A STORY WITHOUT WORDS

STORY WITHOUT WORDSA STORY WITHOUT WORDSFreddy's first day at Henley

Freddy's first day at Henley

(Described by a Landlubber)

Sailing in the Wind's Eye.—In order to accomplish this difficult manœuvre, you must first of all discover where the wind's eye is, and then, if it be practicable, you may proceed to sail in it. It is presumed for this purpose that the wind's eye is a "liquid" one.

Hugging the Shore.—When you desire to hug the shore, you first of all must land on it. Then take some sand and shingle in your arms, and give it a good hug. In doing this, however, be careful no one sees you, or the result of the manœuvre may be a strait-waistcoat.

Wearing a Ship.—This it is by no means an easy thing to do, and it is difficult to suggest what will make it easier. Wearing a chignon is preposterous enough, but when a man is told that he must wear a ship, he would next expect to hear that he must eat the Monument.

Boxing the Compass.—Assume a fighting attitude,and hit the compass a "smart stinger on the dial-plate," as the sporting papers call it. But before you do so, you had best take care to have your boxing-gloves on, or you may hurt your fingers.

Whistling for a Wind.—When you whistle for a wind, you should choose an air appropriate, such as "Blow, gentle gales," or "Winds, gently whisper."

Reefing the Lee-scuppers.—First get upon a reef, and then put your lee-scuppers on it. The manœuvre is so simple, that no more need be said of it.

Splicing the Main-brace.—When your main-brace comes in pieces, get a needle and thread and splice it. If it be your custom to wear a pair of braces, you first must ascertain which of themisyour main one.

Brighton Boatman."There's a wessel out there, sir, a labourin' a good deal, sir! Ah, sir, sailors works werry 'ard—precious 'ard lines it is for the poor fellers out there!—Precious hard it is for everybody just now. I knowIshould like the price of a pint o' beer and a bit o' bacca!"

luncheon-basket overboardScene—A quiet nook, five miles off anywhere. Jones has gone down to the punt to fetch up the luncheon-basket, and has dropped it overboard.PUZZLE.—What to do—or say?—except——

Scene—A quiet nook, five miles off anywhere. Jones has gone down to the punt to fetch up the luncheon-basket, and has dropped it overboard.

PUZZLE.—What to do—or say?—except——

ANCHOR'S WEIGHED"THE ANCHOR'S WEIGHED"(Sketched on an excursion steamer)

(Sketched on an excursion steamer)

To place his rugs, carpet-bags, and umbrellas on the six best seats on the boat.

To worry the captain with remarks about the state of the weather and the performance of the steamer: to observe to the steward that there is a change in the weather, and that there were more passengers the last time he crossed.

To speak to the man at the wheel, and ask him whether there was much sea on last trip.

To change his last half-crown into French money, and squabble with the steward as to the rate of exchange.

To stare at his neighbours, read aloud their names on their luggage, and remark audibly that he'll lay anything the lady with the slight twang is an American.

To repeat the ancient joke on "Back her! stop her!"

If the passage is rough, to put his feet on hisneighbour's head, after appropriating all the cushions in the cabin.

To call for crockery in time. N.B.—Most important.

To groan furiously for an hour and a half, if a sufferer; or, if utterly callous to waves and their commotions, to eat beef and ham, and drink porter and brandy-and-water, during the entire voyage, with as much clattering of forks and noise of mastication as is compatible with enjoyment.

To kiss his hand, on entering the harbour, to thematelotteson the quays, or send his love in bad French to the Prefect of Police.

To struggle for a front place, in crowding off the steamer, as if the ship was on fire. And finally—

To answer every one who addresses him in good English in the worst possible French.

"What with the horse-boats," said Mrs. Ramsbotham, "the steam-lunches, the condolers, the out-ragers, the Canadian caboose, and the banyans, we had the greatest difficulty, at Henley, in getting from one side of the river to the other."

HOUSEBOATHOUSEBOAT AT THE ANCIENT HENLEIAN GAMES

CENTIPEDETHE "CENTIPEDE"A new flexible, patent-jointed, vertebral outrigger. (Seen—and drawn—by our artist (the festive one), after an unusually scrumptious lunch on board a houseboat at Henley).

A new flexible, patent-jointed, vertebral outrigger. (Seen—and drawn—by our artist (the festive one), after an unusually scrumptious lunch on board a houseboat at Henley).

INFLUENCE OF PLACESTHE INFLUENCE OF PLACESEgeria."Surely, Mr. Swinson, it must have been here, and on such a day as this, that you wrote those lines that end—"'Give me the white-maned steeds to ride,The Arabs of the main'——wasn't it?"Mr. Swinson(faintly). "N-no. Reading party—half-way up Matterhorn!"

Egeria."Surely, Mr. Swinson, it must have been here, and on such a day as this, that you wrote those lines that end—

"'Give me the white-maned steeds to ride,The Arabs of the main'——wasn't it?"

Mr. Swinson(faintly). "N-no. Reading party—half-way up Matterhorn!"

