PERFECT TRANSLATIONPERFECT TRANSLATIONYouthful North Briton(on honeymoon tour, proud of his French). "Gassong! La—le—le—cart——"Garçon."Oui, m'sieu', tout de suite!"Admiring Bride."Losh! Sandy, what did he say?"Youthful North Briton(rather taken aback). "Aweel, Jeannie, dear, he kens I'm Scotch, an' he asked me to 'tak' a seat.'"
Youthful North Briton(on honeymoon tour, proud of his French). "Gassong! La—le—le—cart——"
Garçon."Oui, m'sieu', tout de suite!"
Admiring Bride."Losh! Sandy, what did he say?"
Youthful North Briton(rather taken aback). "Aweel, Jeannie, dear, he kens I'm Scotch, an' he asked me to 'tak' a seat.'"
DIEPPE--MOSSOO LEARNING TO FLOATDIEPPE—MOSSOO LEARNING TO FLOAT
Our friend, 'Arry Belville, is so knocked all of a heap byOur friend, 'Arry Belville, is so knocked all of a heap by the beauty of the foreign fish girls, that he offers his 'and and 'art to the lovely Pauline.
Our friend, 'Arry Belville, is so knocked all of a heap by the beauty of the foreign fish girls, that he offers his 'and and 'art to the lovely Pauline.
A SKETCH AT TROUDEAUVILLEA SKETCH AT TROUDEAUVILLEAfter the bath, the Count and Countess de St. Camembert have a little chat with their friends before dressing; and Monsieur Roucouly, the famous baritone, smokes a quiet cigarette, ere he plunges into the sandy ripple.
After the bath, the Count and Countess de St. Camembert have a little chat with their friends before dressing; and Monsieur Roucouly, the famous baritone, smokes a quiet cigarette, ere he plunges into the sandy ripple.
Or, The Legend of Lionel
"Newhaven to Dieppe," he cried, but, on the voyage there,He felt appalling qualms of what the French callmal de mer;While, when the steward was not near, he struck Byronic attitudes,And made himself most popular by pretty little platitudes.And, while he wobbled on the waves, be sure they never slep',While waiting for their Lionel, the Damsels of Dieppe.He landed with a jaunty air, but feeling rather weak,While all the French and English girls cried out "C'est magnifique!"They reck'd not of his bilious hue, but murmur'd quite ecstatical,"Blue coat, brass buttons, and straw hat—c'esttout-à-faitpiratical!"He hadn't got his land-legs, and he walked with faltering step,But still they thought itcomme-il-faut, those Damsels of Dieppe.The Douane found him circled round by all the fairest fair,The while he said, in lofty tones, he'd nothing to declare;He turned to one girl who stood near, and softly whisper'd "Fly, O Nell!"But all the others wildly cried, "Give us a chance, O Lionel!"And thus he came to shore from all the woes of Father Nep.,With fatal fascinations for the Damsels of Dieppe.He went to the Casino, whither mostly people go,And lost his tin at baccarat and ekepetits chevaux;And still the maidens flocked around, and vowed he was amusing 'em;And borrowed five-franc pieces, just for fear he should be losing 'em;And then he'd sandwiches and bocks, which brought on bad dyspep--sia for Lionel beloved by Damsels of Dieppe.As bees will swarm around a hive, the maids ofLa belle FranceWent mad about our Lionel and thirsted for his glance;In short they were reduced unto a state of used-up coffee leesBy this mild, melancholic, maudlin, mournful Mephistopheles.He rallied them in French, in which he had the gift of rep--artee, and sunnily they smiled, the Damsels of Dieppe.At last one day he had to go; they came upon the pier;The French girls sobbed, "Mon cher!" and then the English sighed, "My dear!"He looked at all the threatening waves, and cried, the while embracing 'em,(I mean the girls, not waves,) "Oh no! I don't feel quite like facing 'em!"And all the young things murmured, "Stay, and you will find sweet rep-aration for the folks at home in Damsels of Dieppe."And day by day, and year by year, whene'er he sought the sea,The waves were running mountains high, the wind was blowing free.At last he died, and o'er his bier his sweethearts sang doxology,And vowed they saw his ghost, which came from dabbling in psychology.And to this hour that spook is seen upon the pier. If scep-tical, ask ancient ladies, once the Damsels of Dieppe.
"Newhaven to Dieppe," he cried, but, on the voyage there,He felt appalling qualms of what the French callmal de mer;While, when the steward was not near, he struck Byronic attitudes,And made himself most popular by pretty little platitudes.And, while he wobbled on the waves, be sure they never slep',While waiting for their Lionel, the Damsels of Dieppe.
"Newhaven to Dieppe," he cried, but, on the voyage there,
He felt appalling qualms of what the French callmal de mer;
While, when the steward was not near, he struck Byronic attitudes,
And made himself most popular by pretty little platitudes.
And, while he wobbled on the waves, be sure they never slep',
While waiting for their Lionel, the Damsels of Dieppe.
He landed with a jaunty air, but feeling rather weak,While all the French and English girls cried out "C'est magnifique!"They reck'd not of his bilious hue, but murmur'd quite ecstatical,"Blue coat, brass buttons, and straw hat—c'esttout-à-faitpiratical!"He hadn't got his land-legs, and he walked with faltering step,But still they thought itcomme-il-faut, those Damsels of Dieppe.
He landed with a jaunty air, but feeling rather weak,
While all the French and English girls cried out "C'est magnifique!"
They reck'd not of his bilious hue, but murmur'd quite ecstatical,
"Blue coat, brass buttons, and straw hat—c'esttout-à-faitpiratical!"
He hadn't got his land-legs, and he walked with faltering step,
But still they thought itcomme-il-faut, those Damsels of Dieppe.
