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Updated: June 21, 2025
"'Bournemouth is," resumed their hostess, quoting a local rhyme to which she was much attached "'Bournemouth is, Poole was, and Swanage is to be the most important town of all and biggest of the three. Now, Frau Liesecke, I have shown you Bournemouth, and I have shown you Poole, so let us walk backward a little, and look down again at Swanage." "Aunt Juley, wouldn't that be Meg's train?"
Forty-three people. Evening service in Lambeth Chapel. 22nd. Wagner's 'Meistersinger' at Drury Lane. Bournemouth, June 22nd. Dear Mr. Reeve, Thanks for telling me what splendours I missed at The Club dinner. You ask what Dr. Johnson would have said if he had stepped in. As it was his own Club, he would have been gracious; but it was not every dinner that could please him.
Close beside us the lights of the town gleamed yellow and cheery. Beyond, the moon was peeping over the Bournemouth hills. 'This way, sir, said the sailor, 'right aft into the cabin, sir. Still following my guide, I found myself in the low cabin of the brig. A square shining table stood in the centre, with a bright swinging lamp above it.
I thought I would make sure that you should not be bored." I joined in the laugh and said: "Well, to-morrow get me a man who can hear but cannot speak, if you can find one constructed on that plan." Bournemouth is noteworthy now as the burial place of Mary Wolstonecraft and the Shelleys. I went to see the monument that had been recently reared to their memory.
Or is it that the uncompromising modernity of Bournemouth, without even the recollection of a Hanoverian princess to give it antiquity, drives its visitors in such swarms to the one-time Priory, and now longest parish church in England.
Yes, he had been recommended for a commission and was coming home that month to a Cadet battalion at Bournemouth. When Sabre made his congratulations Twyning accompanied him downstairs to the street and warmly shook his hand. "Thanks, old man; thanks most awfully. Yes, he's everything to me, my Harold.
Sargent, in 1885, did a small full-length portrait of him, which "is said to verge on caricature, and is in Boston. W. B. Richmond, R. A., about the same time, at Bournemouth, began another in oils, not much more than laid in in two sittings."
"In Christ's Church, six miles from Bournemouth, is a bas-relief in memory of the great poet. He is represented, dripping with seaweed, in the arms of the Angel of Death.
'You're so blessed selfish, Bess. 'We are not going to have any matrons. Mother will matronize the whole party. We are going to have the De Travers, and the Pococks, and the Ducies, and the Bullinghams over from Bournemouth. 'And where the deuce are you going to put 'em?
Mudge had lately been so occupied with their famous "plans" that he had neglected for a while the question of her transfer; but down at Bournemouth, which had found itself selected as the field of their recreation by a process consisting, it seemed, exclusively of innumerable pages of the neatest arithmetic in a very greasy but most orderly little pocket-book, the distracting possible melted away the fleeting absolute ruled the scene.
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