The butiful River's a-running to Town,It never runs up, but allers runs down,Weather it rains, or weather it snos;And where it all cums from, noboddy nose.The young swell Boatmen drest in white,To their Mothers' arts must be a delite;At roein or skullin the gals is sutch dabs,For they makes no Fowls and they ketches no Crabs.The payshent hangler sets in a punt,Willee ketch kold? I hopes as he wunt.I wotches him long, witch I states is fax,He dont ketch nothin but Ticklebacks.The prudent Ferryman sets under cover,Waiting to take me from one shore to t'other;I calls out "Hover!" and hover he roes,If he aint sober then hover we goes.When it's poring with rane and a tempest a-blowin,A penny don't seem mutch for this here rowin;And wen the River's as ruff as the Sea,I thinks of the two I'd sooner be me.For when I'm at work at Ampton or Lea,Waitin at dinner, or waitin at tea,I gits as much from a yewthful PairAs he gits in a day for all that there.Then let me bless my lucky StarThat made me a Waiter and not a Tar;And the werry nex time I've a glass of old Sherry,I'll drink to the pore chap as roes that 'ere Ferry.

The butiful River's a-running to Town,It never runs up, but allers runs down,Weather it rains, or weather it snos;And where it all cums from, noboddy nose.

The butiful River's a-running to Town,

It never runs up, but allers runs down,

Weather it rains, or weather it snos;

And where it all cums from, noboddy nose.

The young swell Boatmen drest in white,To their Mothers' arts must be a delite;At roein or skullin the gals is sutch dabs,For they makes no Fowls and they ketches no Crabs.

The young swell Boatmen drest in white,

To their Mothers' arts must be a delite;

At roein or skullin the gals is sutch dabs,

For they makes no Fowls and they ketches no Crabs.

The payshent hangler sets in a punt,Willee ketch kold? I hopes as he wunt.I wotches him long, witch I states is fax,He dont ketch nothin but Ticklebacks.

The payshent hangler sets in a punt,

Willee ketch kold? I hopes as he wunt.

I wotches him long, witch I states is fax,

He dont ketch nothin but Ticklebacks.

The prudent Ferryman sets under cover,Waiting to take me from one shore to t'other;I calls out "Hover!" and hover he roes,If he aint sober then hover we goes.

The prudent Ferryman sets under cover,

Waiting to take me from one shore to t'other;

I calls out "Hover!" and hover he roes,

If he aint sober then hover we goes.

When it's poring with rane and a tempest a-blowin,A penny don't seem mutch for this here rowin;And wen the River's as ruff as the Sea,I thinks of the two I'd sooner be me.

When it's poring with rane and a tempest a-blowin,

A penny don't seem mutch for this here rowin;

And wen the River's as ruff as the Sea,

I thinks of the two I'd sooner be me.

For when I'm at work at Ampton or Lea,Waitin at dinner, or waitin at tea,I gits as much from a yewthful PairAs he gits in a day for all that there.

For when I'm at work at Ampton or Lea,

Waitin at dinner, or waitin at tea,

I gits as much from a yewthful Pair

As he gits in a day for all that there.

Then let me bless my lucky StarThat made me a Waiter and not a Tar;And the werry nex time I've a glass of old Sherry,I'll drink to the pore chap as roes that 'ere Ferry.

Then let me bless my lucky Star

That made me a Waiter and not a Tar;

And the werry nex time I've a glass of old Sherry,

I'll drink to the pore chap as roes that 'ere Ferry.

Robert.

Boy(standing in mid-stream at Kew, to boating party). "'Ere ye are! Tow ye up to Richmond Lock! All by water, sir!"

dancing sailor

It is a well-known fact that the songs of Dibdin had a wonderful effect on the courage of the Navy, and there is no doubt that the Ben Blocks, Ben Backstays, Tom Tackles, and Tom Bowlings, were, poetically speaking, the fathers of our Nelsons, our Howes, our St. Vincents, and our Codringtons. It will be the effort ofPunch's Naval Songsterto do for the Thames what Dibdin did for the Sea, and to inspire with courage those honest-hearted fellows who man the steamers on the river. If we can infuse a little spirit into them—which, by the bye, they greatly want—our aim will be fully answered.

It blew great guns when Sammy SnooksMounted the rolling paddles;He met the mate with fearful looks—They shook each other's daddles.The word was given to let go,The funnel gave a screamer,The stoker whistled from below,And off she goes, blow high, blow low,TheAtalantasteamer.His native Hungerford he leaves,His Poll of Pedlar's Acre,Who now ashore in silence grievesBecause he did not take her.There's a collision fore and aft;Against the pier they squeeze her."Up boys, and save the precious craft,We from the station shall be chaff'd—Ho—back her—stop her—ease her."Aha! the gallant vessel rights,She goes just where they want her;She nears at last the Lambeth lights,The trim-builtAtalantar.Sam Snooks his messmates calls around;He speaks of Poll and beauty:When suddenly a grating soundTells them the vessel's run agroundWhile they forgot their duty.

It blew great guns when Sammy Snooks

Mounted the rolling paddles;

He met the mate with fearful looks—

They shook each other's daddles.