The Douane found him circled round by all the fairest fair,The while he said, in lofty tones, he'd nothing to declare;He turned to one girl who stood near, and softly whisper'd "Fly, O Nell!"But all the others wildly cried, "Give us a chance, O Lionel!"And thus he came to shore from all the woes of Father Nep.,With fatal fascinations for the Damsels of Dieppe.
The Douane found him circled round by all the fairest fair,
The while he said, in lofty tones, he'd nothing to declare;
He turned to one girl who stood near, and softly whisper'd "Fly, O Nell!"
But all the others wildly cried, "Give us a chance, O Lionel!"
And thus he came to shore from all the woes of Father Nep.,
With fatal fascinations for the Damsels of Dieppe.
He went to the Casino, whither mostly people go,And lost his tin at baccarat and ekepetits chevaux;And still the maidens flocked around, and vowed he was amusing 'em;And borrowed five-franc pieces, just for fear he should be losing 'em;And then he'd sandwiches and bocks, which brought on bad dyspep--sia for Lionel beloved by Damsels of Dieppe.
He went to the Casino, whither mostly people go,
And lost his tin at baccarat and ekepetits chevaux;
And still the maidens flocked around, and vowed he was amusing 'em;
And borrowed five-franc pieces, just for fear he should be losing 'em;
And then he'd sandwiches and bocks, which brought on bad dyspep-
-sia for Lionel beloved by Damsels of Dieppe.
As bees will swarm around a hive, the maids ofLa belle FranceWent mad about our Lionel and thirsted for his glance;In short they were reduced unto a state of used-up coffee leesBy this mild, melancholic, maudlin, mournful Mephistopheles.He rallied them in French, in which he had the gift of rep--artee, and sunnily they smiled, the Damsels of Dieppe.
As bees will swarm around a hive, the maids ofLa belle France
Went mad about our Lionel and thirsted for his glance;
In short they were reduced unto a state of used-up coffee lees
By this mild, melancholic, maudlin, mournful Mephistopheles.
He rallied them in French, in which he had the gift of rep-
-artee, and sunnily they smiled, the Damsels of Dieppe.
At last one day he had to go; they came upon the pier;The French girls sobbed, "Mon cher!" and then the English sighed, "My dear!"He looked at all the threatening waves, and cried, the while embracing 'em,(I mean the girls, not waves,) "Oh no! I don't feel quite like facing 'em!"And all the young things murmured, "Stay, and you will find sweet rep-aration for the folks at home in Damsels of Dieppe."
At last one day he had to go; they came upon the pier;
The French girls sobbed, "Mon cher!" and then the English sighed, "My dear!"
He looked at all the threatening waves, and cried, the while embracing 'em,
(I mean the girls, not waves,) "Oh no! I don't feel quite like facing 'em!"
And all the young things murmured, "Stay, and you will find sweet rep-
aration for the folks at home in Damsels of Dieppe."
And day by day, and year by year, whene'er he sought the sea,The waves were running mountains high, the wind was blowing free.At last he died, and o'er his bier his sweethearts sang doxology,And vowed they saw his ghost, which came from dabbling in psychology.And to this hour that spook is seen upon the pier. If scep-tical, ask ancient ladies, once the Damsels of Dieppe.
And day by day, and year by year, whene'er he sought the sea,
The waves were running mountains high, the wind was blowing free.
At last he died, and o'er his bier his sweethearts sang doxology,
And vowed they saw his ghost, which came from dabbling in psychology.
And to this hour that spook is seen upon the pier. If scep-
tical, ask ancient ladies, once the Damsels of Dieppe.
To Intending Tourists.—"Where shall we go?" All depends on the "coin of 'vantage." Switzerland? Question of money. Motto.—"Point d'argent point de Suisse."
At Interlachen.—Cockney Tourist to Perfect Stranger. Must 'ave been a 'ard frost 'ere last night, sir.
Perfect Stranger(startled). Dear me! Why?
Cockney Tourist.Why, look at the top of that there 'ill, sir (points to the Jung Frau). Ain't it covered with snow!
'NO PLACE LIKE HOME!'"NO PLACE LIKE HOME!"Smith(meeting the Browns at the station on their return from the Continent). "Delighted to see you back, my boy! But—well, and how did you like Italy?"Mrs. B.(who is "artistic"). "Oh, charming, you know, the pictures and statues and all that! But Charles had typhoid for six weeks at Feverenze (our hotel was close to that glorious Melfizzi Palazzo, y'know), and after that I caught the Roman fever, and so," &c., &c.[They think they go to Ramsgate next year.
Smith(meeting the Browns at the station on their return from the Continent). "Delighted to see you back, my boy! But—well, and how did you like Italy?"
Mrs. B.(who is "artistic"). "Oh, charming, you know, the pictures and statues and all that! But Charles had typhoid for six weeks at Feverenze (our hotel was close to that glorious Melfizzi Palazzo, y'know), and after that I caught the Roman fever, and so," &c., &c.
[They think they go to Ramsgate next year.
STUDY AT A QUIET FRENCH WATERING-PLACESTUDY AT A QUIET FRENCH WATERING-PLACE"Now, then, mossoo, your form is of the manliest beauty, and you are altogether a most attractive object; but you've stood there long enough. So jump in and have done with it!"
"Now, then, mossoo, your form is of the manliest beauty, and you are altogether a most attractive object; but you've stood there long enough. So jump in and have done with it!"
Strange vagaries of a pair of moustaches. Sketched inStrange vagaries of a pair of moustaches. Sketched in Holland on a windy day.
Strange vagaries of a pair of moustaches. Sketched in Holland on a windy day.
SIR GORGIUS ON THE 'CONTINONG'SIR GORGIUS ON THE "CONTINONG"Sir G. Midas(to his younger son). "There's a glass o' champagne for yer, 'Enry! Down with it, my lad—and thank 'Eaven you're an Englishman, and can afford to drink it!"
