The Strand Magazine, Vol. 17, No. 97, January to June 1899 / An Illustrated Monthly

by Various

Part I.—1841 to 1849.

Mr. Punch has, perhaps, never given a better proof of ability to gauge the public mind of this country than that contained in the following lines, quoted from the issue dated November 5, 1898:

A WARNING WORD.

[From Mr. Punch's "Vagrant."]

Dear Punch,—I am not one to bellow
Nor am I much on bloodshed bent;
I'm not a tearing Jingo fellow,
All fuss, and froth, and discontent.

[Here follow some verses relating to political affairs, and then come the lines printed below. J. H. S.]

We have another, sterner matter—
The Frenchman posted on the Nile.

Not his to reason? True! I like him,
His skill to act, his pluck to dare.
I'd sooner cheer him, far, than strike him—
But why did others send him there?
In truth, they did not mean to please us;
They must have realised with joy
That Marchand on the Nile must tease us,
And sent him merely to annoy.

So be it then: we know what's what now,
And what the Frenchmen would be at.
Though Major Marchand's on the spot now,
He's got to pack and go—that's flat.
We're tired of gracefully conceding,
Tired, too, of jibe and jeer and flout;
Our answer may show lack of breeding,
But there it is—a plain "Get out."

If one should, thinking I am weak, Sir,
Smite me on one cheek black and blue,
I'm told to turn the other cheek, Sir,
But not both cheeks and forehead too.
Year in, year out, they've tried to spite us,
We've borne it with a sorry grin;
And now—well, if they want to fight us,
Coat's off, and let the fun begin!

Punch published these lines just before Lord Salisbury announced at the Mansion House dinner, given in honour of Lord Kitchener on November 4, that France had come round to our view of the Fashoda question, and Punch's neat verses just quoted give an excellently succinct and pithy expression to the feeling of the average peace-loving Briton, who has become quite weary of being diplomatically played with by France in our colonial affairs, and who was, and is, quite ready to "take off his coat."

1.—THE FIRST PAGE OF THE ORIGINAL PROSPECTUS OF "PUNCH," IN THE HANDWRITING OF MARK LEMON. 1841.

The preceding illustration of Mr. Punch's terse and true expression of public opinion is the most recent that can now be given, but as one looks through the pages of the 113 Volumes of Punch, which bring this famous periodical to the end of the year 1897, one notices many other examples of Mr. Punch's acute discernment and pithy expression of the public mind, which have been stepping-stones of fame to him during his long life of nearly sixty years, quite apart from the weekly dish of good things offered by Mr. Punch to his public.

"THINGS MAY TAKE ANOTHER TURN."

2.—THE FIRST PICTURE IN "PUNCH." 1841.

Thanks to the kindness of Messrs. Bradbury and Agnew, the proprietors of Punch, I am able to give to the general public some of the pleasure that comes from the possession of a complete set of Punch. In reading one's Punch the pleasure is much enhanced by Mr. M. H. Spielmann's most admirable book, "The History of Punch" [Cassell and Company, Limited, 1895], for Mr. Spielmann is probably the best living authority on this subject, and his researches, which extended over four years, enable the ordinary Punch-lover to find many points of great interest [specially in the early Volumes] which, without Mr. Spielmann's book, might be passed over without notice. Some of the Punch engravings now shown have been found by the aid of Mr. Spielmann's book, which is a thoroughly reliable and quite indispensable Text-Book on Punch, while, on other points, I have been privileged to consult Mr. W. Lawrence Bradbury and Mr. Philip L. Agnew as well as Mr. Spielmann himself.

CANDIDATES UNDER DIFFERENT PHASES.

CANVASSING. THE DEPUTATON.

THE SUCCESSFUL CANDIDATE. THE HUSTINGS. THE PUBLIC DINNER.

3.—THE FIRST OF MR. PUNCH'S CARTOONS. 1841.

When the Queen came to the throne there was no Punch. He was conceived in circumstances of much mystery, for many have claimed the honour of his paternity. The historian of Punch has devoted a long chapter to this matter of Punch's paternity, and has judicially weighed the evidence for or against each claimant. Mr. Spielmann writes:—

Yet although it was not ... Henry Mayhew who was the actual initiator of Punch, it was unquestionably he to whom the whole credit belongs of having developed Landell's specific idea of a "Charivari," and of its conception in the form it took. Though not the absolute author of its existence, he was certainly the author of its literary and artistic being, and to that degree, as he was wont to claim, he was its founder.

PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.——Nº IV.

4.—THE FIRST PICTURE BY JOHN LEECH. 1841.

Thus, the opinion of the best authority is that Henry Mayhew and Ebenezer Landells were the real founders of Punch.

Early in 1841, after several discussions between the members of the first staff of Punch, the original prospectus was drawn up by Mark Lemon. The first page of this three-page foolscap document is shown in reduced facsimile in illustration No. 1 of this article. An excellent facsimile, on the original blue foolscap paper, is bound up in a little anonymous pamphlet published in the year 1870, "Mr. Punch: His Origin and Career": but Mr. Bradbury told me that many of the statements about Punch in this pamphlet are erroneous, although the document is an exact copy of the original in Mr. Bradbury's possession, which happens just now to be packed away in a warehouse, and so cannot be photographed.

THE LEGEND OF JAWBRAHIM-HERAUDEE.

There once lived a king in Armenia, whose name was Poof-Allee-Shaw; he was called by his people, and the rest of the world who happened to hear of him, Zubberdust, or, the Poet, founding his greatest glory, like Bulwer-Khan, Moncktoon-Milnes-Sahib, Rogers-Sam-Bahawder, and other lords of the English Court, not so much on his possessions, his ancient race, or his personal beauty (all which, 'tis known, these Frank emirs possess), as upon his talent for poetry, which was in truth amazing.

He was not, like other sovereigns, proud of his prowess in arms, fond of invading hostile countries, or, at any rate, of reviewing his troops when no hostile country was at hand, but loved Letters all his life long. It was said, that, at fourteen, he had copied the Shah-Nameh ninety-nine times, and, at the early age of twelve, could repeat the Koran backwards. Thus he gained the most prodigious power of memory; and it is related of him, that a Frank merchant once coming to his Court, with a poem by Bulwer-Khan called the Siamee-Geminee (or, Twins of Siam), His Majesty, Poof-Allee, without understanding a word of the language in which that incomparable epic was written, nevertheless learned it off, and by the mere force of memory, could repeat every single word of it.

Now, all great men have their weakness; and King Poof-Allee, I am sorry to say, had his. He wished to pass for a poet, and not having a spark of originality in his composition, nor able to string two verses together, would, with the utmost gravity, repeat you a sonnet of Hafiz or Saadee, which the simpering courtiers applauded as if it were his own.

5.—THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE FIRST LITERARY CONTRIBUTION BY THACKERAY, WHO ALSO DREW THIS INITIAL SKETCH, 1842.

It is interesting to see in No. 1 that the name Punch was substituted for the struck-out title, "The Fun——." It has been suggested that the title thus cut short in favour of the single word Punch was to have been "The Funny Dogs with Comic Tales," and the prospectus ends with the words, "Funny dogs with comic tales." The price was written "Twopence," although the price of Punch has always been Threepence.

THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.

6.—THE FIRST PICTURE OF THE QUEEN IN "PUNCH." 1841.

As regards the sudden change of title to Punch—a change made, as we see from the facsimile, while Mark Lemon was in the very act of writing the title—Mr. Spielmann has recorded that there are as many versions as to the origin of Punch's name as of the origin of the periodical itself.

Hodder declares that it was Mayhew's sudden inspiration. Last asserted that when "somebody" at the Edinburgh Castle meeting spoke of the paper, like a good mixture of punch, being nothing without Lemon, Mayhew caught at the idea and cried, "A capital idea! We'll call it Punch!"

There have been many other claimants to the distinction of having thought of the title "Punch," which is certainly an infinitely better title than "Funny Dogs with Comic Tales" and much better than "The Funny Dogs," which I suggest may have been the title Mark Lemon began to write, judging from the place on the paper (see No. 1), where he began with the words, "The Fun——"; for if he had intended to write the longer title, "The Funny Dogs with Comic Tales," he must have run the last part of this long title too far to the right of his paper to be consistent with the symmetrical position given to his other headings, etc., on the sheet of foolscap: a practised writer unconsciously allows enough space for the symmetrical setting out of his headlines, etc., and that Mark Lemon was a specially practised writer is very clearly shown by inspection of this interesting facsimile.

THE PRINCE OF WALES.—HIS FUTURE TIMES.

A private letter from Hanover states that, precisely at twelve minutes to eleven in the morning on the ninth of the present November, his majesty King Ernest was suddenly attacked by a violent fit of blue devils. All the court doctors were immediately summoned, and as immediately dismissed, by His Majesty, who sent for the Wizard of the North (recently appointed royal astrologer), to divine the mysterious cause of this so sudden melancholy. In a trice the mystery was solved—Queen Victoria "was happily delivered of a Prince!" His Majesty was immediately assisted to his chamber—put to bed—the curtains drawn—all the royal household ordered to wear list slippers—the one knocker to the palace was carefully tied up—and (on the departure of our courier) half a load of straw was already deposited beneath the window of the royal chamber. The sentinels on duty were prohibited from even sneezing, under pain of death, and all things in and about the palace, to use a brand new simile, were silent as the grave!

"Whilst there was only the Princess Royal there were many hopes. There was hope from severe teething—hope from measles—hope from hooping-cough—but with the addition of a Prince of Wales, the hopes of Hanover are below par." But we pause. We will no further invade the sanctity of the sorrows of a king; merely observing, that what makes his Majesty very savage, makes hundreds of thousands of Englishmen mighty glad. There are now two cradles between the Crown of England and the White Horse of Hanover.

We have a Prince of Wales! Whilst, however, England is throwing up its million caps in rapture at the advent, let it not be forgotten to whom we owe the royal baby. In the clamorousness of our joy the fact would have escaped us, had we not received a letter from Colonel Sibthorp, who assures us that we owe a Prince of Wales entirely to the present cabinet; had the Whigs remained in office, the infant would inevitably have been a girl.

7.—THE FIRST MENTION OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. 1841.

The first number of Punch came out on the 17th July, 1841, at 13, Wellington Street, Strand. There was a good demand for it, two editions of five thousand copies each being sold in two days. This demand was caused by advertising in various ways, including the distribution of 100,000 copies of a printed prospectus that was nearly identical with the draft whose first page has been shown here.

DRAWING FOR THE MILLION.

TO MR. "PUNCH."

Onourd Sur,—This cums hopin youl xcuse the liberty I take in addresin yu, which ime shure you wont think anythink ov, wen I tell yu my objec, which is to make nown a very valubel speeches of hedukashun threw the medium of your valubel collums. I mean drawring bin klasses: i ave bin studdiing hunder Mistr Gander, and wot I rite for his to send yu a speciment of my drawring after receivin six lessons. Yu are at liberty to make any huse ov this that yu please, am yure obedent servant to command,

1 of the Million.

P.S.—i wouldn't mind 'a guiney a week' to make a few more drawrings ov the same karacter as wot I ave sent; or i dont mind havin a go at politix hif yu wood make it wurth mi wile.

8.—A SUPPOSITITIOUS OFFER TO "PUNCH." 1842.