The word was given to let go,

The funnel gave a screamer,

The stoker whistled from below,

And off she goes, blow high, blow low,

TheAtalantasteamer.

His native Hungerford he leaves,His Poll of Pedlar's Acre,Who now ashore in silence grievesBecause he did not take her.There's a collision fore and aft;Against the pier they squeeze her."Up boys, and save the precious craft,We from the station shall be chaff'd—Ho—back her—stop her—ease her."

His native Hungerford he leaves,

His Poll of Pedlar's Acre,

Who now ashore in silence grieves

Because he did not take her.

There's a collision fore and aft;

Against the pier they squeeze her.

"Up boys, and save the precious craft,

We from the station shall be chaff'd—

Ho—back her—stop her—ease her."

Aha! the gallant vessel rights,She goes just where they want her;She nears at last the Lambeth lights,The trim-builtAtalantar.Sam Snooks his messmates calls around;He speaks of Poll and beauty:When suddenly a grating soundTells them the vessel's run agroundWhile they forgot their duty.

Aha! the gallant vessel rights,

She goes just where they want her;

She nears at last the Lambeth lights,

The trim-builtAtalantar.

Sam Snooks his messmates calls around;

He speaks of Poll and beauty:

When suddenly a grating sound

Tells them the vessel's run aground

While they forgot their duty.

My name's Ben Bounce, d'ye see,A tar from top to toe, sirs.I'm merry, blithe and free,A marling-spike I know, sirs.In friendship or in love,I climb the top-sail's pinnacle,But in a storm I always proveMy heart's abaft the binnacle.I fear no foreign foe,But cruise about the river;As up and down I goMy timbers never shiver.When off life's end I get,I'll make no useless rumpus;But off my steam I'll let,And box my mortal compass.

My name's Ben Bounce, d'ye see,

A tar from top to toe, sirs.

I'm merry, blithe and free,

A marling-spike I know, sirs.

In friendship or in love,

I climb the top-sail's pinnacle,

But in a storm I always prove

My heart's abaft the binnacle.

I fear no foreign foe,But cruise about the river;As up and down I goMy timbers never shiver.When off life's end I get,I'll make no useless rumpus;But off my steam I'll let,And box my mortal compass.

I fear no foreign foe,

But cruise about the river;

As up and down I go

My timbers never shiver.

When off life's end I get,

I'll make no useless rumpus;

But off my steam I'll let,

And box my mortal compass.

Away, away, we gaily glideFar from the wooden pier;And down into the gushing tideWe drop the sailor's tear.On—with the strong and hissing steam,And seize the pliant wheel;Of days gone by I fondly dream,For oh! the tarmustfeel!Quick, let the sturdy painter go,And put the helm a-port;Lay, lay the lofty funnel low,And keep the rigging taut.'Tis true, my tongue decision shows,I act the captain's part;But oh! there's none on board that knowsThe captain's aching heart.Upon the paddle-box all dayI've stood, and brav'd the gale,While the light vessel made her wayWithout a bit of sail.And as upon its onward flightThe steamer cut the wave,My crew I've order'd left and right,My stout—my few—my brave!

Away, away, we gaily glide

Far from the wooden pier;

And down into the gushing tide

We drop the sailor's tear.

On—with the strong and hissing steam,

And seize the pliant wheel;

Of days gone by I fondly dream,

For oh! the tarmustfeel!

Quick, let the sturdy painter go,And put the helm a-port;Lay, lay the lofty funnel low,And keep the rigging taut.'Tis true, my tongue decision shows,I act the captain's part;But oh! there's none on board that knowsThe captain's aching heart.

Quick, let the sturdy painter go,

And put the helm a-port;

Lay, lay the lofty funnel low,

And keep the rigging taut.

'Tis true, my tongue decision shows,

I act the captain's part;

But oh! there's none on board that knows

The captain's aching heart.

Upon the paddle-box all dayI've stood, and brav'd the gale,While the light vessel made her wayWithout a bit of sail.And as upon its onward flightThe steamer cut the wave,My crew I've order'd left and right,My stout—my few—my brave!

Upon the paddle-box all day

I've stood, and brav'd the gale,

While the light vessel made her way

Without a bit of sail.

And as upon its onward flight

The steamer cut the wave,

My crew I've order'd left and right,

My stout—my few—my brave!

Afloat, ashore, ahead, astern,With winds propitious or contrary.(I do not spin an idle yarn.)No—no, belay! I love thee, Mary.Amidships—on the Bentinck shrouds,Athwart the hawse, astride the mizen,Watching at night the fleecy clouds,Your Harry wishes you were his'n.Then let us heave the nuptial lead,In Hymen's port our anchors weighing;Thy face shall be the figure-headOur ship shall always be displaying.But when old age shall bid us luff,Our honest tack will never vary,But I'll continue Harry Bluff,And thou my little light-built Mary.

Afloat, ashore, ahead, astern,

With winds propitious or contrary.

(I do not spin an idle yarn.)

No—no, belay! I love thee, Mary.

Amidships—on the Bentinck shrouds,

Athwart the hawse, astride the mizen,

Watching at night the fleecy clouds,

Your Harry wishes you were his'n.