Sir G. Midas(to his younger son). "There's a glass o' champagne for yer, 'Enry! Down with it, my lad—and thank 'Eaven you're an Englishman, and can afford to drink it!"
[According to a correspondent of theTimes, it is proposed to erect bridges connecting Venice with the mainland.]
One afternoon in the autumn of 1930, when the express from Milan arrived at Venice an Englishman stepped out, handed his luggage ticket to a porter, and said, "Hotel Tiziano."
"Adesso Hotel Moderno, signore," remarked the porter.
"They've changed the name, I suppose. All right.Hotel Moderno, gondola."
"Che cosa, signore?" asked the porter, apparently confused, "gon—, gondo—, non capisco. Hotel Moderno, non è vero?" And he led the way to the outside, where the Englishman perceived a wide, asphalted street. "Ecco là, signore, la stazione sotterranea del Tubo dei Quattro Soldi; ecco qui la tramvia elettrica, e l'omnibus dell' hotel."
"Gondola," repeated the Englishman. The porter stared at him again. Then he shook his head and answered, "Non capisco, signore, non parlo inglese." So the Englishman entered the motor omnibus, started at once, for there were no other travellers,and in a few minutes arrived at the hotel, designed by an American architect and fifteen stories in height. The gorgeous marble and alabaster entrance-hall was entirely deserted.
Having engaged a room, the Englishman asked for a guide. The hall porter, who spoke ten languages fluently and simultaneously, murmured some words into a telephone, and almost immediately a dapper little man presented himself with an obsequious bow.
"I want to go round the principal buildings," said the Englishman. "You speak English, of course."
"Secure, sir," answered the guide, with another bow; "alls the ciceronians speaks her fine language, but her speak I as one English. Lets us go to visit the Grand Central Station of the Tube."
"Oh, no," said the Englishman, "not that sort of thing! I'm not an engineer. I should like to see the Doge's Palace."
"Lo, sir! The Palace is now theStazione Centrale Elettrica."
"Then it's no good going to see that. I will go to St. Mark's."
"San Marco is shutted, sir. Thevibrazioneof the elettrical mechanism has done fall the mosaics. The to visit is become too periculous."
"Oh, indeed! Well, we can go up the Grand Canal."
"TheCanal Grande, sir, is now theVia Marconi. Is all changed, and covered, as all the olds canals of Venezia, with arches of steel and a street ofasfalto. Is fine, fine,è bella, bella, una via maravigliosa"!
"You don't mean to say there isn't a canal left? Where are the gondolas then?"
"An, una gondola!The sir isarcheologo.Ebbene!We shalls go to theMuseo. There she shall see one gondola, much curious, and old, ah, so old!"
"Not a canal, not a gondola—except in the museum! What is there to see?"
"There is much, sir. There is the Tube of the Four Halfpennies,tutto all' inglese, as at London. He is on the arches of steel below the news streets. There is the bridge from the city to Murano, one span of steel all covered of stone much thin, as thePonte della Torre, the Bridge of the Tower, at London. Is marvellous, the our bridge! Is one bridge, and not of less not appear to be one bridge, but one castle of the middle age in the middle air.È bellissimo, e anche tutto all' inglese.And then——"
"Stop," cried the Englishman. "Does anybody ever come to your city now? Any artists, for instance?"
"Ah, no, sir!Pittori, scultori, perche?But there are voyagers some time. The month past all the Society of the Engineers of Japan are comed, and the hotels were fulls, and all those sirs were much contenteds and sayed the city was marvellous. She shall go now, sir, to visit the bridge?"
"No," said the Englishman, emphatically, "not I! Let me pay my bill here and your fee, whatever it is, and take me back to the railway station as fast as you can. There are plenty of bridges in London. I am going back there."
At Brussels.—Mrs. Trickleby(pointing to announcement in grocer's window, and spelling it out).
Jambon d' Yorck.What's that mean, Mr. T.?
Mr. T.(who is by way of being a linguist). Why, good Yorkshire preserves, of course. What did you suppose it was—Dundee marmalade?
'ARRY IN 'OLLAND'ARRY IN 'OLLAND"These 'ere cigars at three a 'na'penny 'as just as delicate a flavour as them as we pays a penny a piece for at 'ome!"
"These 'ere cigars at three a 'na'penny 'as just as delicate a flavour as them as we pays a penny a piece for at 'ome!"
L'EMBARRAS DES RICHESSES. AT THE CAFÉ DES AMBASSADEURSL'EMBARRAS DES RICHESSES. AT THE CAFÉ DES AMBASSADEURSThe Garsong(to Jones and Brown, from Clapham). "But your dinner, gentlemans! He go to make 'imself cold, if you eat 'im not!"
The Garsong(to Jones and Brown, from Clapham). "But your dinner, gentlemans! He go to make 'imself cold, if you eat 'im not!"
Dear Charlie,—You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound.Not for Parry alone, mate, this time—I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round.Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, Charlie—guess it's a sight you'd enjoyTo see 'Arry, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail.But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale;Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap;And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know.But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow?I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never camemuchof a spill;But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.But that'sontry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere.'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel—no fear!When I slipped down a bloomin'crevassy, Ididdo a bit of a 'owl,On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie—guide swore 'twas all my hown fault,'Cos I would dance, and singtoo-ral-li-ety, arter he'd hordered a halt.Awful gonophs, them guides, and no herror; they don't know their place not a mite,And I'm dashed if this cad didn't laugh (with the rest), 'cos I looked sich a sight.
Dear Charlie,—You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound.Not for Parry alone, mate, this time—I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round.Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, Charlie—guess it's a sight you'd enjoyTo see 'Arry, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.
Dear Charlie,—You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound.