From the first Volume of Punch I have chosen the five pictures here numbered 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7. No. 2 is the first picture in Punch, a distinction that gives importance to this little sketch [the same size as the original] of a broken-down man at work on the tread-mill. By the first picture, I mean the first that was printed on the numbered pages of Punch—this is on page 2 of Vol. I.—for the Introduction contained three wood-cuts, and there was the outside wrapper—of which I shall speak later. But this little cut in No. 2 is really the first of Mr. Punch's famous gallery of black-and-white art. It was drawn by William Newman, and this is one of his so-called "blackies"—little silhouettes that were paid for at the rate of eighteen shillings per dozen.

No. 3 is the first of Mr. Punch's long series of cartoons. This was done by A. S. Henning, and it makes a much nicer picture in its present reduced size than in its original large size, where the work is too coarse in texture. In the forties, there were no ingenious photographic processes for reproducing an artist's work to any scale; the work had to be cut on the wood-block and shown the same size as the original drawing. Hence, in a weekly paper such as Punch, there was often not much time to spend on the wood-engraving, and so many of the drawings, especially the early ones, are wanting in finish.

THE FIRST TOOTH.

9.—THE FIRST PICTURE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. 1843.

Picture No. 4 is the first by famous John Leech—Mr. Punch's first great artist—and in addition to the signature "John Leech" at the bottom of the block, there is in the middle of the design the curious sign-manual, a leech in a bottle, which John Leech often used to mark his work. This first design by Leech was in the fourth number of Punch, August 7, 1841, and its title "Foreign Affairs" has reference to the groups of foreign refugees who at that time were specially numerous in Soho and Leicester Square—places that even nowadays are characterized by the presence of numerous and not too desirable foreigners.

THE WHISTLING OYSTER,
as it appeared whilst executing the charming air of—"Come to these yellow sands."

10.—A FANCIFUL DISCOVERY BY "PUNCH." 1843.

The facsimile in No. 5 is from the commencement of Thackeray's first literary contribution to Punch, and the sketch which forms the initial letter T is also by Thackeray. Mr. Spielmann says this sketch is "undoubtedly" by Thackeray; the full contribution is on page 254 of Volume II.

The cartoon shown in No. 6 contains the first picture of Queen Victoria in Punch, and it represents Sir Robert Peel sent for by the Queen to form an Administration in place of the beaten Ministry of Lord Melbourne. This was in the autumn of 1841. The words, The Letter of Introduction, at the bottom of the cartoon, are the title of "a MS. drama, called the 'Court of Victoria,'" on page 90 of Volume I. of Punch, which commences:—

SCENE IN WINDSOR CASTLE.

[Her Majesty discovered sitting thoughtfully at an escritoire.]

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Lord Chamberlain: May it please your Majesty, a letter from the Duke of Wellington.

The Queen (opens the letter): Oh! a person for the vacant place of Premier—show the bearer in, my lord. [Exit Lord Chamberlain.]

The Queen (muses): Sir Robert Peel—I have heard that name before, as connected with my family. If I remember rightly he held the situation of adviser to the Crown in the reign of Uncle William, and was discharged for exacting a large discount on all the State receipts; yet Wellington is very much interested in his favour. Etc., etc., etc.

THE MODERN SISYPHUS

"Sisyphus is said to be doomed for ever to roll to the top of a great mountain a stone, which continually falls down again."

Sisyphus Sir R. P—l. The Stone D. O'C——l. The Furies Lord J. R——l, S——l, &c.

11.—RICHARD DOYLE'S FIRST CARTOON. 1844.

In facsimile No. 7 we see the first mention in Punch of the Prince of Wales. It is the first part of a full-page article on page 222 of Volume I., which records the birth of the Prince on November 9, 1841, and which also refers to the disappointment caused to the King of Hanover by the birth of the Queen's second child. Punch writes: "There are now two cradles between the Crown of England and the White Horse of Hanover." How many British Royal "cradles" are there now between the two things named by Punch?

THE QUARREL.

Master Wellington. You're too good a judge to hit me, you are!

Master Joinville. Am I?

Master Wellington. Yes, you are.

Master Joinville. Oh, am I!

Master Wellington. Yes, you are.

Master Joinville. Ha!

Master Wellington. Ha!

[Moral.—And they don't fight after all.]

12.—A SUPPOSITITIOUS CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON AND THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE (OF THE FRENCH NAVY). 1844.

This comical sketch in No. 8 was, I suspect, suggested to Mr. Punch by one of the many offers of unsolicited "outside" contributions which have always been severely discouraged. Mr. Punch prefers to rely upon his own staff, although he is always on the alert for fresh talent, and amongst the clever men who have thus been invited to contribute to Punch are Mr. H. W. Lucy ("Toby, M.P."), Mr. R. C. Lehmann (who wrote "The Adventures of Picklock Holes"), Mr. Bernard Partridge (the brilliant successor to Mr. du Maurier), and Mr. Phil May.

We see in No. 9 the first Punch picture of the Prince of Wales. This cartoon was drawn by Kenny Meadows. The Queen is standing at the left of the infant Prince, and points to the first tooth, the doctor blows a toy-trumpet and offers some soldiers, while the lady who kneels is offering a baby's coral with a Punch's head as its chief attraction.

ROYAL SPORT.

It will be in the recollection of our readers that a handsome rod (which turns out to be really a fishing-rod after all), was a little while ago presented to the Prince of Wales. His Royal Highness has lately had some capital sport with this rod, having succeeded in capturing several of his Mamma's gold fish, one of which was as big as a dace and weighed six ounces. It was very nearly pulling the Prince in.

13.—ANOTHER PICTURE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. 1844.

No. 10 is a very clever sketch of "The Whistling Oyster." A full account of this supposititious discovery is given on page 142-3 of Volume V. of Punch, in the year 1843, and this curiosity was stated to be "in the possession of Mr. Pearkes of Vinegard Yard, opposite the gallery door of Drury Lane Theatre."

The cartoon in No. 11 is the first by another of Mr. Punch's great guns—the famous Richard Doyle. This appeared on March 16, 1844; and "The Modern Sisyphus" is Sir Robert Peel, then Premier, seen in the task of rolling up the great stone [Daniel O'Connell, the Irish orator, who was then agitating for the repeal of the union between Ireland and Great Britain], while Lord John Russell and others represent "The Furies" who are watching Peel's unavailing exertions. The sign-manual at the right of this cartoon—a dicky-bird perched on a D—was often used by Richard Doyle, and may be seen on the present wrapper of Punch. Although No. 11 is the first cartoon contributed by Doyle, it is not the first work he did for Punch, for Doyle commenced his association with the paper by drawing comic borders for the Christmas number of 1842.

INNOCENCE.

Gentleman.—Seed a little dog, ma'rm? no ma'rm. This here's the honly dog I've seed to-day, and he don't answer to the name of Fido.

14.—A PICTURE OF INNOCENCE. 1845.

John Leech's cartoon, in No. 12, was published September 14, 1844; the Prince de Joinville was in command of the French Navy, and there was some foolish talk in the French papers about an invasion of England. The expression of the Duke of Wellington's face in this cartoon is simply perfect, as he stands with his hands in his pockets calmly looking at the threatening Joinville, and quietly says to the Frenchman, "You're too good a judge to hit me, you are!" One is irresistibly reminded by this clever cartoon of a quite recent affair with our French neighbour, in which the relative positions were not unlike those here shown, and to which the climax was [at any rate, up to date, November, 1898] the same as in Leech's cartoon—And they don't fight after all!

A RAILWAY MAP OF ENGLAND.

We are not among those who like going on with the March of Intellect at the old jog-trot pace, for we rather prefer running on before to loitering by the side, and we have consequently taken a few strides in advance with Geography, by furnishing a Map of England, as it will be in another year or two. Our country will, of course, never be in chains, for there would be such a general bubbling up of heart's blood, and such a bounding of British bosoms, as would effectually prevent that; but though England will never be in chains, she will pretty soon be in irons, as a glance at the numerous new Railway prospectuses will testify. It is boasted that the spread of Railways will shorten the time and labour of travelling; but we shall soon be unable to go anywhere without crossing the line.—which once used to be considered a very formidable undertaking. We can only say that we ought to be going on very smoothly, considering that our country is being regularly ironed from one end of it to the other.

15.—MR. PUNCH POKES FUN AT THE RAILWAY MANIA OF 1845.

No. 13 is from page 157 of Volume VII., October 5, 1844. It represents the Prince of Wales, then not quite three years old, "capturing several of his Mamma's gold fish, one of which was as big as a dace, and weighed six ounces. It was very nearly pulling the Prince in."

In the "Innocence" picture, No. 14, observe that the little dog Fido, which is being sought by the lady, is just visible in the left coat-pocket of the Bill-Sikes-looking rough.

A NICE YOUNG MAN FOR A SMALL PARTY.

Young Ben he was a nice young man,
An author by his trade;
He fell in love with Polly-Ties
And was an M.P. made.

He was a Radical one day,
But met a Tory crew;
His Polly-Ties he cast away
And then turned Tory too.

Now Ben had tried for many a place
When Tories o'en were out:
But in two years the turning Whigs
Were turn'd to the right-about.

But when he called on Robert Peel,
His talents to employ,
His answer was, "Young Englander,
For me you're not the boy."

Oh, Robert Peel! Oh, Robert Peel!
How could you serve me so!
I've met with Whig rebuffs before,
But not a Tory blow.

Then rising up in Parliament,
He made a fierce to do
With Peel, who merely winked his eye,
Ben wink'd like winking too.

And then he tried the game again,
But couldn't, though he tried;
His party turn'd away from him,
Nor with him would divide.

Young England died when in its birth;
In forty-five it fell;
The papers told the public, but
None for it toll'd the bell.

16.—AN EARLY PICTURE OF LORD BEACONSFIELD, AS BENJAMIN DISRAELI, 1845.

The Railway Map of England, No. 15, is one of Mr. Punch's prophecies that has become fact. It is in the issue of October 11, 1845, and refers to the precipitate influx of new lines just then taking place. To us, nowadays, there is nothing remarkable in this Railway Map, which might be mistaken for a genuine railway map of England and Wales; but in 1845, when this map was made by Mr. Punch, he no doubt intended it as a piece of satire.

POR­TRAIT OF THE RAIL­WAY PAN­IC.

17.—AT THE END OF 1845.

ANGLERS HEAR STRANGE THINGS.

Piscator. "Are there any Barbel about here, Gov'nor?"

Host. "Any Barbel about here!!—I should rayther think there was a few. Here's the picur o' wun my little boy ketched just hopposit."

18.—ONE OF MR. PUNCH'S FISHING TALES. 1845.

Boy. "Mr. Pestle's out of Town, Mem. Can I give you any Adwice?"

19.—THE DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT. 1846.

THE LAST NEW RAILWAY SCHEME.

Our modern projectors having exhausted the old world of railways above ground, have invented a new world of a subterranean kind, in which they propose to construct lines "under the present wide, leading streets of London" This is a magnificent notion for relieving the over-crowded thoroughfares, and at the same time relieving any particularly over-crowded pocket from its oppressive burden. The prospectus states that the thing "can be accomplished without any serious engineering difficulties." The difficulties, instead of being serious, will, we suppose, be merely laughable. If any great dilemma should arise, it will of course be overcome by a little jocularity.

We understand that a survey has already been made, and that many of the inhabitants along the line have expressed their readiness to place their coal-cellars at the disposal of the company. It is believed that much expense may be saved by taking advantage of areas, kitchens, and coal-holes already made, through which the trains may run without much inconvenience to the owners, by making a judicious arrangement of the time-table. It will certainly be awkward if a family should be waiting for a scuttle of coals, and should not be able to get it until after the train had gone by; but a little domestic foresight, seconded by railway punctuality, will obviate all annoyances of this kind.