Then let us heave the nuptial lead,In Hymen's port our anchors weighing;Thy face shall be the figure-headOur ship shall always be displaying.But when old age shall bid us luff,Our honest tack will never vary,But I'll continue Harry Bluff,And thou my little light-built Mary.

Then let us heave the nuptial lead,

In Hymen's port our anchors weighing;

Thy face shall be the figure-head

Our ship shall always be displaying.

But when old age shall bid us luff,

Our honest tack will never vary,

But I'll continue Harry Bluff,

And thou my little light-built Mary.

Tourist on Scotch steamerCUMULATIVE!Tourist(on Scotch steamer). "I say, steward, how do you expect anybody to dry their hands on this towel? It's as wet as if it had been dipped in the sea!"Steward."Aweel—depped or no depped, there's a hundred fouk hae used the toowl, and ye're the furrst that's grummelt!"

Tourist(on Scotch steamer). "I say, steward, how do you expect anybody to dry their hands on this towel? It's as wet as if it had been dipped in the sea!"

Steward."Aweel—depped or no depped, there's a hundred fouk hae used the toowl, and ye're the furrst that's grummelt!"

Margate excursion boatThe Margate excursion boat arrives at 2.30p.m., after a rather boisterous passage.Ticket Collector(without any feeling). "Ticket, sir! Thankye, sir! Boat returns at 3!"

The Margate excursion boat arrives at 2.30p.m., after a rather boisterous passage.

Ticket Collector(without any feeling). "Ticket, sir! Thankye, sir! Boat returns at 3!"

Mothers PetMothers Pet."Oh, there's ma on the beach, looking at us, Alfred; let's make the boat lean over tremendously on one side!"

"Oh, there's ma on the beach, looking at us, Alfred; let's make the boat lean over tremendously on one side!"

(By Mr. Punch's Vagrant)

Take four pretty girlsAnd four tidy young men;Add papa and mamma,And your number is ten.Having ten in your partyYou'll mostly be eight,For you'll find you can countUpon two to be late.In the packing of hampers'Tis voted a faultTo be rashly forgetfulOf corkscrew and salt.Take a mayonnaised lobster,A tasty terrine,A salmon, some lambAnd a gay galantine.Take fizz for the lads,Claret-cup for the popsies,And some tartlets with jamSo attractive to woppses.Let the men do the rowing,And all acquire blisters;While the boats go zigzag,Being steered by their sisters.Then eat and pack upAnd return as you came.Though your comfort wasnil,You had fun all the same.

Take four pretty girlsAnd four tidy young men;Add papa and mamma,And your number is ten.

Take four pretty girls

And four tidy young men;

Add papa and mamma,

And your number is ten.

Having ten in your partyYou'll mostly be eight,For you'll find you can countUpon two to be late.

Having ten in your party

You'll mostly be eight,

For you'll find you can count

Upon two to be late.

In the packing of hampers'Tis voted a faultTo be rashly forgetfulOf corkscrew and salt.

In the packing of hampers

'Tis voted a fault

To be rashly forgetful

Of corkscrew and salt.

Take a mayonnaised lobster,A tasty terrine,A salmon, some lambAnd a gay galantine.

Take a mayonnaised lobster,

A tasty terrine,

A salmon, some lamb

And a gay galantine.

Take fizz for the lads,Claret-cup for the popsies,And some tartlets with jamSo attractive to woppses.

Take fizz for the lads,

Claret-cup for the popsies,

And some tartlets with jam

So attractive to woppses.

Let the men do the rowing,And all acquire blisters;While the boats go zigzag,Being steered by their sisters.

Let the men do the rowing,

And all acquire blisters;

While the boats go zigzag,

Being steered by their sisters.

Then eat and pack upAnd return as you came.Though your comfort wasnil,You had fun all the same.

Then eat and pack up

And return as you came.

Though your comfort wasnil,

You had fun all the same.

THEIR LUMINOUS PAINTTHOSE BROWNS AND THEIR LUMINOUS PAINT AGAIN

Just starting down Southampton Water in jolly old Bigheart's yacht,The Collarbone—orColumbine? I wonder which it is? Dear old Bigheart, the best fellow in the world, and enthusiastic about yachting. So am I (theoretically, and whilst in smooth water). Try to act as nautically as possible, and ask skipper at frequent intervals "How does she bear?" Don't know what it means; but, after all, whatdoesthat matter? Skipper stares at me rather helplessly, and mutters something about "Nothe-nor-east-by-sou-sou-west." Feel that, with this lucid explanation, I ought to be satisfied, so turn away, assume cheery aspect and with a rolling gait seize the topsail-main-gaff-mizen sheet and pull it lustily, with a "Yo, heave ho!"

The pull, unfortunately, releases heavy block, which, falling on Bigheart's head, seems to quite annoy him for the minute. We plunge into Solent, and then bear away for West Channel. Skipperremarks that we shall make a long "retch" of it (absit omen). He then adds that we could "bring up"—why these unpleasantly suggestive nautical expressions?—off Yarmouth. Not wishing to appear ignorant, I ask Bigheart, "Why not make a course S.S. by E.?" He replies, "Because it would take us ashore into the R. V. Yacht Club garden," and I retire somewhat abashed.

