in the social life of Great Britain by the development of cheap railway travel. The annual holiday at the seaside speedily became as inevitable a part of the year's progress as the milkman's morning call is of the day's routine. What at first had been a rare and memorable event in a life-time developed into a habit, to which, with our British love for conventions, all of us conform.

Whether or not our French critics are justified in saying that we Britishers take our pleasures sadly, these pages from the seaside chronicles of Mr. Punch will bear witness, and while at times they may seem to support the case of our critics, at others the evidence is eloquent against them. This at least is certain, that whatever the temperament of the British as displayed during the holiday season at our popular resorts, the point of view of our national jester, Mr. Punch, is unfailingly humorous, and such sadness as some of our countrymen may bring to their pleasures is but food for the mirth of merry Mr. Punch, who, we are persuaded, stands for the sum total of John Bull's good humour in his outlook on the life of his countrymen.

As the real abstract and brief chronicler of our time, Mr. Punch has mirrored in little the social history of the last sixty-five years, and apart from the genuine entertainment which this book presents, it is scarcely less instructive as a pictorial history of British manners during this period. One may here follow in the vivid sketches of the master-draughtsmen of the age the ceaseless and bewildering changes of fashion--the passing of the crinoline, the coming and going of the bustle, the chignon, and similar vanities, and the evolution of the present-day styles of dress both of men and women.

It is also curious to notice how little seaside customs, amusements, troubles and delights, have varied in the last half-century. Landladies are at the end what they were at the beginning; the same old type of bathing-machine is still in use; our forefathers and their womenfolk in the days when Mr. Punch was young behaved themselves by "the silver sea" just as their children's children do to-day. Nothing has changed, except that the most select of seaside places is no longer so select as it was in the pre-railway days, and that the wealthier classes, preferring the attractions of Continental resorts, are less in evidence at our own watering-places.

The motto of this little work, as of all those in the series to which it belongs, is "Our true intent is all for your delight", but if the book carry with it some measure of instruction, we trust that may not be the less to its credit.

MR. PUNCH AT THE SEASIDE

_Mrs. Dorset_ (_of "Dorset's Sugar and Butter Stores", Mile End Road_). "Why on earth can't we go to a more _dressy_ place than this, 'Enery? I'm sick of this dreary 'ole, year after year. It's nothing but sand and water, sand and water!"

_Mr. Dorset._ "If it wasn't for sand and water, you wouldn't get no 'olerday."

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SEASIDE MEM.--The Society recently started to abolish Tied-houses will not include Bathing Machines within the scope of its operations.

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"WHERE'S RAMSGATE?"

[_Mr. Justice Hawkins._ Where is Ramsgate?

_Mr. Dickens._ It is in Thanet, your lordship. _Report of Twyman v. Bligh._]

"Where's Ramsgate?" Justice Hawkins cried. "Where on our earthly planet?" The learned Dickens straight replied, "'Tis in the Isle of Thanet.

"Ramsgate is where the purest air Will make your head or leg well, Will jaded appetite repair, With the shrimp cure of Pegwell.

"Where's Ramsgate? It is near the place Where Julius Caesar waded, And nearer still to where his Grace Augustine come one day did.

"All barristers should Ramsgate know: I speak of it with pleasure", Quoth Dickens. "There I often go When wanting a refresher.

"Where's Ramsgate? Where I've often seen. Both S-mb-rne and Du M-r-_er_, When I have gone by 3.15 Granville Express, Victori_er_.

"With Thanet Harriers, when you are Well mounted on a pony, You'll say, for health who'd go so far As Cannes, Nice, or Mentone?

"With Poland, of the Treasury, Recorder eke of Dover, I oft go down for pleasurey. Alack! 'tis too soon over!

"O'er Thanet's Isle where'er you trudge, My Lud, you'll find no land which----" "Dickens take Ramsgate!" quote the Judge. "Luncheon! I'm off to Sandwich!"