As the contemplated railway must in several places by carried through the sides and centre of a street, it will be necessary to arrange with the gas and water companies, so that they may all co-operate in this great national work. If the atmospheric principle should be adopted, arrangements could perhaps be entered into to obtain the use of the principal main belonging to the water-works as a continuous valve; for if we are to judge by the arrangements on the Croydon line, this continuous valve is a tremendous pipe, which merely lies in the middle of the line without being used.

The Sewers, by the way, would, with a little enlargement answer all the purposes of the projectors of this scheme. It is true they are half full of water; but this would not prevent the carriages from being propelled, and the wheels might be sufficiently high to keep the bodies of the carriages and the feet of the passengers out of the wet.

Considering the frequent stoppages of the existing thoroughfares, the scheme really seems to deserve encouragement. "Nothing is wanted" says the prospectus, "for this grand undertaking, but public support." If the people will only come down with their money, we should not wonder at seeing the company get as far as half-a-dozen advertisements in the daily papers, and a brass plate in the City. Those who are disposed to sink a little capital cannot do better than bury it under the Metropolis in the manner proposed.

We perceive that no amount of deposit is named, and nothing is said of the number or nominal value of the shares. The Secretary is announced to be in attendance to receive deposits from eleven to two: though, whether he gets any is, in our opinion, ten to one.

A PROPHETIC VIEW OF THE SUBTERRANEAN RAILWAYS.

20.—MR. PUNCH SCOFFS AT THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY SCHEME. 1846.

No. 16 introduces us to a very early Punch-picture of Benjamin Disraeli [June, 1845]; not the first, which was, Mr. Philip Agnew tells me, in the year 1844, but this is the more interesting picture of the two. Mr. Punch was sometimes very severe in his treatment of Disraeli, and this sketch with the accompanying verses is a good example of Punch's early satire. As regards Mr. Punch's politics, it is interesting to quote the following words from "The History of Punch":—

"The Table" [i.e., the weekly Punch dinner-table at which the cartoons, etc., are discussed.—J. H. S.] has always shown an amalgam of Conservative and Liberal instincts and leanings, although the former have never been those of the "predominant partner." The constant effort of the Staff is to be fair and patriotic, and to subordinate their personal views to the general good. For, whatever the public may think, neither Editor nor Staff is bound by any consideration to any party or any person, but hold themselves free to satirise or to approve "all round."

When No. 16 was published, Disraeli was the leader of the "Young England" party, having some years previously been converted from a Radical into a Tory: hence the allusions contained in the lines below this sketch.

THE RISING GENERATION.

Juvenile. "I tell you what it is, Governor, the sooner we come to some understanding, the better. You can't expect a young feller to be always at home; and if you don't like the way I go on, why I must hate Chambers, and so much a-week!"

21.—ONE OF LEECH'S SKETCHES. 1847.

HORRID TRAGEDY IN PRIVATE LIFE!

22.—A JOKE DRAWN BY THACKERAY, THE POINT OF WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN DISCOVERED. 1847.

In a later part of this article Mr. Punch's treatment of Disraeli's great rival Gladstone will be illustrated.

DOMESTIC BLISS.

Wife of your Bussum. "Oh! I don't want to interrupt you, dear. I only want some money for Baby's socks—and to know whether you will have the mutton cold or hashed."

23.—A PICTURE OF DOMESTIC BLISS. 1847.

MR. JOHN BULL AFTER AN ATTACK OF INCOME-TAX.

24.—A SKETCH BY DOYLE. 1848.

The vivid "Portrait of the Railway Panic," by Doyle, No. 17, was published November 8, 1845, and refers to the depression in railway-dividends then being caused by over-competition in railway-promotion; No. 20 also refers to the railway-schemes of that time, and is Mr. Punch's ironical notice [dated September 26, 1846] of "The Last New Railway Scheme," i.e., the proposal for making an Underground Railway, which, as we here read, was scoffed at by Punch—"The Secretary is announced to be in attendance to receive deposits from eleven to two; though, whether he gets any is, in our opinion, ten to one." But immediately below these words Mr. Punch gives a sectional diagram of the Underground Railway as he conceived it, and it is not a bad shot at "A prophetic view of the subterranean railways." As a matter of fact, the works for the now familiar Metropolitan (Underground) Railway were commenced in 1860; fourteen years after this ironical prophecy by Punch.

AUTHORS' MISERIES. No VI.

Old Gentleman. Miss Wiggets. Two Authors.

Old Gentleman. "I am sorry to see you occupied, my dear Miss Wiggets, with that trivial paper 'Punch.' A Railway is not a place, in my opinion, for jokes. I never joke—never."

Miss W. "So I should think, Sir."

Old Gentleman. "And besides, are you aware who are the conductors of that paper, and that they are Chartists, Deists, Atheists, Anarchists, and Socialists, to a man? I have it from the best authority, that they meet together once a week in a tavern in Saint Giles's, where they concoct their infamous Print. The chief part of their income is derived from Threatening Letters which they send to the Nobility and Gentry. The principal Writer is a returned Convict. Two have been tried at the Old Bailey; and their Artist—as for their Artist...."

Guard. "Swin-dun! Sta-tion!"

[Exeunt two Authors.

25.—DRAWN BY THACKERAY, AND CONTAINING AT THE LEFT PORTRAITS OF THACKERAY AND OF DOUGLAS JERROLD. 1848.

No. 18 is one of John Leech's jokes on fishermen's tales, and No. 19 is another joke probably based on fact. The amusing picture, No. 21, illustrating "The Rising Generation," is also by John Leech.

No. 22 is a curiosity. It was drawn by Thackeray and published on page 59 of Volume XII., February 6, 1847. From that day to this more than fifty years, no one has discovered the point of this joke by Thackeray. "The History of Punch" records that on the appearance of this sketch the "Man in the Moon" offered "a reward of £500 and a free pardon" to anyone who would publish an explanation. The reward was never claimed.

What does this sketch mean? Is the shorter female a servant caught in the act of trying on her mistress's best cap? But if so, why is the "scene" placed in a room that seems to be a library and not a bedroom? And is the object on, or near, the front of the taller woman's dress, the falling cap of the servant? But if so, how does the servant's cap come to be falling as the figures are placed—there is no sign on the part of the servant [?] that she has just dropped the cap [?] from her left hand? This is truly a puzzle and will probably never be solved, although when one remembers that this was drawn by Thackeray, and passed, as one may suppose, by Mark Lemon, the Editor of Punch in the year 1847, both men of keen wit, it is scarcely possible to think that this joke does not contain any point.

A sketch of "Domestic Bliss" is shown in No. 23, and No. 24 is a picture by Richard Doyle of "Mr. John Bull after an attack of Income-Tax." This was published in the spring of 1848, and must I think have been the outcome of a then-recent smart from an ordinary income-tax payment by Mr. Punch, for on turning up the income-tax records I find that the rate was not unusually high in the year 1848, the tax being 7d. in the £ for the years 1846 to 1852.

Affectionate Husband. "Come, Polly—if I am a little irritable, it's over in a minute!!"

26.—MORE DOMESTIC BLISS. 1848.

No. 25 was drawn by Thackeray, in 1848 and the "Two Authors" at the left are portraits of Thackeray, who is reading the Sunday Times, and of Douglas Jerrold, who is leaning against the padded division of the railway compartment, while both authors are listening to the denunciations of themselves and of their fellow-Punchites which are being poured out by the reverend gentleman at the other end of the compartment.

"Now then, Charity, hover with you, or helse let me come."

27.—A STREET-ARAB OF 1849.

Glancing at Nos. 26 and 27, we come to No. 28, which is one of Richard Doyle's very funny serial sketches, entitled "Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe." This is one of the funniest, although, where all are so good, it is difficult to single out any one of this remarkably clever series. Every bit of this sketch, No. 28, is worth looking at; the climbing positions of the deer-stalkers are most comical, and look at the two gillies holding back the dogs, and at the stag who is surveying the approaching attack. This was published September 22, 1849.

Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe in 1849 Nº 28

Deere Stalkynge in ye Hyghlandes

28.—BY RICHARD DOYLE. 1849.

When No. 29 was published there were only eleven (half-yearly) volumes of Punch available for use by the patient who is here seen consulting Dr. Punch. There are now available one hundred and fifteen of these volumes, and actual experience of Dr. Punch's advice to his patient enables me to thoroughly indorse the soundness of the advice given by the wise and genial old doctor of Fleet Street.

THE BEST ADVICE; OR, THE MODERN ABERNETHY.

John Bull. "Such a tightness in my chest."
Mr. Punch. "Tightness in your chest. Oh! Pooh, Pooh! Read my book!"

29.—A PIECE OF GOOD ADVICE BY DR. PUNCH. 1847.

(To be continued.)

---

[THE SPIDER of GUYANA]

From the French of Erckmann-Chatrian.

The mineral waters of Spinbronn, in Hundsruck, a few leagues from Pirmesans, formerly enjoyed an excellent reputation, for Spinbronn was the rendezvous of all the gouty and rheumatic members of the German aristocracy. The wild nature of the surrounding country did not deter the visitors, for they were lodged in charming villas at the foot of the mountain. They bathed in the cascade which fell in large sheets of foam from the summit of the rocks, and drank two or three pints of the water every day. Dr. Daniel Haselnoss, who prescribed for the sick and those who thought they were, received his patients in a large wig, brown coat, and ruffles, and was rapidly making his fortune.

To-day, however, Spinbronn is no longer a favourite watering-place. The fashionable visitors have disappeared; Dr. Haselnoss has given up his practice; and the town is only inhabited by a few poor, miserable woodcutters. All this is the result of a succession of strange and unprecedented catastrophes, which Councillor Bremen, of Pirmesans, recounted to me the other evening.

"You know, Mr. Fritz," he said, "that the source of the Spinbronn flows from a sort of cavern about 5ft. high, and from 10ft. to 15ft. across; the water, which has a temperature of 67deg. centigrade, is salt. The front of the cavern is half hidden by moss, ivy, and low shrubs, and it is impossible to find out the depth of it, because of the thermal exhalations which prevent any entrance.

"In spite of that, it had been remarked for a century that the birds of the locality, hawks, thrushes, and turtle-doves, were engulphed in full flight, and no one knew of what mysterious influence it was the result. During the season of 1801, for some unexplained reason, the source became more abundant, and the visitors one evening, taking their constitutional promenade on the lawns at the foot of the rocks, saw a human skeleton descend from the cascade.

"You can imagine the general alarm, Mr. Fritz. It was naturally supposed that a murder had been committed at Spinbronn some years before, and that the victim had been thrown into the source. But the skeleton, which was blanched as white as snow, only weighed twelve pounds; and Dr. Haselnoss concluded that, in all probability, it had been in the sand more than three centuries to have arrived at that state of desiccation.

"Plausible as his reasoning was, it did not prevent many visitors leaving that same day, horrified to have drunk the waters. The really gouty and rheumatic ones, however, stayed on, and consoled themselves with the doctor's version. But the following days the cavern disgorged all that it contained of detritus; and a veritable ossuary descended the mountain—skeletons of animals of all sorts, quadrupeds, birds, reptiles. In fact, all the most horrible things that could be imagined.

"Then Haselnoss wrote and published a pamphlet to prove that all these bones were relics of the antediluvian world, that they were fossil skeletons, accumulated there in a sort of funnel during the universal Deluge, that is to say, four thousand years before Christ; and, consequently, could only be regarded as stones, and not as anything repulsive.