Out in West Channel we get into what skipper calls "a bit of a bobble." Don't think I care quite so much for yachting in "bobbles." Bigheart shows me all the varied beauties of the coast, but now they fail to interest me. He says, "I say, we'll keep sailing until quite late this evening, eh? That'll be jolly!" Reply, "Yes, that'll be jolly," but somehow my voice lacks heartiness.

An hour later I was lying down—I felt tired—when Bigheart came up, and with a ring of joy in his manly tones exclaimed, "I tell you what, old man; we'll carry right on, now, through the night. We're not in a hurry, so we'll get as much sailing as we can." ... Then, with my last ounce of failing strength, I sat up and denounced him as an assassin.

After passing a night indescribable, lying on the shelf—I mean berth—I was put ashore at Portland next morning. Should like to have procured dear old Bigheart a government appointment there for seven years, as a due reward for what he had been making me suffer.

Suitable Song for Boating Men.—The lastrowsof summer.

Man throwing lifebeltSAD RESULTS OF PERSISTENT BRIDGE PLAYING AT SEAOwner."I'll 'eave it to you, partner!"

Owner."I'll 'eave it to you, partner!"

Man reading newspaper

Mr. Dibbles feeling queasy

Mr. Dibbles(at Balham). "Ah, the old ChannelTunnel scheme knocked on the head at last!Good job too! Mad-headed project—beastly unpatriotic too!"

Mr. Dibbles(en route for Paris. Sea choppy.)"Channel Tunnel not a bad idea. Entire journeyto Paris by train. Grand scheme! English peoplebackward in these kind of things. Steward!"

[Goes below.

(A Confidential Carol, by a Cockney Owner, who inwardly feels that he is not exactly "in it," after all)

What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood(Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot),A briny slip of the British brood?My Yot!What makes me rig me in curious guise?Like a kind of a sort of—I don't know what,And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise?My Yot!What makes me settle my innermost soulOn winning a purposeless silver pot,And walk with a (very much) nautical roll?My Yot!What makes me learned in cutters and yawls,And time-allowance—which others must tot—,And awfully nervous in sudden squalls?My Yot!What makes me sprawl on the deck all day,And at night play "Nap" till I lose a lot,And grub in a catch-who-can sort of a way?My Yot!What makes me qualmish, timorous, pale,(Though rather than own it I'd just be shot)When theFayin the wave-crests dips her sail?My Yot!What makes me "patter" to skipper and crewIn a kibosh style that a child might spot,And tug hard ropes till my knuckles go blue?My Yot!What makes me snooze in a narrow, close bunk,Till the cramp my limbs doth twist and knot,And brave discomfort, and face blue-funk?My Yot!What makes me gammon my chummiest friendsTo "try the fun"—which I know's all rot—And earn the dead-cut in which all this ends?My Yot!What makes me, in short, an egregious ass,A bore, a butt, who, not caring a jotFor the sea, as a sea-king am seeking to pass?My Yot!

What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood(Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot),A briny slip of the British brood?My Yot!

What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood

(Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot),

A briny slip of the British brood?

My Yot!

What makes me rig me in curious guise?Like a kind of a sort of—I don't know what,And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise?My Yot!

What makes me rig me in curious guise?

Like a kind of a sort of—I don't know what,

And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise?

My Yot!

What makes me settle my innermost soulOn winning a purposeless silver pot,And walk with a (very much) nautical roll?My Yot!

What makes me settle my innermost soul

On winning a purposeless silver pot,

And walk with a (very much) nautical roll?

My Yot!

What makes me learned in cutters and yawls,And time-allowance—which others must tot—,And awfully nervous in sudden squalls?My Yot!

What makes me learned in cutters and yawls,

And time-allowance—which others must tot—,

And awfully nervous in sudden squalls?

My Yot!

What makes me sprawl on the deck all day,And at night play "Nap" till I lose a lot,And grub in a catch-who-can sort of a way?My Yot!

What makes me sprawl on the deck all day,

And at night play "Nap" till I lose a lot,

And grub in a catch-who-can sort of a way?

My Yot!

What makes me qualmish, timorous, pale,(Though rather than own it I'd just be shot)When theFayin the wave-crests dips her sail?My Yot!

What makes me qualmish, timorous, pale,

(Though rather than own it I'd just be shot)

When theFayin the wave-crests dips her sail?

My Yot!

What makes me "patter" to skipper and crewIn a kibosh style that a child might spot,And tug hard ropes till my knuckles go blue?My Yot!

What makes me "patter" to skipper and crew

In a kibosh style that a child might spot,

And tug hard ropes till my knuckles go blue?

My Yot!

What makes me snooze in a narrow, close bunk,Till the cramp my limbs doth twist and knot,And brave discomfort, and face blue-funk?My Yot!

What makes me snooze in a narrow, close bunk,

Till the cramp my limbs doth twist and knot,

And brave discomfort, and face blue-funk?

My Yot!

