L'ILE DE WIGHT.
À Monsieur Punch.
"DADDY'S WAISTCOAT!"
(Sketched from Life in Drury Lane.)
Dear Mister,—After to have assisted at the Congress of Geographs at London I come of to make a little voyage d'agrément—a voyage of agreement—to the Island of Wight. I am gone to render visit to one of my english friends who inhabits Sandown. I go not to tell you his name, that would be to outrage the privacy of your "Home, sweet home." I shall call him "Smith." Ah, le brave garçon?—the brave boy! Eh well, this good Smith he invites me at him—chez lui, how say you?—and I part from London by a beautiful morning of August, and I arrive to Portsmout. See there the Island of Wight in face! I traverse the sea in packet-boat, I arrive to Ride, and, in fine, to Sandown. Tiens, see there the brave Smith on the quay of the station! I would wish to embrace him. But no! We are in England. I go to give him a shake-hands. Voilà tout. And he conducts me to his house, and I see there Madame, who is charming, and his childs. Ah, the dear little childs. But I speak not of them, because all that is the "Home, sweet home," and, as one says in english, the castle of the Englishman is in his house.
Sandown is a little town, enough coquette, very well placed at the border of the sea. In effect, there is a plage, a promenade, a jetée. It is not precisely the plage of Trouville, the promenade of Ostende; but it is enough agreeable. Only, at place of the pretty little cabins, the tents, so charming, so coquette, there is some drolls of things, some boxes on wheels, which one calls "bathings machines." Oh, la, la! I mock myself of them. And of more! The ladys and the gentlemans can not to bathe themselves together. They are there, all near the one of the other, but not together. Ah çà, c'est épatant! Me I march all gaily in the water towards the ladys; I am in my costume of bath, all that there is of most as he must—de plus comme il faut, how say you? When a man in a little boat agitates the arms, and cries himself, "Hi there!" that is to say, "Hé là-bas!"—and still of more which I comprehend not. And my friend Smith he cries to me also, and he agitates the arms, and, in fine, I comprehend that it is defended. What droll of idea!
One day there is the régates—the regattas. We go all on the little pier, and I see the Duckunt, the Watter-polo, the Greasepol. Ah, it is of the most amusings! On the promenade there is the musicians, who play of the organ, of the banjo; also the singers that you call "nigers." They are there all together, and one hears the valse, the hymn, the song of the Coffee Concert, all at the time. There is also a man who walks himself on some stilts. He is very droll, and the assistance—l'assistance—laughs much. Me I laugh as the other spectators. The evening there is a fire of artifice, and the little town is of the most gay. There is some "set-pieces," as one calls them, and I read "Welcome to our Visitors." That is very polite; I offer my thanks to Misters the Municipal Councillors of Sandown. And there is one other which I see hardly, I see but "Success to ——." My friend Smith tells to me that it is "Success to our Saloon Bar." That may be. But he is blagueur this Smith, he pleasants—plaisante, how say you?—sometimes.
A vrai dire—to true to say—Sandown is well agreeable, above all when he makes fine. Et il faisait un temps superbe—he was making a superb time. As to the other parts of the Island of Wight, I go to speak you of them in one other letter.