"But his work had barely reassured the gouty ones, when one fine morning the corpse of a fox, and then of a hawk, with all its plumage, fell from the cascade. Impossible to maintain that these had existed before the Deluge, and the exodus became general.

"'How horrible!' cried the ladies. 'That is where the so-called virtue of mineral waters springs from. Better die of rheumatism than continue such a remedy.'

"At the end of a week the only visitor left was a stout Englishman, Commodore Sir Thomas Hawerbrook, who lived on a grand scale, as most Englishmen do. He was tall and very stout, and of a florid complexion. His hands were literally knotted with gout, and he would have drunk no matter what if he thought it would cure him. He laughed loudly at the desertion of the sufferers, installed himself in the best of the villas, and announced his intention of spending the winter at Spinbronn."

"AGATHA."

Here Councillor Bremen leisurely took a large pinch of snuff to refresh his memory, and with the tips of his fingers shook off the tiny particles which fell on his delicate lace jabot. Then he went on:—

"Five or six years before the revolution of 1789, a young doctor of Pirmesans, called Christian Weber, went to St. Domingo to seek his fortune. He had been very successful, and was about to retire, when the revolt of the negroes occurred. Happily he escaped the massacre, and was able to save part of his fortune. He travelled for a time in South America, and about the period of which I speak, returned to Pirmesans, and bought the house and what remained of the practice of Dr. Haselnoss.

"Dr. Christian Weber brought with him an old negress called Agatha; a very ugly old woman, with a flat nose, and enormous lips. She always enveloped her head in a sort of turban of the most startling colours; and wore rings in her ears which reached to her shoulders. Altogether she was such a singular-looking creature, that the mountaineers came from miles around just to look at her.

"The doctor himself was a tall, thin man, invariably dressed in a blue swallow-tailed coat and leather breeches. He talked very little, his laugh was dry and nervous, and his habits most eccentric. During his wanderings he had collected a number of insects of almost every species, and seemed to be much more interested in them than in his patients. In his daily rambles among the mountains he often found butterflies to add to his collection, and these he brought home pinned to the lining of his hat.

"Dr. Weber, Mr. Fritz, was my cousin and my guardian, and directly he returned to Germany he took me from school, and settled me with him at Spinbronn. Agatha was a great friend of mine, though at first she frightened me, but she was a good creature, knew how to make the most delicious sweets, and could sing the most charming songs.

"Sir Thomas and Dr. Weber were on friendly terms, and spent long hours together talking of subjects beyond my comprehension—of transmission of fluids, and mysterious things which they had observed in their travels. Another mystery to me was the singular influence which the doctor appeared to have over the negress, for though she was generally particularly lively, ready to be amused at the slightest thing, yet she trembled like a leaf if she encountered her master's eyes fixed upon her.

"I have told you that birds, and even large animals, were engulphed in the cavern. After the disappearance of the visitors, some of the old inhabitants remembered that about fifty years before a young girl, Loisa Muller, who lived with her grandmother in a cottage near the source, had suddenly disappeared. She had gone out one morning to gather herbs, and was never seen or heard of again, but her apron had been found a few days later near the mouth of the cavern. From that it was evident to all that the skeleton about which Dr. Haselnoss had written so eloquently was that of the poor girl, who had, no doubt, been drawn into the cavern by the mysterious influence which almost daily acted upon more feeble creatures. What that influence was nobody could tell. The superstitious mountaineers believed that the devil inhabited the cavern, and terror spread throughout the district.

"One afternoon, in the month of July, my cousin was occupied in classifying his insects and re-arranging them in their cases. He had found some curious ones the night before, at which he was highly delighted. I was helping by making a needle red-hot in the flame of a candle.

"Sir Thomas, lying back in a chair near the window and smoking a big cigar, was regarding us with a dreamy air. The commodore was very fond of me. He often took me driving with him, and used to like to hear me chatter in English. When the doctor had labelled all his butterflies, he opened the box of larger insects.

"'I caught a magnificent horn-beetle yesterday,' he said, 'the lucanus cervus of the Hartz oaks. It is a rare kind.'

"As he spoke I gave him the hot needle, which he passed through the insect preparatory to fixing it on the cork. Sir Thomas, who had taken no notice till then, rose and came to the table on which the case of specimens stood. He looked at the spider of Guyana, and an expression of horror passed over his rubicund features.

"'There,' he said, 'is the most hideous work of the Creator. I tremble only to look at it.'

"And, sure enough, a sudden pallor spread over his face.

"'Bah!' said my guardian, 'all that is childish nonsense. You heard your nurse scream at a spider, you were frightened, and the impression has remained. But if you regard the creature with a strong microscope, you would be astonished at the delicacy of its organs, at their admirable arrangement, and even at their beauty.'

"'It disgusts me,' said the commodore, brusquely. 'Pouff!'

"And he walked away.

"'I don't know why,' he continued, 'but a spider always freezes my blood."

"Dr. Weber burst out laughing, but I felt the same as Sir Thomas, and sympathized with him.

"'Yes, cousin, take away that horrid creature,' I cried. 'It is frightful, and spoils all the others.'

"'Little stupid,' said he, while his eyes flashed, 'nobody compels you to look at them. If you are not pleased you can go.'

"Evidently he was angry, and Sir Thomas, who was standing by the window regarding the mountains, turned suddenly round, and took me by the hand.

"'Your guardian loves his spiders, Frantz,' he said, kindly. 'We prefer the trees and the grass. Come with me for a drive.'

"'Yes, go,' returned the doctor, 'and be back to dinner at six.' Then, raising his voice, 'No offence, Sir Thomas,' he said.

"Sir Thomas turned and laughed, and we went out to the carriage.

"The commodore decided to drive himself, and sent back his servant. He placed me on the seat beside him, and we started for Rothalps. While the carriage slowly mounted the sandy hill, I was quiet and sad. Sir Thomas, too, was grave, but my silence seemed to strike him.

"'You don't like the spiders, Frantz; neither do I. But, thank Heaven! there are no dangerous ones in this country. The spider which your cousin has in his box is found in the swampy forests of Guyana, which is always full of hot vapours and burning exhalations, for it needs a high temperature to support its existence. Its immense web, or rather its net, would surround an ordinary thicket, and birds are caught in it, the same as flies in our spiders' webs. But do not think any more about it; let us drink a glass of Burgundy.'

"As he spoke he lifted the cover of the seat, and, taking out a flask of wine, poured me out a full leathern goblet.

"I felt better when I had drunk it, and we continued our way. The carriage was drawn by a little Ardennes pony, which climbed the steep incline as lightly and actively as a goat. The air was full of the murmur of myriads of insects. At our right was the forest of Rothalps. At our left was the cascade of Spinbronn; and the higher we mounted, the bluer became the silver sheets of water foaming in the distance, and the more musical the sound as the water passed over the rocks.

"Both Sir Thomas and I were captivated by the spectacle, and, lost in a reverie, allowed the pony to go on as he would. Soon we were within a hundred paces of the cavern of Spinbronn. The shrubs around the entrance were remarkably green. The water, as it flowed from the cavern, passed over the top of the rock, which was slightly hollowed, and there formed a small lake, from which it again burst forth and descended into the valley below. This lake was shallow, the bottom of it composed of sand and black pebbles, and, although covered with a slight vapour, the water was clear and limpid as crystal.

"The pony stopped to breathe. Sir Thomas got out and walked about for a few seconds.

"'How calm it is,' he said.

"Then, after a minute's silence, he continued: 'Frantz, if you were not here, I should have a bathe in that lake.'

"'Well, why not?' I answered. 'I will take a walk the while. There are numbers of strawberries to be found a little way up that mountain. I can go and get some, and be back in an hour.'

"'Capital idea, Frantz. Dr. Weber pretends that I drink too much Burgundy; we must counteract that with mineral water. This little lake looks inviting.'

"Then he fastened the pony to the trunk of a tree, and waved his hand in adieu. Sitting down on the moss, he commenced to take off his boots, and, as I walked away, he called after me:—

"'In an hour, Frantz.'

"They were his last words.

"An hour after I returned. The pony, the carriage, and Sir Thomas's clothes were all that I could see. The sun was going down and the shadows were lengthening. Not a sound of bird or of insect, and a silence as of death filled the solitude. This silence frightened me. I climbed on to the rock above the cavern, and looked right and left. There was nobody to be seen. I called; no one responded. The sound of my voice repeated by the echoes filled me with terror. Night was coming on. All of a sudden I remembered the disappearance of Loisa Muller, and I hurried down to the front of the cavern. There I stopped in affright, and glancing towards the entrance, I saw two red, motionless points.

"I SAW TWO RED, MOTIONLESS POINTS."

"A second later I distinguished some dark moving object farther back in the cavern, farther perhaps than human eye had ever before penetrated; for fear had sharpened my sight, and given all my senses an acuteness of perception which I had never before experienced.

"During the next minute I distinctly heard the chirp, chirp of a grasshopper, and the bark of a dog in the distant village. Then my heart, which had been frozen with terror, commenced to beat furiously, and I heard nothing more. With a wild cry I fled, leaving pony and carriage.

"In less than twenty minutes, bounding over rocks and shrubs, I reached my cousin's door.

"'Run, run,' I cried, in a choking tone, as I burst into the room where Dr. Weber and some invited friends were waiting for us. 'Run, run; Sir Thomas is dead; Sir Thomas is in the cavern,' and I fell fainting on the floor.

"All the village turned out to search for the commodore. At ten o'clock they returned, bringing back Sir Thomas's clothes, the pony, and carriage. They had found nothing, seen nothing, and it was impossible to go ten paces into the cavern.

"During their absence Agatha and I remained in the chimney-corner, I still trembling with fear, she, with wide open eyes, going from time to time to the window, from which we could see the torches passing to and fro on the mountain, and hear the searchers shout to one another in the still night air.

"At her master's approach Agatha began to tremble. The doctor entered brusquely, pale, with set lips. He was followed by about twenty woodcutters, shaking out the last remnants of their nearly extinguished torches.

"He had barely entered before, with flashing eyes, he glanced round the room, as if in search of something. His eyes fell on the negress, and without a word being exchanged between them the poor woman began to cry.

"'No, no, I will not,' she shrieked.

"'But I will,' returned the doctor, in a hard tone.

"The negress shook from head to foot, as though seized by some invisible power. The doctor pointed to a seat, and she sat down as rigid as a corpse.

"The woodcutters, good, simple people, full of pious sentiments, crossed themselves, and I, who had never yet heard of the hypnotic force, began to tremble, thinking Agatha was dead.

"Dr. Weber approached the negress, and passed his hands over her forehead.

"'Are you ready?' he said.

"'Yes, sir.'

"'Sir Thomas Hawerbrook.'

"At these words she shivered again.

"'Do you see him?'

"'Yes, yes,' she answered, in a gasping voice, 'I see him.'

"'Where is he?'

"'Up there, in the depths of the cavern—dead!'

"'Dead!' said the doctor; 'how?'

"'The spider! oh, the spider!'

"'Calm yourself,' said the doctor, who was very pale. 'Tell us clearly.'

"'The spider holds him by the throat—in the depths of the cavern—under the rock—enveloped in its web—Ah!'

"Dr. Weber glanced round on the people, who, bending forward, with eyes starting out of their heads, listened in horror.

"Then he continued: 'You see him?'

"'I see him.'

"'And the spider. Is it a big one?'

"'O Master, never, never, have I seen such a big one. Neither on the banks of the Mocaris, nor in the swamps of Konanama. It is as large as my body.'