What makes me gammon my chummiest friendsTo "try the fun"—which I know's all rot—And earn the dead-cut in which all this ends?My Yot!

What makes me gammon my chummiest friends

To "try the fun"—which I know's all rot—

And earn the dead-cut in which all this ends?

My Yot!

What makes me, in short, an egregious ass,A bore, a butt, who, not caring a jotFor the sea, as a sea-king am seeking to pass?My Yot!

What makes me, in short, an egregious ass,

A bore, a butt, who, not caring a jot

For the sea, as a sea-king am seeking to pass?

My Yot!

At Whitby.—Visitor(to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers). "Then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the North Pole?"

Ancient Mariner."No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. But I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold."

[A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience.

DANGERS OF HENLEYTHE DANGERS OF HENLEYVoice from the bridge above."Oh, lor, Sarah, I've bin and dropped the strawberries and cream!"

Voice from the bridge above."Oh, lor, Sarah, I've bin and dropped the strawberries and cream!"

man paddling canoeHis Fair Companion(drowsily). "I think a Canadian is the best river craft, after all, as it's less likeworkthan the others!"

His Fair Companion(drowsily). "I think a Canadian is the best river craft, after all, as it's less likeworkthan the others!"

(As Deduced from a late Collision) The rule of the river's a mystery quite, Other craft when you're steering among, If you starboard your helm, you ain't sure you are right, If you port, you may prove to be wrong.

To what snug refuge do I flyWhen glass is low, and billows high,And goodness knows what fate is nigh?—My Cabin!Who soothes me when in sickness' grip,Brings a consolatory "nip,"And earns my blessing, and his tip?—The Steward!When persons blessed with fancy richDeclare "she" does not roll, or pitch.What say—"The case is hardly sich"?—My Senses!What makes me long forrealFree Trade,When no Douaniers could invade.Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?—My Luggage!What force myself, perhaps another,To think (such thoughts we try to smother)"The donkey-engine is our brother"?—Our Feelings!And what, besides a wobbling funnel,Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale,Converts me to a Channel Tunnel?—My Crossing!

To what snug refuge do I flyWhen glass is low, and billows high,And goodness knows what fate is nigh?—My Cabin!

To what snug refuge do I fly

When glass is low, and billows high,

And goodness knows what fate is nigh?—

My Cabin!

Who soothes me when in sickness' grip,Brings a consolatory "nip,"And earns my blessing, and his tip?—The Steward!

Who soothes me when in sickness' grip,

Brings a consolatory "nip,"

And earns my blessing, and his tip?—

The Steward!

When persons blessed with fancy richDeclare "she" does not roll, or pitch.What say—"The case is hardly sich"?—My Senses!

When persons blessed with fancy rich

Declare "she" does not roll, or pitch.

What say—"The case is hardly sich"?—

My Senses!

What makes me long forrealFree Trade,When no Douaniers could invade.Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?—My Luggage!

What makes me long forrealFree Trade,

When no Douaniers could invade.

Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?—

My Luggage!

What force myself, perhaps another,To think (such thoughts we try to smother)"The donkey-engine is our brother"?—Our Feelings!

What force myself, perhaps another,

To think (such thoughts we try to smother)

"The donkey-engine is our brother"?—

Our Feelings!

And what, besides a wobbling funnel,Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale,Converts me to a Channel Tunnel?—My Crossing!

And what, besides a wobbling funnel,

Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale,

Converts me to a Channel Tunnel?—

My Crossing!

'ARRY CATCHES A CRAB'ARRY CATCHES A CRAB

Where is the sweetest river reach,With nooks well worth exploring,Wild woods of bramble, thorn and beechTheir fragrant breath outpouring?Where does our dear secluded streamMost gaily gleam?At Goring.Where sings the thrush amid the fern?Where trills the lark upsoaring?Where build the timid coot and hern,The foot of man ignoring?Where sits secure the water voleBeside her hole?At Goring.Where do the stars dramatic shine'Mid satellites adoring?And where does fashion lunch and dineAl fresco, bored and boring?Where do we meet confections sweetAnd toilets neat?At Goring.Where are regattas? Where are trainsTheir noisy crowds outpouring?And bands discoursing hackneyed strains,And rockets skyward soaring?Where is thisurbs in rure?—whereThis Cockney Fair?At Goring.

Where is the sweetest river reach,With nooks well worth exploring,Wild woods of bramble, thorn and beechTheir fragrant breath outpouring?Where does our dear secluded streamMost gaily gleam?At Goring.

Where is the sweetest river reach,

With nooks well worth exploring,

Wild woods of bramble, thorn and beech

Their fragrant breath outpouring?

Where does our dear secluded stream

Most gaily gleam?

At Goring.

Where sings the thrush amid the fern?Where trills the lark upsoaring?Where build the timid coot and hern,The foot of man ignoring?Where sits secure the water voleBeside her hole?At Goring.

Where sings the thrush amid the fern?

Where trills the lark upsoaring?

Where build the timid coot and hern,

The foot of man ignoring?

Where sits secure the water vole

Beside her hole?

At Goring.