Not for Parry alone, mate, this time—I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round.
Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, Charlie—guess it's a sight you'd enjoy
To see 'Arry, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.
'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail.But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale;Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap;And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.
'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail.
But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale;
Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap;
And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.
Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know.But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow?I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never camemuchof a spill;But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.
Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know.
But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow?
I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never camemuchof a spill;
But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.
But that'sontry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere.'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel—no fear!When I slipped down a bloomin'crevassy, Ididdo a bit of a 'owl,On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.
But that'sontry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere.
'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel—no fear!
When I slipped down a bloomin'crevassy, Ididdo a bit of a 'owl,
On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.
Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie—guide swore 'twas all my hown fault,'Cos I would dance, and singtoo-ral-li-ety, arter he'd hordered a halt.Awful gonophs, them guides, and no herror; they don't know their place not a mite,And I'm dashed if this cad didn't laugh (with the rest), 'cos I looked sich a sight.
Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie—guide swore 'twas all my hown fault,
'Cos I would dance, and singtoo-ral-li-ety, arter he'd hordered a halt.
Awful gonophs, them guides, and no herror; they don't know their place not a mite,
And I'm dashed if this cad didn't laugh (with the rest), 'cos I looked sich a sight.
At Ostend.—Biffles(to Tiffles). In this bloomin' country everyone's a prince or a marquis or a baron or a nob of some sort, so I've just shoved you down in the Visitors' Book as Lord Harthur MacOssian, and me as the Dook of FitzDazzlem!
Tiffles.Well, now, that is a lark! What'd our missuses say?
[And what did their "Missuses" say when B. and T., held in pawn by the hotel proprietor (charging aristocratic prices), had to write home to Peckham Rye for considerable advances from the family treasuries?
'E DUNNO OÙ IL EST!"'E DUNNO OÙ IL EST!"Passenger from London(as the train runs into the Gare du Nord, Paris). "Oh—er—I say—er—garsong! Kel ay le nomme du set plass?"
Passenger from London(as the train runs into the Gare du Nord, Paris). "Oh—er—I say—er—garsong! Kel ay le nomme du set plass?"
AN OLD FASHIONED WATERING-PLACEAN OLD FASHIONED WATERING-PLACE
Sur la Plage!and here are dresses, shining eyes, and golden tresses,Which the cynic sometimes guesses are not quite devoid of art;There's much polyglottic chatter 'mid the folks that group and scatter,And men fancy that to flatter is to win a maiden's heart.'Tis a seaside place that's Breton, with the rocks the children get on,And the ceaseless surges fret on all the silver-shining sand;Wave and sky could scarce be bluer, and the wily Art-reviewerWould declare the tone was truer than a seascape from Brett's hand.And disporting in the waters are the fairest of Eve's daughters,Each aquatic gambol slaughters the impulsive sons of France,While they gaze with admiration at the mermaids' emulation,And the high feats of natation at fair Dinard on the Rance.There are gay casino dances, where, with Atalanta glancesThat ensnare a young man's fancies, come the ladies one by one;Every look is doubly thrilling in the mazes of quadrilling,And, likeBarkis, we are willing, ere the magic waltz is done.And at night throng Fashion's forces where the merry little horsesRun their aggravating courses throughout all the Season's height;Is the sea a play-provoker?—for the bard is not a jokerWhen he vows the game of poker goeth on from morn till night.There St. Malo walls are frowning,—'twas immortalised by Browning,When he wrote the ballad crowning with the laurel Hervé Riel;With ozone each nerve that braces, pleasant strolls, and pretty faces,Sure, of all fair seaside places, Breton Dinard bears the bell!
Sur la Plage!and here are dresses, shining eyes, and golden tresses,Which the cynic sometimes guesses are not quite devoid of art;There's much polyglottic chatter 'mid the folks that group and scatter,And men fancy that to flatter is to win a maiden's heart.
Sur la Plage!and here are dresses, shining eyes, and golden tresses,
Which the cynic sometimes guesses are not quite devoid of art;
There's much polyglottic chatter 'mid the folks that group and scatter,
And men fancy that to flatter is to win a maiden's heart.
'Tis a seaside place that's Breton, with the rocks the children get on,And the ceaseless surges fret on all the silver-shining sand;Wave and sky could scarce be bluer, and the wily Art-reviewerWould declare the tone was truer than a seascape from Brett's hand.
'Tis a seaside place that's Breton, with the rocks the children get on,
And the ceaseless surges fret on all the silver-shining sand;
Wave and sky could scarce be bluer, and the wily Art-reviewer
Would declare the tone was truer than a seascape from Brett's hand.
And disporting in the waters are the fairest of Eve's daughters,Each aquatic gambol slaughters the impulsive sons of France,While they gaze with admiration at the mermaids' emulation,And the high feats of natation at fair Dinard on the Rance.
And disporting in the waters are the fairest of Eve's daughters,
Each aquatic gambol slaughters the impulsive sons of France,
While they gaze with admiration at the mermaids' emulation,
And the high feats of natation at fair Dinard on the Rance.
There are gay casino dances, where, with Atalanta glancesThat ensnare a young man's fancies, come the ladies one by one;Every look is doubly thrilling in the mazes of quadrilling,And, likeBarkis, we are willing, ere the magic waltz is done.
There are gay casino dances, where, with Atalanta glances
That ensnare a young man's fancies, come the ladies one by one;
Every look is doubly thrilling in the mazes of quadrilling,
And, likeBarkis, we are willing, ere the magic waltz is done.
And at night throng Fashion's forces where the merry little horsesRun their aggravating courses throughout all the Season's height;Is the sea a play-provoker?—for the bard is not a jokerWhen he vows the game of poker goeth on from morn till night.