"There was a long silence. Everybody waited with livid face and hair on end. Only the doctor kept calm. Passing his hand two or three times over the woman's forehead, he recommenced his questions. Agatha described how Sir Thomas's death happened.

"'He was bathing in the lake of the source. The spider saw his bare back from behind. It had been fasting for a long time, and was hungry. Then it saw Sir Thomas's arm on the water. All of a sudden it rushed out, put its claws round the commodore's neck. He cried out, "Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu." The spider stung him and went back, and Sir Thomas fell into the water and died. Then the spider returned, spun its web round him, and swam slowly, gently back to the extremity of the cavern; drawing Sir Thomas after it by the thread attached to its own body.'

"I was still sitting in the chimney corner, overwhelmed with fright. The doctor turned to me.

"'Is it true, Frantz, that the commodore was going to bathe?'

"'Yes, cousin.'

"'At what time?'

"'At four o'clock.'

"'At four o'clock? It was very hot then, was it not?'

"'Yes; oh, yes.'

"'That's it. The monster was not afraid to come out then.'

"He spoke a few unintelligible words, and turned to the peasants.

"'My friends,' he cried, 'that is where the mass of débris and those skeletons come from. It is the spider which has frightened away your visitors, and ruined you all. It is there hidden in its web, entrapping its prey into the depths of the cavern. Who can say the number of its victims?'

"IT RUSHED OUT AND PUT ITS CLAWS AROUND THE COMMODORE'S NECK."

"He rushed impetuously from the house, and all the woodcutters hurried after him.

"'Bring fagots, bring fagots!' he cried.

"Ten minutes later two immense carts, laden with fagots, slowly mounted the hill; a long file of woodcutters followed, with hatchets on their shoulders. My guardian and I walked in front, holding the horses by the bridle; while the moon lent a vague, melancholy light to the funereal procession.

"At the entrance of the cavern the cortége stopped. The torches were lighted and the crowd advanced. The limpid water flowed over the sand, reflecting the blue light of the resinous torches, the rays of which illuminated the tops of the dark, overhanging pines on the rocks above us.

"'It is here you must unload,' said the doctor. 'We must block up the entrance of the cavern.'

"It was not without a feeling of dread that they commenced to execute his order. The fagots fell from the tops of the carts, and the men piled them up before the opening, placing some stakes against them to prevent their being carried away by the water. Towards midnight the opening was literally closed by the fagots. The hissing water below them flowed right and left over the moss, but those on the top were perfectly dry.

"Then Dr. Weber took a lighted torch, and himself set fire to the pile. The flames spread from twig to twig, and rose towards the sky, preceded by dense clouds of smoke. It was a wild, strange sight, and the woods lighted by the crackling flames had a weird effect. Thick volumes of smoke proceeded from the cavern, while the men standing round, gloomy and motionless, waited with their eyes fixed on the opening. As for me, though I trembled from head to foot, I could not withdraw my gaze.

"ONE OF THE MEN THREW HIS HATCHET."

"We waited quite a quarter of an hour, and Dr. Weber began to be impatient, when a black object, with long, crooked claws, suddenly appeared in the shadow, and then threw itself forward towards the opening. One of the men, fearing that it would leap over the fire, threw his hatchet, and aimed at the creature so well that, for an instant, the blood which flowed from its wound half-quenched the fire, but soon the flame revived, and the horrible insect was consumed.

"Evidently driven by the heat, the spider had taken refuge in its den. Then, suffocated by the smoke, it had returned to the charge, and rushed into the middle of the flames. The body of the horrible creature was as large as a man's, reddish violet in colour, and most repulsive in appearance.

"That, Mr. Fritz, is the strange event which destroyed the reputation of Spinbronn. I can swear to the exactitude of my story, but it would be impossible for me to give you an explanation. Nevertheless, admitting that the high temperature of certain thermal springs furnishes the same conditions of existence as the burning climate of Africa and South America, it is not unreasonable to suppose that insects, subject to its influence, can attain an enormous development.

"Whatever may have been the cause, my guardian decided that it would be useless to attempt to resuscitate the waters of Spinbronn; so he sold his house, and returned to America with his negress and his collection."

---

[The Training Ship "Exmouth."]

By Dr. Ch. H. Leibbrand.

Illustrated from Photographs taken under his direction by A. and G. Taylor, Photographers to the Queen.

Reader, have you been to Grays, the station next to historical Purfleet, on the London and Tilbury line to Southend? If not, let me tell you that it is not a large place, nor a nice place either. Still, this struggling township on the Thames is worth visiting. Almost within the shadow of its tiny red brick houses lies one of the finest institutions in England for the making of sailors, and soldiers, and citizens—for the making of men.

THE "EXMOUTH."

Proceeding a short distance along the main street towards the river the traveller will be brought face to face with this civilizing centre. He will see a huge, bold, sturdy vessel riding proudly upon the ebbing and flowing tide, moored about a hundred yards off the shore. This splendid three-decker, of 3,106 tons displacement and with a measurement of 220ft. by 59ft., is London's training ship Exmouth.

The vessel's ninety-one portholes still proclaim its original character—that of a man-of-war; even though her armament consists now of but two truck and two field pieces, instead of the ninety-one guns which should be mounted there. Its complement of 600 lads, its Captain-Superintendent, and staff of officers still more eloquently testify to its intimate connection with the defences of the country—with the Navy and the Army, with the development of patriotism and citizenship. For, from this training ship have gone forth about 5,700 youths, well equipped for the struggle of existence, and not less well trained to battle with winds and waves and the treachery of oceans deep. Indeed, of these 5,700 no fewer than 2,106 went to swell the ranks of the Royal Navy; 446 shipped as ordinary seamen; 1,385 as deck and cabin boys; 150 as apprentices, and 300 as assistant cooks and stewards. And again, within the same period, 900 have joined the Army as band boys; whilst hundreds, once more, embarked with average fair success upon other occupations, taking to handicrafts, trades, and industries for which they received their first moral and sound practical training on board this veteran three-decker.

A large part of the striking prosperity which has attended the Exmouth is undoubtedly due to the most competent Captain-Superintendent in Staff-Commander W. S. Bourchier. Entering the Navy in 1840, as a navigating midshipman on board the Impregnable, this officer had, previous to his appointment to the Goliath in 1870, passed through a school of excellent training. After successive services as navigating sub-lieutenant, first in the Mediterranean, on board the Polyphemus; then on the south-east coast of America, on the brigantine Griffon, he had (upon being promoted navigating lieutenant) held the command of the Myrtle, steamer-tender to the flagship, for close on twelve years. And this varied and instructive career Captain Bourchier had been able to complete by a further service as navigating lieutenant to the then Captain, now Admiral, Sir Anthony Hoskins, on board the Zebra, engaged upon a lengthy cruise along the coast of Africa. With so thoroughly trained and experienced an officer in command the experiment could, therefore, hardly fail to prosper.

CAPTAIN BOURCHIER, HIS DAUGHTER, AND GRAND-DAUGHTER.

So successful, indeed, has been the training and other educational work carried on on board this splendid three-decker that the last report of Admiral Bosanquet, than whom as Inspecting Captain-General of Naval Training Ships there can hardly be a better authority, may be taken as typical. In this report he says:—

The training ship Exmouth for boys is in most excellent order. The drills and instructions are exceedingly well taught, and the comfort and well-being of the lads is sedulously attended to. Captain Bourchier's arrangements are admirable and conscientiously carried out by a very able staff of officers. It is a model training ship.

THE FIRE DRILL.

AT GYMNASTICS.

And a model training ship the Exmouth truly is; the brief history of which, who knows? may be a not unimportant factor in the making of British history. To appreciate this paradox, reader, you must see this tiny, yet withal so manly, crew as it was a short time ago my good fortune to see them when I visited the vessel, piloted by that genial assistant clerk to the Metropolitan Asylums Board, Mr. John Mallett. The notice informing the Captain-Superintendent of our intended visit, I afterwards learned, had reached him but a few minutes previous to our arrival. Yet the moment we appeared on the landing-stage, the wind carried to us five notes of an assembly call. This was the only distinct sign of life on board. But scarcely had it passed by when, as if by magic, the cutters and whalers, the gigs and pinnaces, and the launches of the Exmouth were manned and afloat; when on the main and upper decks, and on the bowsprit, and up the fore, main, and mizzen masts swarmed Lilliputians to their posts, every tiny man ready to "do his duty." Though, to be sure, it is not an easy duty these sailor boys have to perform, for the routine and discipline on board the Exmouth is as that on board a man-of-war, tempered only by a consideration of the youth of the crew and by the maxim that "kindness leads farther than harshness."

RIFLE DRILL.

FENCING DRILL.

FIELD-GUN DRILL.

From the early morning, when the bugle calls for the speedy slinging up of their hammocks on the orlop deck, till late in the evening, when the general retreat is sounded and the hammock's are once more unslung, the various boat-crews and classes are kept going. Yet not as fancy's whim suggests; maxims evolved from sound experience inspire the educational system on board. For instance, cleanliness is said to be next to godliness. The two, again, are known to be most conducive to discipline. At the same time, the strictest observance of these three precepts is recognised to be absolutely essential to the well-being of a large floating establishment. In conformity with these truisms, thorough ablutions and thoughtful religious practices, such as morning and evening prayers, at which both officers and crew attend, are, therefore, as prominent features of the training on the Exmouth as is the excellent discipline maintained on board the vessel. The ablutions, however, are particularly worthy of mention; the process is so original. There is a huge, broad tank-bath in the lavatory; not much smaller than a usual-sized swimming bath. Thither the lads proceed in marching order, though, of course, without any baggage, however slight; and promptly start to give themselves a wholesome shampoo with carbolic soap. Being thus lathered they plunge head foremost into the tank. Diving straight through its full width, with wonderful agility they then bound over its anything but low side, landing—at attention—before the officer on watch, ready for inspection as to their outward cleanliness.

DISMOUNTING FIELD-GUNS.

LOCATING THE TRUCK-GUNS.

FIRING THE TRUCK-GUN

This agility, this precision in the action and decision in the conduct of the boy-sailors and marines, is noticeable at whatever occupation they may be. Such perfection is to a great extent due to the lads' instruction in gymnastics and athletics. As the several illustrations show, in these they pass through a most comprehensive and systematic course. They are trained in whatever may tend towards the development of their muscles. So efficiently are the boys taught, that those whom I have seen at my visit go through most difficult exercises on the horizontal and parallel bars and on the spring-board, I would safely have compete with the best model sections or Masterriegen of Germany's leading gymnastic societies. Yet the Fatherland is the home and, as it were, the academy of systematic physical culture! Highly satisfactory, too, if not truly astonishing, is the perfect manner in which the Lilliputians on board the Exmouth take to their musketry, bayonet, and cutlass drill. Reader, you need but look at the illustrating snap-shots to feel that, when grown up or even before, these lads will prove men and warriors bold and true should occasion arise. Indeed, as it is, when witnessing the earnestness and skill with which each command of the drill-masters is executed, you soon fancy to be face to face with a company of marines—veterans in the exercise of arms—although, in fact, they are a company of mere boys, rescued from the streets and recruited from the workhouses. And as veterans in arms they behave at gun drill. At mounting or dismounting field-pieces, at charging or discharging the truck-guns, they are equally smart. How well the crews are trained, both in the use of rifle, cutlass, and cannon, and in their more extensive and complicated application to military tactics, is demonstrated by the photos, illustrating a sham-fight between a party of sailors and an imaginary enemy. It can be seen at a glance that the proceedings are looked upon by the boys as something more than an amusing intermezzo in their daily routine; with them it is a serious lesson to be learned seriously.