Where do the stars dramatic shine'Mid satellites adoring?And where does fashion lunch and dineAl fresco, bored and boring?Where do we meet confections sweetAnd toilets neat?At Goring.

Where do the stars dramatic shine

'Mid satellites adoring?

And where does fashion lunch and dine

Al fresco, bored and boring?

Where do we meet confections sweet

And toilets neat?

At Goring.

Where are regattas? Where are trainsTheir noisy crowds outpouring?And bands discoursing hackneyed strains,And rockets skyward soaring?Where is thisurbs in rure?—whereThis Cockney Fair?At Goring.

Where are regattas? Where are trains

Their noisy crowds outpouring?

And bands discoursing hackneyed strains,

And rockets skyward soaring?

Where is thisurbs in rure?—where

This Cockney Fair?

At Goring.

NOTES FROM COWESNOTES FROM COWES"Call this pleasure? Well, all I say is, give me Staines and a fishing-punt!"

"Call this pleasure? Well, all I say is, give me Staines and a fishing-punt!"

Mr. P at the helm.

ANICE NIGHT AT SEA

(Extracts from the Travel Diary of Toby, M.P.)

Gulf of Lyons, Friday.—The casual traveller on Continental railways, especially in France, is familiar with the official attitude towards the hapless wayfarer. The leading idea is to make the journey as difficult and as uncomfortable as possible. The plan is based on treatment of parcels or baggage. The passenger is bundled about, shunted, locked up in waiting-rooms, and finally delivered in a limp state at whatever hour and whatsoever place may suit the convenience of the railway people. Discover the same spirit dominant in management and arrangements of the sea service. Steamer from Marseilles to Tunis advertised to sail to-day at noon. On taking tickets, ordered to be on board at ten o'clock.

Why two hours before starting? Gentleman behind counter shrugs his shoulders, hugs his ribs with his elbows, holds out his hands with deprecatory gesture and repeats, "À dix heures, Monsieur."

Gestures even more eloquent than speech. Plainly mean that unless we are alongside punctually at ten o'clock our blood, or rather our passage, will be on our own heads. Spoils a morning; might have gone about town till eleven o'clock; breakfasted at leisure; sauntered on board a few minutes before noon. However, when in Marseilles chant the "Marseillaise."

Down punctually at ten; found boat in course of loading; decks full of dirt and noise, the shouting of men, the creaking of the winch, the rattling of the chains. Best thing to do is to find our cabin, stow away our baggage, and walk on the quay, always keeping our eye on the boat lest she should suddenly slip her moorings and get off to sea without us. Look out for steward. Like the Spanish fleet, steward is not yet in sight. Roaming about below, come upon an elderly lady, with a lame leg, an alarming squint, and a waistlike a ship's. (Never saw a ship's waist, but fancy no mortal man could get his arm round it.) The elderly lady, who displayed signs of asthma, tells me she is the stewardess. Ask her where is our cabin. "Voilà," she says. Following the direction of her glance, I make for a berth close by. Discover I had not made allowance for the squint; she is really looking in another direction. Carefully taking my bearings by this new light, I make for another passage; find it blocked up; stewardess explains that they are loading the ship—apparently through the floor of our cabin. "Tout à l'heure," she says, with comprehensive wave of the hand.

Nothing to be done but leave our baggage lying about, go on deck, and watch the loading. Better not leave the ship. If the laborious Frenchmen in blouses and perspiration see our trunks, they will certainly pop them into the hold, where all kinds of miscellaneous parcels, cases and bales are being chucked without the slightest attempt at fitting in.

A quarter to twelve; only fifteen minutes now; getting hungry; had coffee and bread and butter early so as not to miss the boat. Watch a man below in the hold trying to fit in a bicycle with afour-hundredweight bale, a quarter-ton case, and a barrel of cement. Evidently piqued at resistance offered by the apparently frail, defenceless contrivance. Tries to bend the fore wheel so as to accommodate the cask; that failing, endeavours to wind the hind wheel round the case; failing in both efforts, he just lays the bicycle loose on the top of the miscellaneous baggage and the hatch is battened down. In the dead unhappy night that followed, when the sea was on the deck, I often thought of the bicycle cavorting to and fro over the serrated ridge of the cargo.

Ten minutes to twelve; a savoury smell from the cook's galley. Supposedéjeunerwill be served as soon as we leave the dock. Heard a good deal of superiority of French cooking aboard ship as compared with British. Some compensation after all for getting up early, swallowing cup of coffee and bread and butter, and rushing off to catch at ten o'clock a ship that sails at noon. Perhaps the cloth is laid now; better go and secure places. Find saloon. Captain and officers at breakfast, their faces illumined with the ecstasy born to a Frenchman when he finds an escargot on his plate.

Evidently they are breakfasting in good time so as to take charge of the ship whilstnous autressucceed to the pleasures of the table. What's our hour, I wonder? Find some one who looks like a steward; ask him; says, "Cinq heures et demie." A little late that for breakfast, I diffidently suggest. Explains not breakfast but dinner; first meal at 5.30p.m.Can't we havedéjeunerif I pay for it? I ask, ostentatiously shaking handful of coppers in trousers-pocket. No, he says, severely; that's against therèglement.