And at night throng Fashion's forces where the merry little horses
Run their aggravating courses throughout all the Season's height;
Is the sea a play-provoker?—for the bard is not a joker
When he vows the game of poker goeth on from morn till night.
There St. Malo walls are frowning,—'twas immortalised by Browning,When he wrote the ballad crowning with the laurel Hervé Riel;With ozone each nerve that braces, pleasant strolls, and pretty faces,Sure, of all fair seaside places, Breton Dinard bears the bell!
There St. Malo walls are frowning,—'twas immortalised by Browning,
When he wrote the ballad crowning with the laurel Hervé Riel;
With ozone each nerve that braces, pleasant strolls, and pretty faces,
Sure, of all fair seaside places, Breton Dinard bears the bell!
Compensation,—"Ullo, Jones! You inParis!"
"Yes, I've just run over for a holiday."
"Where's your wife?"
"Couldn't come, poor dear. Had to stop at home on account of the baby!"
"Why, your holiday will be half spoiled!"
"Yes. Mean to stay twice as long, to make up!"
'ARRY IN ST. PETERSBURG'ARRY IN ST. PETERSBURGHe tries to make a droski-driver understand that he could have gone the same distance in a hansom for less money.
He tries to make a droski-driver understand that he could have gone the same distance in a hansom for less money.
At Paris.—Professed Linguist.Look here! Moi et un otrer Mossoo—a friend of mine—desirong der go par ler seven o'clock train à Cologne. Si nous leaverong the hotel at six o'clock et ung demy, shall nous catcherong le train all right? Comprenny voo? Voo parly Français, don't you? You understand French, eh?
Polite Frenchman(who speaks the English). I understand the French? Ah yase! Sometimes, monsieur!
A LITTLE DUOLOGUE ON THE QUAY ATA LITTLE DUOLOGUE ON THE QUAY AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER
HARRY'S SON'S HOLIDAY REMINISCENCES--SWITZERLANDHARRY'S SON'S HOLIDAY REMINISCENCES—SWITZERLAND(Drorn all by himself, and signed "Harry's Son")
(Drorn all by himself, and signed "Harry's Son")
(Supplementary Facts—omitted from the Times List)
That everything is so much better on the Continent.
That the proverbially polite Frenchman never smokes before ladies in a railway carriage.
That not for worlds would he shut the window in your face and glare at you if you ask for a little air.
That no official ever seen through a pigeon-hole at a post bureau is dyspeptic and insolent.
That sanitary improvements in Italy do not mean typhoid fever.
That where your bed-room walls are of paper, and somebody on one side of you retires in good spirits at two, and somebody else on the other gets up lively at four, you have a refreshing night's rest.
That rambling parties of Cook's tourists add immensely to the nationalprestige.
That the discovery of what it is you eat in avol-au-ventat a "diner à trois francs," will please but not surprise you.
That it is such fun being caged-up in a railway waiting-room, and then being allowed to scamper for your life to the carriages.
That perpetual fighting to get into over-crowded hotels, crammed with vulgar specimens of your own fellow-countrymen, is really enjoyable and exhilarating work.
That a couple of journeys across the Channel, especially if it is blowing both ways, are at least always something pleasant to look back upon.
That when you once get home again, England, spite some trivial advantages, being without Belgian postmen, French omnibuses, and Swiss police-regulations, strikes you as almost unendurable.
At Monte Carlo.—Angelina(sentimentally). Look, Edwin, how the dear palms are opening themselves instinctively to the golden air.
Edwin(brutally remembering his losses at the table and the long hotel bill). If you can show me any palm in the place, human or vegetable, which doesn't open itself instinctively to the golden air, I'll eat my hat!
[Angelina sighed profoundly, and Edwin opened his purse strings.
A SCENE AT THE 'LUCULLUS'A SCENE AT THE "LUCULLUS"Mrs. Blunderby."Now, my dear Monty, let me order the luncheon ar-la-Fraingsy. Gassong! I wish to begin—as we always do in Paris, my dears—with somechef-d'œuvres—you understand—somechef-d'œuvres."[Emile, the waiter, is in despair. It occurs to him, however, presently that the lady probably means "Hors d'œuvres," and acts accordingly.
Mrs. Blunderby."Now, my dear Monty, let me order the luncheon ar-la-Fraingsy. Gassong! I wish to begin—as we always do in Paris, my dears—with somechef-d'œuvres—you understand—somechef-d'œuvres."
[Emile, the waiter, is in despair. It occurs to him, however, presently that the lady probably means "Hors d'œuvres," and acts accordingly.
'ARRY AND 'ARRIET IN FRANCE'ARRY AND 'ARRIET IN FRANCE"What's 'Rots'?" "Game."
"What's 'Rots'?" "Game."
Not those, along the route prescribedTo see them in a hurry,Church, palace, gallery, describedBy worthy Mr. Murray.Nor those detailed as well by whomBut Baedeker, the German;The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb,The pulpit for the sermon.No tourist traps which tire you out,A never-ending worry;Most interesting things, no doubt,Described by Mr. Murray.Nor yet, O gastronomic mind—In cookery a boss, sageIn recipes—you will not find,I mean Bologna sausage.Not beauties, which, perhaps, you classWith your own special curry;Not beauties, which we must not passIf led by Mr. Murray.I sing—alas, how very ill!—Those beauties of the city,The praise of whose dark eyes might fillA much more worthy ditty.O, Ladies of Bologna, whoThe coldest heart might flurry,I much prefer to study youThan Baedeker or Murray.Those guide-book sights no longer please;Three hours still,tre ore,I have to lounge and look at theseBellissime signore.Then slow express—South Western goesMuch faster into Surrey—Will take me off to other showsDescribed by Mr. Murray.But still,Signore, there will be,By your sweet faces smitten,One Englishman who came to seeWhat Baedeker has written.Let Baedeker then see the lotIn frantic hurry-scurry.I've found some beauties which are notDescribed by Mr. Murray.