SHAM-FIGHT

AMBULANCE DRILL.

However, the champions of disarmament and the advocates of peace must not assume that the training ship's youthful crew is reared up only in the spirit of militarism, and instructed only in the manifold defensive and offensive uses of the weapons of war. The picture showing the boy sailors and marines engaged upon Samaritan work, carried out with a promptitude and circumspection of which a master in surgery need not be ashamed, would already disprove their assumption. Yet, they may feel further assured that these principles of assisting the suffering are not confined in their educational operation to the mere bandaging and nursing of the wounded. These are inculcated into the mind and heart of the lads by many other methods, and applicable to many and far different situations.

For, hand in hand with their military training, the wards of the Metropolitan Asylums Board receive the benefit of moral training and a sound elementary education under the able direction of Mr. W. Hollamby, the head schoolmaster on board the vessel. This education, in spite of a rather small staff, considering the hundreds of pupils, is not only equal to that provided at any Metropolitan Board School, but it aspires, justifiably, because successfully—even beyond—at a higher, more comprehensive, more thorough-going instruction, excellent though teaching in London's Board Schools frequently is.

BRIGANTINE "STEADFAST."

Nor is the industrial side forgotten in the system of training on the Exmouth. Tailoring, carpentering, painting, sail and net-making, and so on, are part of the trades the boys have to learn and to prove efficient at. Indeed, most of the extensive and often difficult repairs constantly necessary to the three-decker, to her many boats, and to the boys' own outfits, are done by the latter, and done by these youngsters remarkably well, as, reader, you will see for yourself, if your good fortunes ever ship you to the Exmouth. I say advisedly "good fortunes," because there is a healthiness, a breeziness about the ship, about its captain, officers, and numerous crew which truly smacks of the free, wholesome, bracing sea, and which cannot fail to act upon the visitor from the town as an excellent nerve-tonic.

MUSICAL DRILL.

This healthiness, this breeziness, as it were, this sea-atmosphere is, however, easily accounted for by the very nature, by the very purpose of the vessel. Is not the aim of the education, of the training, on board the Exmouth above all to produce sailors of the type of those who have made England what she is to-day—the Queen and the beneficent Ruler Of the Oceans and the foremost colonizing and civilizing Power on earth? Naturally, to achieve this aim the tasks which devolve alike upon instructors and instructed are manifold and heavy. How many thousand and one details have to be taught—and learned? How many thousand and one minute elements are necessary to the making of genuine seamen of these boys? As kindly paymaster, Mr. A. Thompson, puts it in his "Exmouth Song":—

They are to be bothered with splice and knot,
With heads and hitches and I don't know what;
So many, they can't tell t'other from which;
Nor a double Matthew Walker from a plain clove hitch.

AT MESS.

But it quickly comes all right; the instructors and the lads' hearts are in their work. Thus:—

They very soon pass a torn-i-key (tourniquet)
As well as any Captain in the Queen's Navee.

Sometimes, to be sure; a more practical lesson, which brings the matter truly home, is wanted. As for instance when:—

They go for a pull, and whilst afloat,
Catch a crab that knocks them down in the boat.

Yet here, too, all things work towards a good end. Therefore:—

To them that crab a lesson will be,
To make them smart sailors in the Queen's Navee.

And that these Liliputian men on board the Exmouth become smart sailors is vouchsafed not only by Captain-Superintendent Bourchier, and his capable chief officer, Mr. Wellman; not only by the brigantine Steadfast, the three-decker's sailing tender, and, as our illustration shows, a bold, handsome yacht, of 100 tons burden, with roomy decks and comfortable quarters for fifty lads; but it is also vouchsafed by her weather-beaten commander, Mr. Thomas Hall, than whom there is scarcely a more confidence-inspiring, able salt. Indeed, our Navy owes much to this brigantine. Apart from the nautical training she affords to the Exmouth boys, it is she who, by means of her constant cruises to southern and western ports, brings her complement of excellently taught youths to the direct notice of the captains of our men-of-war. How much they appreciate the budding sailors thus brought before them is shown by the fact that on each return from such a cruise the crew of the brigantine is considerably reduced. But not in consequence of desertions. No, the men-of-war men like the lads, and the lads like the men-of-war men. So it comes to pass that the sailor-boys of London's Training Ship Exmouth become blue-jackets of the Nation and her Queen. And once embarked upon this career we may safely leave them, although, reader, I would fain tell you yet of the large and exceptionally skilled band on board the three-decker which supplies our Navy and, particularly, our Army with so many able musicians every year. I would fain tell you of the Infirmary and its devoted matron, and of the Shipping Home at Limehouse, kept in connection with the training ship for the purpose of providing to the Exmouth lads berths on board merchantmen, and of affording them some safe anchorage when momentarily without a vessel through no fault of their own. I would fain enlist your co-operation in agitating for the increase of training ships such as the one I have endeavoured to describe to you, inasmuch as in these, I hold, lies the strength of our future Navy and supremacy of the seas. But space does not permit me. May I be at least consoled by the hope that I have roused your interest in, and kindled your sympathy for, the Exmouth and her officers and crew.

LEAVING THE SHIP.

---

[False Colours]

BY W. W. JACOBS.

Of course, there is a deal of bullying done at sea at times, said the night watchman, thoughtfully. The men call it bullying an' the officers call it discipline, but it's the same thing under another name. Still, it's fair in a way. It gets passed on from one to another. Everybody aboard a'most has got somebody to bully, except, perhaps, the smallest boy; he 'as the worst of it, unless he can manage to get the ship's cat by itself occasionally.

I don't think sailor-men mind being bullied. I never 'eard of it's putting one off 'is feed yet, and that's the main thing, arter all's said and done.

Fust officers are often worse than skippers. In the fust place, they know they ain't skippers, an' that alone is enough to put 'em in a bad temper, especially if they've 'ad their certifikit a good many years and can't get a vacancy.

I remember, a good many years ago now, I was lying at Calcutta one time in the Peewit, as fine a barque as you'd wish to see, an' we 'ad a fust mate there as was a disgrace to 'is sects. A nasty, bullying, violent man, who used to call the hands names as they didn't know the meanings of and what was no use looking in the dictionary for.

There was one chap aboard, Bill Cousins, as he used to make a partikler mark of. Bill 'ad the misfortin to 'ave red 'air, and the way the mate used to throw that in 'is face was disgraceful. Fortunately for us all, the skipper was a very decent sort of man, so that the mate was only at 'is worst when he wasn't by.

We was sitting in the fo'c's'le at ten one arternoon, when Bill Cousins came down, an' we see at once 'e'd 'ad a turn with the mate. He sat all by hisself for some time simmering, an' then he broke out. "One o' these days I'll swing for 'im; mark my words."

"Don't be a fool, Bill," ses Joe Smith.

"If I could on'y mark 'im," says Bill, catching his breath. "Just mark 'im fair an' square. If I could on'y 'ave 'im alone for ten minutes, with nobody standing by to see fair play. But, o' course, if I 'it 'im it's mutiny."

"You couldn't do it if it wasn't, Bill," ses Joe Smith again.

"He walks about the town as though the place belongs to 'im," said Ted Hill. "Most of us is satisfied to shove the niggers out o' the way, but he ups fist an' 'its 'em if they comes within a yard of 'im."

"Why don't they 'it 'im back?" ses Bill. "I would if I was them."

Joe Smith grunted. "Well, why don't you?" he asked.

"'Cos I ain't a nigger," ses Bill.

"Well, but you might be," ses Joe, very soft. "Black your face an' 'ands an' legs, and dress up in them cotton things, and go ashore and get in 'is way."

"If you will, I will, Bill," ses a chap called Bob Pullin.

Well, they talked it over and over, and at last Joe, who seemed to take a great interest in it, went ashore and got the duds for 'em. They was a tight fit for Bill, Hindu's not being as wide as they might be, but Joe said if 'e didn't bend about he'd be all right, and Pullin, who was a smaller man, said his was fust class.

After they were dressed, the next question was wot to use to colour them with; coal was too scratchy, an' ink Bill didn't like. Then Ted Hill burnt a cork and started on Bill's nose with it afore it was cool, an' Bill didn't like that.

"Look 'ere," ses the carpenter, "nothin' seems to please you, Bill—it's my opinion you're backing out of it."

"You're a liar," ses Bill.

"Well, I've got some stuff in a can as might be boiled-down Hindu for all you could tell to the difference," ses the carpenter; "and if you'll keep that ugly mouth of your's shut, I'll paint you myself."

Well, Bill was a bit flattered, the carpenter being a very superior sort of a man, and quite an artist in 'is way, an' Bill sat down an' let 'im do 'im with some stuff out of a can that made 'im look like a Hindu what 'ad been polished. Then Bob Pullin was done too, an' when they'd got their turbins on, the change in their appearance was wonderful.

"Feels a bit stiff," ses Bill, working 'is mouth.

"That'll wear off," ses the carpenter; "it wouldn't be you if you didn't 'ave a grumble, Bill."

"And mind and don't spare 'im. Bill," ses Joe. "There's two of you, an' if you only do wot's expected of you, the mate ought to 'ave a easy time abed this v'y'ge."

"Let the mate start fust," ses Ted Hill. "He's sure to start on you if you only get in 'is way. Lord, I'd like to see his face when you start on 'im!"

Well, the two of 'em went ashore after dark with the best wishes o' all on board, an' the rest of us sat down in the fo'c's'le spekerlating as to what sort o' time the mate was goin' to 'ave. He went ashore all right, because Ted Hill see 'im go, an' he noticed with partikler pleasure as 'ow he was dressed very careful.

It must ha' been near eleven o'clock. I was sitting with Smith on the port side o' the galley, when we heard a 'ubbub approaching the ship. It was the mate just coming aboard. He was without 'is 'at; 'is neck-tie was twisted round 'is ear, and 'is shirt and 'is collar was all torn to shreds. The second and third officers ran up to him to see what was the matter, and while he was telling them, up comes the skipper.

"You don't mean to tell me, Mr. Fingall," ses the skipper, in surprise, "that you've been knocked about like that by them mild and meek Hindus?"

"Hindus, sir?" roared the mate. "Cert'n'y not, sir. I've been assaulted like this by five German sailor-men. And I licked 'em all."

"I'm glad to hear that," ses the skipper; and the second and third pats the mate on the back, just like you pat a dog you don't know.

"Big fellows they was," ses he, "an' they give me some trouble. Look at my eye!"

The second officer struck a match and looked at it, and it cert'n'y was a beauty.

"I hope you reported this at the police-station?" ses the skipper.

"No, sir," ses the mate, holding up 'is 'ed. "I don't want no p'lice to protect me. Five's a large number, but I drove 'em off, and I don't think they'll meddle with any British fust officers again."

"You'd better turn in," ses the second, leading him off by the arm.

The mate limped off with him, and as soon as the coast was clear we put our 'eds together and tried to make out how it was that Bill Cousins and Bob 'ad changed themselves into five German sailor-men.

"It's the mate's pride," ses the carpenter. "He didn't like being knocked about by Hindus."

We thought it was that, but we had to wait nearly another hour afore the two came aboard, to make sure. There was a difference in the way they came aboard, too, from that of the mate. They didn't make no noise, and the fust thing we knew of their coming aboard was seeing a bare, black foot waving feebly at the top of the fo'c's'le ladder feelin' for the step.