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THE WONDERS OF THE SEA-SHORE

_Contributed by_ "GLAUCUS", _who is staying at a quiet watering-place, five miles from anywhere, and three miles from a Railway Station_.

_Monday_(?) _after breakfast, lying on the beach._

Wonder if it is Monday, or Tuesday?

Wonder what time it is?

Wonder if it will be a fine day?

Wonder what I shall do if it is? On second thoughts, wonder what I shall do if it isn't?

Wonder if there are any letters?

Wonder who that is in a white petticoat with her hair down?

Wonder if she came yesterday or the day before?

Wonder if she's pretty?

Wonder what I've been thinking about the last ten minutes?

Wonder how the boatmen here make a livelihood by lying all day at full length on the beach?

Wonder why every one who sits on the shore throws pebbles into the sea?

Wonder what there is for dinner?

Wonder what I shall do all the afternoon?

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_Same day, after lunch, lying on the beach._

Wonder who in the house beside myself is partial to my dry sherry?

Wonder what there is for dinner?

Wonder what's in the paper to-day?

Wonder if it's hot in London? Should say it was.

Wonder how I ever could live in London?

Wonder if there's any news from America?

Wonder what tooral looral means in a chorus?

Children playing near me, pretty, very?

Wonder if that little boy intended to hit me on the nose with a stone?

Wonder if he's going to do it again? Hope not.

Wonder if I should like to be a shrimp?

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_Same day, after an early dinner, lying on the beach._

Wonder why I can never get any fish?

Wonder why my landlady introduces cinders into the gravy?

Wonder more than ever who there is at my lodgings so partial to my dry sherry?

Wonder if that's the coast of France in the distance?

Feel inclined for a quiet conversation with my fellow-man.

A boatman approaches. I wonder (to the boatman) if it will be a fine day tomorrow? He wonders too? We both wonder together?

Wonder (again to the boatman) if the rail will make much difference to the place? He shakes his head and says "Ah! he wonders!" and leaves me.

Wonder what age I was last birthday?

Wonder if police inspectors are as a rule fond of bathing?

Wonder what gave me that idea?

Wonder what I shall do all this evening?

_Same day, after supper, Moonlight, lying on the beach._

Wonder if there ever was such a creature as a mermaid?

Wonder several times more than ever who it is that's so fond of my dry sherry?

Wonder if the Pope can swim?

Wonder what made me think of that?

Wonder if I should like to go up in a balloon?

Wonder what Speke and Grant had for dinner to-day?

Wonder if the Zoological Gardens are open at sunrise?

Wonder what I shall do to-morrow?

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FRUIT TO BE AVOIDED BY BATHERS.--Currants.

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A SEASIDE REVERIE

I think, as I sit at my ease on the shingle, And list to the musical voice of the Sea, How gaily my Landlady always will mingle From my little caddy her matutine tea. And vainly the bitter remembrance I banish Of mutton just eaten, my heart is full sore, To think after one cut it's certain to vanish, And never be seen on my board any more.

Some small store of spirit to moisten my throttle I keep, and indulge in it once in a way; But, bless you, it seems to fly out of the bottle And swiftly decrease, though untouched all the day. My sugar and sardines, my bread and my butter, Are eaten, and vainly I fret and I frown; My Landlady, just like an AEsthete's too utter A fraud, and I vow that I'll go back to Town.

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THE NURSEMAID'S FRIEND

Science has given us the baby-jumper, by which we are enabled to carry out the common exclamation of "Hang those noisy children" without an act of infanticide, by suspending our youngsters in the air; and perhaps allowing them to have their full swing, without getting into mischief; but the apparatus for the nursery will not be complete until we have something in the shape of coops for our pretty little chickens, when they are "out with nurse", and she happens to have something better--or worse--to do than to look after them.