Not those, along the route prescribedTo see them in a hurry,Church, palace, gallery, describedBy worthy Mr. Murray.
Not those, along the route prescribed
To see them in a hurry,
Church, palace, gallery, described
By worthy Mr. Murray.
Nor those detailed as well by whomBut Baedeker, the German;The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb,The pulpit for the sermon.
Nor those detailed as well by whom
But Baedeker, the German;
The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb,
The pulpit for the sermon.
No tourist traps which tire you out,A never-ending worry;Most interesting things, no doubt,Described by Mr. Murray.
No tourist traps which tire you out,
A never-ending worry;
Most interesting things, no doubt,
Described by Mr. Murray.
Nor yet, O gastronomic mind—In cookery a boss, sageIn recipes—you will not find,I mean Bologna sausage.
Nor yet, O gastronomic mind—
In cookery a boss, sage
In recipes—you will not find,
I mean Bologna sausage.
Not beauties, which, perhaps, you classWith your own special curry;Not beauties, which we must not passIf led by Mr. Murray.
Not beauties, which, perhaps, you class
With your own special curry;
Not beauties, which we must not pass
If led by Mr. Murray.
I sing—alas, how very ill!—Those beauties of the city,The praise of whose dark eyes might fillA much more worthy ditty.
I sing—alas, how very ill!—
Those beauties of the city,
The praise of whose dark eyes might fill
A much more worthy ditty.
O, Ladies of Bologna, whoThe coldest heart might flurry,I much prefer to study youThan Baedeker or Murray.
O, Ladies of Bologna, who
The coldest heart might flurry,
I much prefer to study you
Than Baedeker or Murray.
Those guide-book sights no longer please;Three hours still,tre ore,I have to lounge and look at theseBellissime signore.
Those guide-book sights no longer please;
Three hours still,tre ore,
I have to lounge and look at these
Bellissime signore.
Then slow express—South Western goesMuch faster into Surrey—Will take me off to other showsDescribed by Mr. Murray.
Then slow express—South Western goes
Much faster into Surrey—
Will take me off to other shows
Described by Mr. Murray.
But still,Signore, there will be,By your sweet faces smitten,One Englishman who came to seeWhat Baedeker has written.
But still,Signore, there will be,
By your sweet faces smitten,
One Englishman who came to see
What Baedeker has written.
Let Baedeker then see the lotIn frantic hurry-scurry.I've found some beauties which are notDescribed by Mr. Murray.
Let Baedeker then see the lot
In frantic hurry-scurry.
I've found some beauties which are not
Described by Mr. Murray.
Overheard at Chamonix.—Stout British Matron(in a broad British accent, to a slim diligence driver). Êtes-vous la diligence?
Driver.Non, madame, mais j'en suis le cocher.
Matron(with conviction). C'est la même chose; gardez pour moi trois places dans votre intérieur demain.
UN BON MAUVAIS QUART D'HEUREUN BON MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE(Waiting for one's bathing tent at the Dieppe casino)
(Waiting for one's bathing tent at the Dieppe casino)
'IN SUNNY NORMANDY'"IN SUNNY NORMANDY"First Tourist."I say, old chap, it smells pretty bad about here; it's the river, I suppose?"Second Tourist."Yes—SeineInférieure."
First Tourist."I say, old chap, it smells pretty bad about here; it's the river, I suppose?"
Second Tourist."Yes—SeineInférieure."
POP! POP!POP! POP!(Scene—Restaurant in Switzerland)Tourist(to manager, who knows English). "There are two bottles of wine in our bill. We had only one bottle."Manager."Ach, he is a new waiter, and zee confounded echo of zee mountain must have deceived zee garçon."
(Scene—Restaurant in Switzerland)
Tourist(to manager, who knows English). "There are two bottles of wine in our bill. We had only one bottle."
Manager."Ach, he is a new waiter, and zee confounded echo of zee mountain must have deceived zee garçon."
SUCCESSFUL SANITATIONSUCCESSFUL SANITATIONAnxious Tourist."Since your town has been newly drained, I suppose there is less fever here?"Hotel-Keeper(reassuringly). "Ach, yes, sir! Ze teefoose (typhus) is now quiteze exception!"
Anxious Tourist."Since your town has been newly drained, I suppose there is less fever here?"
Hotel-Keeper(reassuringly). "Ach, yes, sir! Ze teefoose (typhus) is now quiteze exception!"
A CONTINENTAL TRIPA CONTINENTAL TRIPFirst Man(tasting beer). "Hullo! I ordered lager. This isn't lager!"Second Man(tasting). "No; but it's jolly good, all the same!"Third Man(tasting). "C'est magnifique! mais ce n'est pas lager-r-r!"
First Man(tasting beer). "Hullo! I ordered lager. This isn't lager!"
Second Man(tasting). "No; but it's jolly good, all the same!"
Third Man(tasting). "C'est magnifique! mais ce n'est pas lager-r-r!"
Mrs. Ramsbotham, who has been staying at Boulogne for a short time, writes as follows:—
"Bullown-some-Air is, I am informed, not what it used to be, though the smells must be pretty much as always, which is not the scent of rheumatic spices. It's called Bullown-some-Air because if the sea-breeze wasn't too powerful for the smells, living would be impossible. Many of the visitors to the hotels on the Key told me the bedrooms were full of musketeers, who came in when the candle went out, and bit them all over. Such a sight as one poor gentleman was! He reminded me of the Spotted Nobleman at the Agrarian in Westminster. Then, on the Sunday I was there, a day as I had always been given tounderstand the French were 'tray gay,' there was actually no music, no band, no concert, and in fact no amusement whatever at theEstablishmong day Bangs(so called because there's a shooting-gallery next it, where they bang away all day at so much a head), which might as well have been closed, as there was no race-game (of which I had heard so much), no Tom Bowling*(they wouldn't get up a Tom Bowling unless there were nine personspresent, which Mr. Hackson says is much the same as when magistrates meet and there isn't a sufficient number to make a jorum), and only one gentleman trying to produce another to play billiards with him.
