_Mr. Swinson_ (_faintly_). "N-no. Reading party--half-way up Matterhorn!"]

THE SILVER TEMS!

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 c.u.ms from, n.o.boddy 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 sh.o.r.e 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 Pair As he gits in a day for all that there.

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

ROBERT.

VERY LOW FORM ON THE PART OF FATHER THAMES.

_Boy_ (_standing in mid-stream at Kew, to boating party_). "'Ere ye are!

Tow ye up to Richmond Lock! All by water, sir!"

PUNCH'S NAVAL SONGSTER

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 of _Punch's Naval Songster_ to 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

NO. I.--IT BLEW GREAT GUNS

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, The _Atalanta_ steamer.

His native Hungerford he leaves, His Poll of Pedlar's Acre, Who now ash.o.r.e 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-built _Atalantar_.

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.

NO. II.--BEN BOUNCE.

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 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 compa.s.s.

NO. III.--THE CAPTAIN'S ROUNDELAY.

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 tar _must_ feel!

Quick, let the st.u.r.dy 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 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!

NO. IV.--TO MARY.

Afloat, ash.o.r.e, 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-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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: c.u.mULATIVE!

_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!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Margate excursion boat arrives at 2.30 P.M., after a rather boisterous pa.s.sage.

_Ticket Collector_ (_without any feeling_). "Ticket, sir! Thankye, sir!

Boat returns at 3!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Mothers Pet._ "Oh, there's ma on the beach, looking at us, Alfred; let's make the boat lean over tremendously on one side!"]