How often, in a most interesting part of a novel, or in the midst of a love passage of real life, in which the nurse is herself the heroine, how often, alas! is she not liable to be disturbed by the howl of a brat, with a cow's horn in his eye, a dog's teeth in his heels, or in some other awkward dilemma, which could not have arisen had the domestic Child-coop been an article of common use in the Metropolitan parks, or on the sands at the seaside?

There is something very beautiful in the comparison of helpless infancy to a brood of young chickens, with its attendant imagery of "mother's wing", and all that sort of thing, but the allegory would be rendered much more complete by the application of the hencoop to domestic purposes. We intend buying one for our own stud of _piccoli_--which means little pickles--and we hope to see all heads of families taking it into their heads to follow our example.

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MIDSUMMER MADNESS.--Going to the seaside in search of quiet.

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ON THE SPOT

Shall we like Pierpoint, to which favourite and healthy seaside resort we finally resolved to come, after a period of much indecision and uncertainty, and where we arrived, in heavy rain, in two cabs, with thirteen packages, on Saturday?

Shall we be comfortable at 62, Convolution Street, dining-room floor, two guineas and a half a week, and all and perhaps rather more than the usual extras?

Shall we like Mrs. Kittlespark?

Shall we find Kate all that a Kate ought to be?

Shall we lock everything up, or repose a noble confidence in Mrs. Kittlespark and Kate?

Shall we get to know the people in the drawing-room?

Shall we subscribe to the Pier, or pay each time we go on it?

Shall we subscribe to that most accommodating Circulating Library, Pigram's, where we can exchange our books at pleasure, _but not oftener than once a day_?

Shall we relax our minds with the newest novels, or give our intellects a bracing course of the best standard works?

Shall we dine late or early?

Shall we call on the Denbigh Flints, who, according to the _Pierpoint Pioneer_, are staying at 10, Ocean Crescent?

Shall we carefully avoid the Wilkiesons, whom the same unerring guide reports at 33, Blue Lion Street?

Shall we be satisfied with our first weekly bill?

Shall we find in it any unexpected and novel extras, such as knife-cleaning, proportion of the water-rate, loan of latch-key, &c.?

Shall we get our meat at Round's, who displays the Prince of Wales's Feathers over his shop door, and plumes himself on being "purveyor" to His Royal Highness; or at Cleaver's, who boasts of the patronage of the Hereditary Grand Duke of Seltersland?

Shall we find everything dearer here than it is at home?

Shall we be happy in our laundress?

Shall we be photographed?

Shall we, as Mrs. Kittlespark has a spare bed-room, invite our Cousin Amelia Staythorp, from whom we have expectations, and who is Constance Edith Amelia's Godmother, to come down and stay a week with us?

Shall we be praiseworthily economical, and determine not to spend a single unnecessary sixpence; or shall we, as we _have_ come to Pierpoint, enjoy ourselves to the utmost, go in for all the amusements of the place--pier, public gardens, theatre, concerts, Oceanarium, bathing, boating, fishing, driving, riding, and rinking--make excursions, be ostentatiously liberal to the Town Band, and buy everything that is offered to us on the Beach?

A month hence, shall we be glad or sorry to leave Pierpoint, and go back to Paddington?

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POSTSCRIPT TO A SEASIDE LETTER.--"The sea is as smooth, and clear, as a looking-glass. The oysters might see to shave in it."

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WHAT THE WILD WAVES ARE SAYING

That the lodging-house keepers are on the look out for the weary Londoners and their boxes.

That the sea breezes will attract all the world from the Metropolis to the coast.

That Britons should prefer Ramsgate, Eastbourne, Scarborough, and the like, to Dieppe, Dinard, and Boulogne.

That paterfamilias should remember, when paying the bill, that a two months' letting barely compensates for an empty house during the remainder of the year.

That the shore is a place of recreation for all but the bathing-machine horse.

That the circulating libraries are stocked with superfluous copies of unknown novels waiting to be read.

