SEASIDE ASIDES
(Paterfamilias in North Cornwall)
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 butter, 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 pass 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."