That was Bob. He came down without a word, and then we see 'e was holding another black foot and guiding it to where it should go. That was Bill, an' of all the 'orrid, limp-looking blacks that you ever see, Bill was the worst when he got below. He just sat on a locker all of a heap and held 'is 'ed, which was swollen up, in 'is hands. Bob went and sat beside 'im, and there they sat, for all the world like two wax-figgers instead o' human beings.

"Well, you done it, Bill?" ses Joe, after waiting a long time for them to speak. "Tell us all about it!"

"Nothin' to tell," ses Bill, very surly. "We knocked 'im about."

"And he knocked us about," ses Bob, with a groan. "I'm sore all over, and as for my feet——"

"Wot's the matter with them?" ses Joe.

"Trod on," ses Bob, very short. "If my bare feet was trod on once they was a dozen times. I've never 'ad such a doing in all my life. He fought like a devil. I thought he'd ha' murdered Bill."

"I wish 'e 'ad," ses Bill, with a groan; "my face is bruised and cut about cruel. I can't bear to touch it."

"IT CERT'N'Y WAS A BEAUTY."

"Do you mean to say the two of you couldn't settle 'im?" ses Joe, staring.

"I mean to say we got a hiding," ses Bill. "We got close to him fust start off and got our feet trod on. Arter that it was like fighting a windmill, with sledge-hammers for sails."

He gave a groan and turned over in his bunk, and when we asked him some more about it, swore at us. They both seemed quite done up, and at last dropped off to sleep just as they was, without even stopping to wash the black off or to undress themselves.

I was awoke rather early in the morning by the sounds of somebody talking to themselves, and a little splashing of water. It seemed to go on a long while, and at last I leaned out of my bunk and see Bill bending over a bucket and washing himself and using bad language.

"Wot's the matter, Bill?" ses Joe, yawning and sitting up in bed.

"My skin's that tender, I can hardly touch it," ses Bill, bending down and rinsing 'is face. "Is it all orf?"

"Orf?" ses Joe; "no, o' course it ain't. Why don't you use some soap?"

"Soap," answers Bill, mad-like; "why, I've used more soap than I've used for six months in the ordinary way."

"That's no good," ses Joe; "give yourself a good wash."

Bill put down the soap then very careful, and went over to 'im and told him all the dreadful things he'd do to him when he got strong ag'in, and then Bob Pullin got out of his bunk an' 'ad a try on his face. Him an' Bill kept washing, and then taking each other to the light and trying to believe it was coming off until they got sick of it, and then Bill 'e up with his foot and capsized the bucket, and walked up and down the fo'c's'le raving.

"Well, the carpenter put it on," ses a voice, "make 'im take it orf."

You wouldn't believe the job we 'ad to wake that man up. He wasn't fairly woke till he was hauled out of 'is bunk an' set down opposite them two pore black fellers an' told to make 'em white again.

"I don't believe as there's anything will touch it," he ses, at last. "I forgot all about that."

"Do you mean to say," bawls Bill, "that we've got to be black all the rest of our life?"

"Certrily not," ses the carpenter, indignantly, "it'll wear off in time; shaving every morning'll 'elp it, I should say."

"I'll get my razor now," ses Bill, in a awful voice; "don't let 'im go, Bob. I'll 'ack 'is head orf."

He actually went off an' got his razor, but o' course, we jumped out o' our bunks and got between 'em and told him plainly that it was not to be, and then we set 'em down and tried everything we could think of, from butter and linseed oil to cold tea-leaves used as a poultice, and all it did was to make 'em shinier an' shinier.

"It's no good, I tell you," ses the carpenter, "it's the most lasting black I know. If I told you how much that stuff is a can, you wouldn't believe me."

"Well, you're in it," ses Bill, his voice all of a tremble; "you done it so as we could knock the mate about. Whatever's done to us'll be done to you too."

"I don't think turps 'll touch it," ses the carpenter, getting up, "but we'll 'ave a try."

"HE BURIED HIS FACE IN IT."

He went and fetched the can and poured some out on a bit o' rag and told Bill to dab his face with it. Bill give a dab, and the next moment he rushed over with a scream and buried his head in a shirt what Simmons was wearing at the time and began to wipe his face with it. Then he left the flustered Simmons an' shoved another chap away from the bucket and buried his face in it and kicked and carried on like a madman. Then 'e jumped into his bunk again and buried 'is face in the clothes and rocked hisself and moaned as if he was dying.

"Don't you use it, Bob," he ses, at last.

"'Tain't likely," ses Bob. "It's a good thing you tried it fust, Bill."

"'Ave they tried holy-stone?" ses a voice from a bunk.

"No, they ain't," ses Bob, snappishly, "and, what's more, they ain't goin' to."

Both o' their tempers was so bad that we let the subject drop while we was at breakfast. The orkard persition of affairs could no longer be disregarded. Fust one chap threw out a 'int and then another, gradually getting a little stronger and stronger, until Bill turned round in a uncomfortable way and requested of us to leave off talking with our mouths full and speak up like Englishmen wot we meant.

"You see, it's this way, Bill," ses Joe, soft-like. "As soon as the mate sees you there'll be trouble for all of us."

"THE TWO MEN WAS SCROUGED UP IN A CORNER."

"For all of us," repeats Bill, nodding.

"Whereas," ses Joe, looking round for support, "if we gets up a little collection for you and you should find it convenient to desart."

"'Ear 'ear," ses a lot o' voices. "Bravo, Joe."

"Oh, desart is it?" ses Bill; "an' where are we goin' to desart to?"

"Well, that we leave to you," ses Joe; "there's many a ship short-'anded as would be glad to pick up sich a couple of prime sailor-men as you an' Bob."

"Ah, an' wot about our black faces?" ses Bill, still in the same sneering, ungrateful sort o' voice.

"That can be got over," ses Joe.

"'Ow?" ses Bill and Bob together.

"Ship as nigger-cooks," ses Joe, slapping his knee and looking round triumphant.

It's no good trying to do some people a kindness. Joe was perfectly sincere, and nobody could say but wot it wasn't a good idea, but o' course Mr. Bill Cousins must consider hisself insulted, and I can only suppose that the trouble he'd gone through 'ad affected his brain. Likewise Bob Pullins.

Anyway, that's the only excuse I can make for 'em. To cut a long story short, nobody 'ad any more breakfast, and no time to do anything until them two men was scrouged up in a corner an' 'eld there unable to move.

"I'd never 'ave done 'em," ses the carpenter, arter it was all over, "if I'd known they was goin' to carry on like this. They wanted to be done."

"The mate'll half murder 'em," ses Ted Hill.

"He'll 'ave 'em sent to gaol, that's wot he'll do," ses Smith. "It's a serious matter to go ashore and commit assault and battery on the mate."

"You're all in it," ses the voice o' Bill from the floor. "I'm going to make a clean breast of it. Joe Smith put us up to it, the carpenter blacked us, and the others encouraged us."

"Joe got the clothes for us," ses Bob. "I know the place he got 'em from, too."

The ingratitude o' these two men was sich that at first we decided to have no more to do with them, but better feelings prevailed, and we held a sort o' meeting to consider what was best to be done. An' everything that was suggested one o' them two voices from the floor found fault with and wouldn't 'ave, and at last we 'ad to go up on deck, with nothing decided upon, except to swear 'ard and fast as we knew nothing about it.

"The only advice we can give you," ses Joe, looking back at 'em, "is to stay down 'ere as long as you can."

A'most the fust person we see on deck was the mate, an' a pretty sight he was. He'd got a bandage round 'is left eye, and a black ring round the other. His nose was swelled and his lip cut, but the other officers were making sich a fuss over 'im, that I think he rather gloried in it than otherwise.

"Where's them other two 'ands?" he ses by-and-by, glaring out of 'is black eye.

"Down below, sir, I b'lieve," ses the carpenter, all of a tremble.

"Go an' send 'em up," ses the mate to Smith.

"Yessir," ses Joe, without moving.

"Well, go on then," roars the mate.

"They ain't over and above well, sir, this morning," ses Joe.

"Send 'em up, confound you," ses the mate, limping towards 'im.

Well, Joe give 'is shoulder a 'elpless sort o' shrug and walked forward and bawled down the fo'c's'le.

"They're coming, sir," he ses, walking back to the mate just as the skipper came out of 'is cabin.

We all went on with our work as 'ard as we knew 'ow. The skipper was talking to the mate about 'is injuries, and saying unkind things about Germans, when he give a sort of a shout and staggered back staring. We just looked round, and there was them two blackamoors coming slowly towards us.

"'GOOD HEAVENS, MR. FINGALL,' SES THE OLD MAN. 'WHAT'S THIS?'"

I never see sich a look on any man's face as I saw on the mate's then. Three times 'e opened 'is mouth to speak, and shut it ag'in without saying anything. The veins on 'is forehead swelled up tremendous and 'is cheeks was all blown out purple.

"That's Bill Cousins' hair," ses the skipper to himself. "It's Bill Cousins' hair. It's Bill Cus——"

Bob walked up to him, with Bill lagging a little way behind, and then he stops just in front of 'im and fetches up a sort o' little smile.

"Don't you make those faces at me, sir," roars the skipper. "What do you mean by it? What have you been doing to yourselves?"

"Nothin', sir," ses Bill, 'umbly; "it was done to us."

The carpenter, who was just going to cooper up a cask which 'ad started a bit, shook like a leaf, and give Bill a look that would ha' melted a stone.

"Who did it?" ses the skipper.

"We've been the wictims of a cruel outrage, sir," ses Bill, doing all 'e could to avoid the mate's eye, which wouldn't be avoided.

"So I should think," ses the skipper. "You've been knocked about, too."

"Yessir," ses Bill, very respectful; "me and Bob was ashore last night, sir, just for a quiet look round, when we was set on to by five furriners."

"What?" ses the skipper; and I won't repeat what the mate said.

"We fought 'em as long as we could, sir," ses Bill, "then we was both knocked senseless, and when we came to ourselves we was messed up like this 'ere."

"What sort o' men were they?" asked the skipper, getting excited.

"Sailor-men, sir," ses Bob, putting in his spoke. "Dutchies or Germans, or something o' that sort."

"Was there one tall man, with a fair beard," ses the skipper, getting more and more excited.

"Yessir," ses Bill, in a surprised sort o' voice.

"Same gang," ses the skipper. "Same gang as knocked Mr. Fingall about, you may depend upon it. Mr. Fingall, it's a mercy for you you didn't get your face blacked too."

I thought the mate would ha' burst. I can't understand how any man could swell as he swelled without bursting.

"I don't believe a word of it," he ses, at last.

"Why not?" ses the skipper, sharply.

"Well, I don't," ses the mate, his voice trembling with passion. "I 'ave my reasons."

"I s'pose you don't think these two poor fellows went and blacked themselves for fun, do you?" ses the skipper.

The mate couldn't answer.

"And then went and knocked themselves about for more fun?" says the skipper, very sarcastic.

The mate didn't answer. He looked round helpless like, and see the third officer swopping glances with the second, and all the men looking sly and amused, and I think if ever a man saw 'e was done 'e did at that moment.

He turned away and went below, and the skipper arter reading us all a little lecture on getting into fights without reason, sent the two chaps below ag'in and told 'em to turn in and rest. He was so good to 'em all the way 'ome, and took sich a interest in seeing 'em change from black to brown and from light brown to spotted lemon, that the mate daren't do nothing to them, but gave us their share of what he owed them as well as an extra dose of our own.

---

[Animal Actualities.]

