[Ill.u.s.tration: A HONEYMOON OUTING

_Ernest_ (_faintly_). "Vera, darling, I do believe I'm the worst sailor on earth!"

_Vera_ (_ditto_). "I wouldn't mind _that_ so much, if _I_ wasn't so bad on the water!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: VERY CONSIDERATE

_Steward._ "Will either of you, gentlemen, dine on board? There's a capital hot dinner at three o'clock."]

A QUIET DAY ON THE THAMES

(_Dedicated to the Thames Conservancy_)

9 A.M.--Got out my boat, and made immediately for the centre of the stream.

10 A.M.--Spent some three-quarters of an hour in attempting to avoid the swell of the City steamboats. Within an ace of being swamped by one of them.

11 A.M.--Run into by a sailing-barge. Only saved by holding on to a rope, and pushing my boat aground.

12 NOON.--Aground.

1 P.M.--After getting into deep water again, was immediately run into by a coal-barge. Exchange of compliments with the crew thereof.

2 P.M.--Pursued by swans and other savage birds. Pelted with stones thrown from the sh.o.r.e by ragged urchins out of reach of my vengeance.

3 P.M.--Amongst the fishing-punts. Lively communication of opinions by the angry fishermen. Attempted piracy.

4 P.M.--Busily engaged in extricating my boat from the weeds.

5 P.M.--Disaster caused by a rope coming from the towing-path.

6 P.M.--Lock-keeper not to be found. Daring and partially successful attempt to shoot the rapids.

7 P.M.--Run down by a steam-launch travelling at express-rate speed.

8 P.M.--Just recovering from the effects of drowning.

9 P.M.--Going home to bed!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DROWSILY! DROWSILY!"

_Energetic Male_ (_reclining_). "Now then, girls, work away! Nothing like taking real exercise!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHANNEL QUESTION SOLVED (1873)

OR, EVERY ONE HIS OWN BESSEMER!]

AT HENLEY AS IT IS

(_By Isaac Walton Minimus_)

There used to be b.u.t.tercups once on these meads, There used to be reeds by the bank, But now these same meadows have not even weeds, And the water's decidedly rank.

The pastures are crowded with mannerless shows, And the river with refuse is blocked; There isn't a corner for quiet repose, While the nose is most constantly shocked!

The houseboats and tents may with rich colour glow, And the course be more bright than before, But there isn't the thought for the men who will row, As there was in the brave days of yore!

How Willan and Warre and stout "Johnny" Moss Must recurrence of past time re-wish, And the sight be to them and to rowing a loss, But _I_ only can think of the fish Who are poisoned by garbage and bloated with food, And oppressed with the bottles o'erthrown!

My sentiments, though by the many pooh-poohed, By the few will be met with a moan!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Man in the Boat._ "I'm sorry, sir, but it was your own fault. Why didn't you get out into mid-stream?"

_The Victim._ "Why, that's just what I've done!"]

THE TOURIST'S BAROMETER

(_Read on the Channel_)

Splendid Weather. I never mind the sea myself.

The rougher for me the better. Have a cigar?

Very Fine. One certainly does feel that only Englishmen can be sailors. Somehow or other they take naturally to the sea--now, don't they?

Fine. Yes. I always come by Folkestone. I never _could_ see the use of the _Castalia_.

We are not foreigners, you know. Most of us have our sea-legs. Eh?

Moderate. Yes. Perhaps a little brandy-and-water _would_ be a good thing.

Sea slight. The _very_ roughest pa.s.sage I remember. But I am an excellent sailor. Still, would you mind putting out that cigar?

Rather Rough. It's simply disgraceful. The _Castalia_ ought to be established by Act of Parliament.

Shall write to the _Times_.

I shall go down below--to think about it!

Rough Oh! Here, somebody! Will it be more--than five minutes? Oh! oh! oh!

Very Rough. (_Far too dreadful for description._)