Steamer starts in seven minutes; noticed at dock-gates women with baskets of dubious food; dash off to buy some; clutch at a plate of sandwiches, alleged to be compacted ofjambon de York. Get back just as gangway is drawn up. Sit on deck and munch our sandwiches. "I know that Ham," said Sark, moodily. "It came out of the Ark."

Recommitted it to the waves, giving it the bearings for Ararat. Ate the bread and wished half-past five or Blucher would come.

A lovely day in Marseilles; not a breath of wind stirred the blue water that laved the whitecliffs on which Château d'If stands. Shall have a lovely passage. Make ourselves comfortable on deck with cushions and books. Scarcely outside the harbour when a wind sprang up from S.E. dead ahead of us. The sea rose with amazing rapidity; banks of leaden-hued clouds obscured the sun-light; then the rain swished down; saloon deck cleared; passengers congregated under shelter in the saloon; as the cranky little steamer rolled and pitched, the place emptied. When at 5.30 the dinner-bell rang, only six took their places, and all declined soup. With the darkness the storm rose. If the ship could have made up its mind either to roll or to pitch, it could have been endured. It had an agonising habit of leaping up with apparent intent to pitch, and, changing its mind, rolling over, groaning in every plank. Every third minute the nose of the ship being under water, and the stern clear out, the screw leaped full half-length in the air, sending forth blood-curdling sounds. Midway came a fearsome crash of crockery, the sound reverberating above the roar of the wind, and the thud of the water falling by tons on the deck, making the ship quiver like a spurred horse.

"I begin to understand now," said Sark, "how the walls of Jericho fell."

Much trouble with the Generalissimo. When he came aboard at Marseilles he suffused the ship with pleasing sense of the military supremacy of Great Britain. Has seen more than seventy summers, but still walks with sprightly step and head erect. The long droop of his carefully-curled iron-grey moustache is of itself sufficient to excite terror in the bosom of the foe. The Generalissimo has not the word retreat in his vocabulary. He was one of the six who to-night sat at the dinner-table and deftly caught scraps of meat and vegetable as the plates flew past. But after dinner he collapsed. Thought he had retired to his berth; towards nine o'clock a faint voice from the far end of the cabin led to discovery of him prone on the floor, where he had been flung from one of the benches. We got him up, replaced him tenderly on the bench, making a sort of barricade on the offside with bolsters. A quarter of an hour later the ship gave a terrible lurch to leeward; the screw hoarsely shrieked; another batch of crockery crashed down; above theuproar, a faint voice was heard moaning, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

We looked at the bench where we had laid the Generalissimo, his martial cloak around him. Lo! he was not.

Guided by former experience, we found him under the table. Evidently no use propping him up. So with the cushions we made a bed on the floor, and the old warrior securely slept, soothed by the swish of the water that crossed and recrossed the cabin floor as the ship rolled to leeward or to starboard.

When the Generalissimo came aboard at Marseilles, surveying the fortifications of the harbour as if he intended storming them, his accent suggested that if not of foreign birth, he had lived long in continental courts and camps. Odd to note how, as his physical depression grew, an Irish accent softened his speech, till at length he murmured of misery in the mellifluous brogue of County Cork.

Pretty to see the steward when the flood in the saloon got half a foot deep ladle it out with a dustpan.

Tunis, Monday, 1a.m.—Just limped in herewith deck cargo washed overboard, bulwarks stove in, engine broken down, an awesome list to port, galley so clean swept the cook doesn't know it, the cabins flooded, and scarce a whole bit of crockery in the pantry. Twenty-one hours late; not bad on a thirty-six-hours' voyage.

Captain comforts us with assurance that having crossed the Mediterranean man and boy for forty years, he never went through such a storm. Have been at sea a bit myself; only once, coasting in a small steamer off Japan, have I seen—or, since it was in the main pitch dark, felt—anything like it. Generalissimo turned up at dinner last night, his moustache a little draggled, but his port once more martial. His chief lament is, that going down to his berth yesterday morning, having spent Friday night in the security of the saloon floor, he found his boots full of water. This brings out chorus of heartrending experience. Every cabin flooded; boxes and portmanteaus floating about. Sark and I spent a more or less cosy night in the saloon. To us entered occasionally one of the crew ostentatiously girt with a life-belt. Few incidents so soothing on such a night. Fortunately, we did nothear till entering port how in the terror of the night two conscripts, bound for Bizerta, jumped overboard and were seen no more.

"If this is the way they usually get to Tunis," says Sark, "I hope the French will keep it all to themselves. In this particular case, there is more in the Markiss's 'graceful concession' than meets the eye."

"Punting," says theDaily News, "has become a very fashionable form of amusement on the Upper Thames." So it is at Monte Carlo. Punting is given up by all who find themselves in hopelessly low water.

Timid Passenger(as the gale freshened). "Is there any danger?"

Tar(ominously). "Well, them as likes a good dinner had better hev it to-day!"

We are glad to be able to report that the gentleman who one day last week, while walking on the bank of the Thames near Henley, fell in with a friend, is doing well. His companion is also progressing favourably.

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