"There was a theatre open. Not being a Samaritan myself, though as strict as anyone as to my own regular religious diversions at church, I let Mr. Hackson take myself and Lavinia to seeThe Clogs of Cornwall, which, I think, was the name of the opera, though, as I hadn't a bill, and didn't understand one quarter of what they were saying—not but what I was annoyed by Lavvy and Mr. Hackson always turning round to explain the jokes to me—I confess I did not see what eitherCornwallorClogshad to do with the story. The singing and the acting was worse than anything I'd ever met with at an English seaside theatre, because a place like Bullown ought to have a theatre as good as the one at Brighton. The customs worn by the actors were ugly, and when the lover, who was intended for a sailor—though his dress wasn't at allde rigger—said, confidentially, to the audience, alluding to an unfortunatelyplain young person who played the part of the Herring, "She is lovely!" there was a loud laugh, or, as Mr. Hackson, who speaks French perfectly, called it, alevy de reedo, all over the house, and this emulating from people who, I always thought, were remarkable for their politeness, was about the rudest thing I ever heard done to a public character in a playhouse.
"The place was hot, and the seats uncomfortable; so that after two acts, which was more like being in a penitentiary than a place of recrimination, we left, and went to our hotel, where, there being nothing more to do than there was anywhere else, Lavinia and myself retired to rest—that is, such rest as the musketeers would allow us. She slept in a back cupboard, called acabinet de Twilight, because it was so dark and scarcely any veneration, there being no fireplace, and only such a window, as it was healthier to keep shut than open: but she had the advantage over me in not being troubled by any musketeers. There was only one of them in my room, and when I heard him singing away like a couple of gnats, I hid under the bedclothes, and he couldn't find me till I came upagain for air, like a fish, and then he bit me on the forehead.
"Next morning we went to breakfast 'à la four sheets' they call it, on account of the size of the table-napkins, at theRest-wrongson the pier. The time they kept us! as there was only onegossoonto about twenty persons. The best thing we had there was our own appetite, which we brought with us.
"After this there was nothing doing in the place till dinner-time (calledtable doatbecause they're so fond of it), and after that there was a dull concert at theEstablishmong, and as Mr. Hackson told us, who went there, a dull dance and poor fireworks at the Artillery Gardens in theOat Veal. The 'Oat Veal' is French for the high part of the town, but, judging from the smells on and about the Key, I should say that our hotel was situated in quite the highest part of the town.
"Less than a week at Bullown was quite enough and too much for us. If Sunday here were only lively, it would be a nice change from London, or Dover, or Folkestone, or Ramsgate, as I do not know a pleasanter and easier way to go thanstarting by the London, Chatting and Dover train at 10A.M.from Victoria or Holborn Viaduct, arriving at Dover at twelve. Then by one of the comfortablest boats I was ever in, called theInflicterorInvigorator, I couldn't catch which, but Mr. Hackson told me it was Latin for 'unconquered,' which takes you, if it's a fine day and wind and tide favourable, in an hour and a quarter to Callous (orKally in French), and if you are only going on to Bullown, you have your luggage examined (as if you were a smuggling brigadier!), and you have more than an hour for lunch before you start again. The luncheon at the Kallyous buffy is excellent, and the buffers, who speak English with hardly any accident, are most attentive. Then, when you've finished, you start for Bullown by the 2.45 train, and are at your hotel by 3.30 or thereabouts, which is what I call doing it uxuriously.
"But Bullown, as Mr. Hackson said to me, requires someongterprenner, which means 'an undertaker,' to look after it, as it has become so deadly-lively. I think this must be a joke of Mr. Hackson's, one of hiscaramboles, as they call them in French, as what Bullown wants is waking up. As it is now, Bullown is a second-class place, and will soon be a third-class one, which, as Mr. Hackson says, 'Arry and an inferior dummy-mong will have all to themselves.
"Yours truly,
"M. A. R."
*We fancy Mrs. R. means "Tombola."
ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTENENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTENDuring his recent tour in Switzerland, Tomkins, who is rather nervous, had a most terrifying experience.
During his recent tour in Switzerland, Tomkins, who is rather nervous, had a most terrifying experience.
O dubious hybrid, what your patronymicOr pedigree may be, does not much matter;But if my own attire you mean to mimic,And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter—Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with youA bone or two.Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior,In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti?You wish to show an intellect superior,(And hide a profile which is not too pretty?Or is it, simply, you prefer to goIncognito?A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be,But still I bar your method of progression;For while I sit, as helpless as a baby,And scale each precipice in steep succession,You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edgeOf ev'ry ledge.How can I scan with rapt enthusiasmThese Alpine heights, when balancedà laBlondin,While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm?I cryEyupp! Avanti!—yourespond inAttempts straightway to improvise a "chute"For me, you brute!Basta! per Bacco!I'll no longer straddle(With cramp in each adductor and extensor)This seat of torture that they call a saddle!Va via!in plain English, get thee hence, or——On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,I think, were best!
O dubious hybrid, what your patronymicOr pedigree may be, does not much matter;But if my own attire you mean to mimic,And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter—Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with youA bone or two.
O dubious hybrid, what your patronymic
Or pedigree may be, does not much matter;
But if my own attire you mean to mimic,
And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter—
Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with you
A bone or two.
Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior,In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti?You wish to show an intellect superior,(And hide a profile which is not too pretty?Or is it, simply, you prefer to goIncognito?
Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior,
In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti?
You wish to show an intellect superior,
(And hide a profile which is not too pretty?
Or is it, simply, you prefer to go
Incognito?
A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be,But still I bar your method of progression;For while I sit, as helpless as a baby,And scale each precipice in steep succession,You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edgeOf ev'ry ledge.
A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be,
But still I bar your method of progression;
For while I sit, as helpless as a baby,
And scale each precipice in steep succession,
You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge
Of ev'ry ledge.
How can I scan with rapt enthusiasmThese Alpine heights, when balancedà laBlondin,While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm?I cryEyupp! Avanti!—yourespond inAttempts straightway to improvise a "chute"For me, you brute!
How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm
These Alpine heights, when balancedà laBlondin,
While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm?
I cryEyupp! Avanti!—yourespond in
Attempts straightway to improvise a "chute"
For me, you brute!
Basta! per Bacco!I'll no longer straddle(With cramp in each adductor and extensor)This seat of torture that they call a saddle!Va via!in plain English, get thee hence, or——On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,I think, were best!
Basta! per Bacco!I'll no longer straddle
(With cramp in each adductor and extensor)
This seat of torture that they call a saddle!
Va via!in plain English, get thee hence, or——
On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,
I think, were best!
'ASTONISHING THE NATIVES'"ASTONISHING THE NATIVES"First Alpine Tourist."I say, Will, are you asleep?"Second Tourist."Asleep? No, I should think not! Hang it, how they bite!"First Tourist."Try my dodge. Light your pipe, and blow a cloud under the clothes! They let go directly. There's a lot perched on the foot-bar of my bed now—coughing like mad!"
First Alpine Tourist."I say, Will, are you asleep?"
Second Tourist."Asleep? No, I should think not! Hang it, how they bite!"
First Tourist."Try my dodge. Light your pipe, and blow a cloud under the clothes! They let go directly. There's a lot perched on the foot-bar of my bed now—coughing like mad!"
Tommy (who has just begun learning French,...Tommy(who has just begun learning French, on his first visit to Boulogne). "I say, daddy, did you call that man 'garçon'?"Daddy(with pride). "Yes, my boy."Tommy(after reflection). "I say, daddy, what a biggarçonhe'll be when he's out of jackets and turn-downs, and gets into tails and stick-ups!"
Tommy(who has just begun learning French, on his first visit to Boulogne). "I say, daddy, did you call that man 'garçon'?"
Daddy(with pride). "Yes, my boy."
Tommy(after reflection). "I say, daddy, what a biggarçonhe'll be when he's out of jackets and turn-downs, and gets into tails and stick-ups!"
(You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold gendarme(You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold gendarme—if you are only decently polite)"I implore your pardon for having deranged you, mister the gendarme, butmightI dare to ask you to have the goodness to do me the honour to indicate to me the way for to render myself to the Street of the Cross of the Little-Fields?"
(You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold gendarme—if you are only decently polite)
"I implore your pardon for having deranged you, mister the gendarme, butmightI dare to ask you to have the goodness to do me the honour to indicate to me the way for to render myself to the Street of the Cross of the Little-Fields?"
From a recent letter in theTimesit would seem that tourists visiting the hotels on the Rigi have to secure entertainment at the point (or rather the knuckle) of the fist. If the fashion is permitted to become chronic (by the patient endurance of the British public), the diary kept by the visitor to the Rigi is likely to appear in the following form:—
Tuesday, 4A.M.—Just seen the sun rise. Rather cloudy in the valley, but on the whole magnificent. Will stay until to-morrow, as I am sure the air is excellent.
5A.M.—Going back to the hotel. The night porter is shouting at me.
8A.M.—Just finished a three hours' fight with the night porter. He scored "first blood" to my "first knock-down blow." I was able to polish him off in forty-seven rounds, and consequently have an excellent appetite for breakfast.
9A.M.—After some desperate struggling with half-a-dozen waiters, have secured a cup of coffee and a small plate of cold meat.
12A.M.—Have been asleep on a bench outside the hotel for the last two hours and a half, recovering from my recent exertions.
1P.M.—Have fraternised with five English tourists armed with alpenstocks. One of our party has opened negotiations with the hotel-keeper as to the possibility of obtaining some lunch.
2P.M.—Our ambassador has returned with his coat torn into tatters, and one of his eyes severely bruised.
3P.M.—By acoup de mainwe have seized thesalle-à-manger, and now are feasting merrily on bread and honey.
4P.M.—Just driven from our vantage-ground by eight boots, ten waiters, the landlord and auxiliaries from the kitchen.
6P.M.—Have spent the last two hours in consultation.
7P.M.—A spy from our party (assuming the character of an English duke) is just leaving us for the front.
8P.M.—Our spy has just returned, and reports that when he asked for a room the enemy attacked him with brooms and candlesticks.
9P.M.—Have just matured our plan of attack.
10P.M.—Glorious news! A triumphant victory! Our party, in single file, made a descent upon thetable-d'hôte, seized a large number ofhors d'œuvres, and, after an hour's desperate fighting, secured a large room on the top floor, where we are now safely barricaded for the night! Hurrah!
At Dieppe.—Edwin.Awfully jolly here! Awfully jolly band! Awfully jolly waltz! Awfully jolly, isn't it?
Angelina.Quite too awfully nice!
Edwin.Waltz over. Awfully nice moon! Awfully jolly to be a poet, I should think. Say heaps of civil things about the moon, don't you know! Rather jolly, eh? Tennyson, and that sort of thing, don't you know?
Angelina.Yes, isn't he a perfect love?
Edwin.Yes—great fun. Next dance—square. Awfully stupid things—squares, eh? You're not engaged?
Angelina(archly). Not yet!
Edwin.Then let's sit it out.