That, finally, during the excursion season, 'Arry will have to be tolerated, if not exactly loved.

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View of the sands of Anywhere-on-Sea if the suggestion is adopted.

Time--December or January.]

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HOLIDAY HAUNTS

_By Jingle Junior on the Jaunt_

I.--GREAT YARMOUTH

Why Great?--where's Little Yarmouth?--or Mid-Sized Yarmouth?--give it up--don't know--hate people who ask conundrums--feel well cured directly you get here--good trademark for dried-fish sellers, "The Perfect Cure"--if you stay a fortnight, get quite kipperish--stay a month, talk kipperish! Principal attractions--Bloaters and Rows--first eat--second see--song, "_Speak gently of the Herring_"--"long shore" ones splendid--kippers delicious--song, "_What's a' the steer, Kipper?_"--song, "_Nobody's rows like our Rows_"--more they are--varied--picturesque--tumbledown--paradise for painters--very narrow--capital support for native Bloater going home after dinner--odd names--Ramp, Kitty Witches--Gallon Can, Conge! Fancy oneself quite the honest toiler of the sea--ought to go about in dried haddock suit--feel inclined to emulate _Mr. Peggotty_--run into quiet taverns--thump tables violently--say "gormed!" Whole neighbourhood recalls _Ham_ and _Little Em'ly_--_David, Steerforth, Mrs. Gummidge_--recall ham myself--if well broiled--lunch--pleasant promenades on piers--plenty of amusement in watching the bloateric commerce--fresh water fishing in adjacent Broads, if you like--if not, let it alone--broad as it's long! The Denes--not sardines--nor rural deans--good places for exercise--plenty of antiquities--old customs--quaint traditions! Picturesque ancient taverns--capital modern hotels--stopping in one of the latter--polite waiter just appeared--dinner served--soup'll get cold--mustn't wait--never insult good cook by being unpunctual--rather let Editor go short than hurt cook's feelings[1]--so no more at present--from Yours Truly.

[Footnote 1:] Don't like this sentiment. Is J. J. a Cook's Tourist?--ED.

II.--LITTLEHAMPTON.

Emphatically the Sea on the strict Q T--no bustle at railway-station--train glides in noiselessly--passengers ooze away--porters good-tempered and easy-going--like suffragan Bishops in corduroys--bless boxes--read pastorals on portmanteaux--no one in a hurry--locomotive coos softly in an undertone--fly-drivers suggest possibility of your requiring their services in a whisper! Place full--no lodgings to be had--visitors manage to efface themselves--no one about--all having early dinners--or gone to bed--or pretending to be somewhere else--a one-sided game of hide and seek--everybody hiding, nobody seeking! Seems always afternoon--dreamy gleamy sunshine--a dense quietude that you might cut in slices--no braying brass-bands--no raucous niggers--no seaside harpies--Honfleur packet only excitement--no one goes to see it start--visitors don't like to be excited! Chief amusements, Common, Sands, and Pony-chaises--first, good to roll on--second, good to stroll on--first two, gratuitous and breezy--third, inexpensive and easy--might be driven out of your mind for three-and-six--notwithstanding this, everybody presumably sane. Capital place for children--cricket for boys--shrimping for girls--bare legs--picturesque dress--not much caught--salt water good for ankles--excellent bathing--rows of bathing-tents--admirable notion! Interesting excursions--Arundel Castle--Bramber--Bognor--Chichester --Petworth House! Good things to eat--Arundel mullet--Amberley trout --Tarring figs! Delightful air--omnipotent ozone--uninterrupted quiet--just the place to recover your balance, either mental or monetary--I wish to recover both--that's the reason I'm here--send cheque at once to complete cure.[2]

[Footnote 2:] We have sent him the price of a third-class fare to town, with orders to return instantly: possibly this is hardly the sort of check that our friend "J. J." expected.--ED.

III.--SCARBOROUGH.