The Argosy — page 300: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

On the South Coast. 281 | ~ startled than I cared to confess, I hastily bade the coachman drive on, happy in the feeling that for once, at any rate, I was in opposition to the old saying—a saying that, for the sake of polite ears, shall not here find record. After this, I looked out for no more names. I was on my way to Parkstone, via Branksome Chine. ‘The road was long and lonely, but too beautiful to be dull. Houses in all directions were being erected, and the pine trees were giving way under the new régime. At length, descending to the left, we skirted a wild though not very deep ravine, where ferns and fronds and wild tangle and bramble bushes grew in enchanting profusion. Water ran below, and a rustic bridge romantically spanned the chasm. Firs clad the slopes and spread over the heights. It was a secluded, lovely spot, and turning with the narrow road, and descending with the bourne, we suddenly came upon a grand expanse of sea. ‘To-day it was calm and clear, blue as the laughing sky. To the left, Bournemouth lay in warm, sunny repose: houses rising one above another and crowning the cliffs; so that, as 1s commonly said, you may in Bournemouth obtain a climate to suit every temperament. Out on the sea, the cliffs of the Isle of Wight raised their heads in bright, sparkling array. Vessels were passing up and down channel, homeward or outward bound, heavily or lghtly freighted, in a sense that finds no record on the register at Lloyd’s: moving slowly for want of wind, in spite of sails full set. And as it is an ill-wind that blows no one any good, ‘so it is hard that no one should profit by a calm. In this instance it brought perfection to the day ; the perfection of air, sea, and sky. A few white clouds floated above, not dimming ‘the “‘blue vaulted dome,” but varying its surface. The sun, already far on his course, was travelling in splendour, shedding a rich glow-upon the moving waters, the ever restless, ever changing sea. A deserted bathing shed stood ina sheltered nook, and one felt tempted to undress and plunge into those enticing waters. But, after all, it was a late October afternoon, and what looked so fair and warm on the surface, would no doubt in its depths prove cold and unfriendly enough. Moreover, up on the hill, Jehu was waiting in patience my pleasure in returning; in token of which there came wafted on the air murmurs of—not choirs of angels; not the gentle music of far off bells; not the melancholy strains of an AXolian harp; not the storm music of winds and waves ruled by AZolus—but the voice of one Jehu comparing notes with a fellow labourer (and, doubtless, as their notes agreed, fellow victim), who, in charge of another conveyance, was also waiting the pleasure of a trio of visitors, happily just now invisible. Why do we resent these intrusions in solitary places from people who are doing the very same thing as ourselves, and have as much right to this fair earth? Why do we feel ourselves tortured, and they COMIC OOO SS (C(O) -