Note.—Under this title we intend printing a series of perfectly authentic anecdotes of animal life, illustrated by Mr. J. A. Shepherd, an artist long a favorite of The Strand Magazine. We shall be glad to receive similar anecdotes, fully authenticated by names of witnesses, for use in future numbers. While the stories themselves will be matters of fact, it must be understood that the artist will treat the subject with freedom and fancy, more with a view to an amusing commentary than to a mere representation of the occurrence.

VIII.
The Disappearing Chickens.

This incident took place in the spring of 1897, at French's Farm, Netherfield, near Battle, Sussex. This farm lies in the midst of the chicken-raising district, and it was at the time in the occupation of Mr. W. A. Williams. Mr. Williams, among his other farm operations, reared thousands of chickens, which the travelling higglers would collect and fatten for the market. Most of these chickens were hatched in an incubator and reared by aid of a foster-mother—which latter, by the way, is not a motherly old hen, as some might suppose, but a sort of box lined with flannel. Sometimes it is merely an old coop.

MOTHERLESS AND INQUISITIVE.

The farm was surrounded by woods, and at first many chicks were lost by raids of foxes. To check the foxes, Mr. Williams washed the coops well with carbolic acid, and let his dogs loose at night. This was effectual. Mr. Williams's tailless sheepdog "Satan" and a spaniel bitch had many a moonlight fox hunt together. Satan, by the way, was a peculiar dog, very quiet, but a game fighter when roused.

ONLY THREE LEFT.

BEYOND THE WIT OF MAN OR DOG.

For a time the chickens prospered, and then, one morning, Mr. Williams found but three left out of some twenty-five fresh-hatched the day before. It was very odd. Mr. Williams couldn't understand it, and his dog Satan seemed equally puzzled. The chicks had been turned out in excellent health the day before, twenty-five inquisitive, little, fuzzy activities, all agog to examine the world. Now there were but three, and not a scrap or a fragment of fluff left to suggest what had happened.

"WHAT! NO RATS?"

"THE DOG? NONSENSE; LOOK AT HIM!"

The thing occurred again and again, and the mystery was dense as ever. It couldn't be foxes, because they almost always kill a few for the sake of killing, and leave them lying about. Was it rats? No, there were no rats, said the rat-catcher who was called in. But still the disappearances went on, and morning after morning fifteen or twenty of yesterday's chicks were not to be found; and the door of their coop was opened, or knocked down. If it were a human thief, why did he leave any at all? And besides, a man entering the yard at night would have been pounced on by the dogs at once. At last, in desperation, a friend suggested that perhaps the sheepdog knew something of it. But that was altogether unlikely—one had only to glance at him to see it. He was always a kindly guardian—almost a parent to the motherless chicks. He was chained up just outside the farm-house door all day, with a brood of happy chicks ever in his kennel and his food-pan, and, indeed, hopping all over him fearlessly, and nothing they could do ruffled his placid temper or changed his benevolent aspect. So the mystery continued, and was deep as ever.

LISTENING.

Till one morning it happened to be necessary for Mr. Williams to rise just after dawn, and as he did so he looked out of his bedroom window. There stood Satan, the sheepdog, listening intently at the house door. As he listened and his master watched, there presently came along a batch of young chicks. Plainly the door of their coop had been opened again, and they had been let out. And then Mr. Williams gasped. For straightway the dog turned and calmly began snapping up the chicks, bolting them whole, as Mr. Williams expresses it, "like oysters." He had thus disposed of eight or nine in rapid succession, when Mr. Williams made a noise at the window, and the dog instantly fled.

GULP! THE MYSTERY SOLVED.

That day Mr. Williams took particular care to move the chickens near him as he lay by his kennel, and to watch. But, no—the cunning rascal would take no notice of them at all. They ran and tumbled all about him, but he let them run. He was a hypocrite, consummate and proved, and he left the farm that evening.

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[The Cotton-wool Princess.]
A Story for Children

From the Italian of Luigi Capuana.

A thousand years ago there lived a King and a Queen. They had only one daughter, who was dearer to them than all the world. Now, when the King of France sent to their Court to request the hand of the Princess, neither father nor mother would part from their beloved daughter, and they said to the Ambassador: "She is still too young!"

But as the girl became every day more beautiful, the next year the King of Spain's Ambassador appeared to request the girl's hand for his Sovereign. And again the parents answered: "She is still too young!"

Both the Kings were very angry at this refusal, and resolved to revenge themselves on the poor Princess.

As they were not able themselves to carry out their wicked resolve, they summoned a Magician and said to him: "You must devise for us some charm to be used against the Princess—and the worse it is the greater shall be your reward!"

With the words, "In one month your wish shall be fulfilled!" the Magician departed.

Before the four weeks were over, he appeared again in the castle of the King of Spain.

"Your Majesty, here is the charm!" he cried. "Give her this ring as a present, and when she has worn it on her finger for four-and-twenty hours, you shall see the effect!"

Now the two Kings consulted together as to how they should get the ring to the Princess. For they were no longer friendly with her parents, who would, consequently, become suspicious of any present sent by them. What was to be done?

"I have it! I have it!" the King of Spain cried, suddenly.

Then he disguised himself as a goldsmith, set out on a journey, and took up his position just opposite the palace where the Princess lived. The Queen noticed him from her window, and as she happened at that time to be wanting to buy some jewellery she sent for him. After she had bought from the stranger various bracelets, chains, and earrings, she said to her daughter:—

"And you will not choose anything among all these fine things for yourself, little daughter?"

Then the Princess answered, "I see nothing especially beautiful among them."

Then the disguised King took the ring out of its case, which he had up to the present kept hidden, made it sparkle in the sun, and said: "Your Majesty, here is still a very rare jewel; this ring has not its equal in the world for beauty. And it does not please you?"

"Oh, how splendid! Oh, how beautifully it sparkles and gleams!" cried the Princess, entranced. "How much does it cost?"

"The ring has no price; I shall be contented with whatever you give me for it."

Then a great sum of money was paid to him, and he went his way. The Princess put the ring on her finger, and could not turn her eyes away from it, so charmed was she with its brilliancy. But four-and-twenty hours had not passed—it was just evening—when the poor girl uttered a terrible cry of anguish.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" sounded through the whole palace.

The King, the Queen, and all the ladies of the Court ran, white with terror, and with candles in their hands, to see what had happened.

"Take away your candles! Take them away! Take them away!" cried the Princess, beside herself with despair. "Do you not see that I have turned into cotton-wool?"

And her body had, indeed, suddenly changed into cotton-wool. The King and Queen were inconsolable at this terrible misfortune, and they at once summoned the wisest men of the kingdom to consult with them as to what was to be done in this extremity.

"Your Majesties," the councillors concluded, after long deliberation, "have it proclaimed in all countries that whoever restores your daughter may wed her."

And then messengers with drums and trumpets went round the whole kingdom and far beyond it, and proclaimed:—

"He who restores the Princess to health may become the King's son-in-law."

"THE PROCLAMATION."

About this time there lived in a small town the son of a shoemaker. There was great want in his father's house, and one day, when not even a crust of bread remained, and both would have had to die of hunger, the son said, "Father, give me your blessing; I will go out into the world to seek my fortune."

"May Heaven be gracious to you, my son!" said the father, and the youth took his staff and set out on his journey.

He had already left the fields of his native district far behind him when he met a band of rough boys, who were making a fearful uproar and throwing stones at a toad to kill it.

"What harm has the poor animal done you? Is it not as much God's creature as you are? Let it live!" he exclaimed, indignantly. But when he saw that the hard-hearted fellows paid no attention to his words and did not desist from their intention, he rushed angrily at them and gave one a sound box on the ears, and another a mighty punch in his ribs. The boys scattered in a tumult, and the toad quickly used the opportunity to slip into a hole in the wall.

Then the youth went farther and farther on his way. Suddenly the sound of trumpets and the roll of drums came to his ear. And listen! Is not some proclamation being made? He listened attentively and distinctly heard the words: "He who restores the Princess to health may become the King's son-in-law!"

"What is the matter with her?" he asked a passer-by.

"Don't you know? She has turned into cotton-wool."

He thanked his informant and continued his travels. Now, by the time night had sunk upon the earth, he had come to a great desert, and he determined to lay himself down to sleep. But how terrified he was when, on turning his head to look once again at the way he had come, he saw a tall, beautiful woman standing at his side.

He was about to spring quickly away when she said, "Do not be afraid of me. I am a Fairy, and have come to thank you."

"To thank me? And what for?" the youth asked, in confusion.

"You saved my life! My fate ordains that I shall be a toad by day and a fairy by night. Now, I am at your service."

"Good Fairy," then said the youth, "I have just heard of a Princess who has turned into cotton-wool, and whoever heals her may become her husband. Teach me how to restore her to health. That is my most ardent wish!"

Then the Fairy said, "Take this sword in your hand and walk straight on until you come to a dense forest, full of snakes and wild animals. However, you must not be afraid of them, but must bravely continue your journey until you stand in front of the Magician's palace. As soon as you have reached it, knock three times at the great gate...." And she described to him fully what he was to do.

"If you ever need my help, come to this place at this same hour, and you will find me here!" and giving him her white hand in farewell, she disappeared before the youth could open his mouth to thank her.

Without pausing to consider, the cobbler's son set out and went straight on, according to his instructions. He had already gone a good way when his path led him into a dark forest, into the midst of wild animals. That was awful! They filled the air with fearful roars, gnashed their teeth bloodthirstily, and hungrily opened their jaws. Though the poor youth's heart thumped, he went straight on, making as if he did not notice them. At last he reached the Magician's palace, and knocked three times at the great gate.

"THE MAGICIAN, IN A GREAT FURY, RUSHED OUT."

Then a voice came from the interior of the castle: "Woe to you, rash stranger, who have the boldness to come to me! What is your wish?"

"If you really are the Magician, come out and fight with me!" cried the youth.

The Magician, in a great fury at this audacity, rushed out, armed to the teeth, to accept the challenge. But as soon as he saw the sword in the youth's hand, he broke out into pitiable lamentation, and, sinking trembling on to his knees, cried:—

"Oh, woe to me, unfortunate creature that I am! At least spare my life!"

Then the youth said: "If you will release the Princess from the spell your life shall be spared."

Then the Magician took a ring out of his pocket and said: "Take this ring and put it on the little finger of her left hand and she shall be well again."

Not a little rejoiced at the success of his journey, the youth hastened to the King and asked, just to satisfy himself of the truth of what he had been told: "Your Majesty, is it true that he who restores the Princess to health will be your son-in-law?"

"THE POOR PRINCESS BURST INTO FLAME."

"It is verily true!" the anxious King assured him.

"Well then, I am ready to accomplish the task!"

Then the poor Princess was brought in, and all the ladies of the Court, as well as the servants, stood round her to witness the miracle.

But no sooner had she put the ring on her little finger than she burst into bright flame and stood there, uttering heartrending cries. Everything was plunged into confusion, and the horrified youth seized the opportunity of escaping from the scene of the disaster as fast as his legs would carry him. His one wish was to get to the Fairy, and he did not stop running until he had come to the place where he had seen her the first time.

"Fairy, where are you?" he cried, all in a tremble.

"I am at your service," was the answer.

Then he told the Fairy of the misfortune which had happened to him.

"You have allowed yourself to be deceived! Take this dagger and go again to the Magician. See that he does not fool you this time!"

Then she gave him all sorts of good advice for his dangerous journey and bestowed on him her blessing. Arrived at the great gate of the palace, he knocked three times. Then the Magician cried, as before: "Woe to you, bold stranger! What is your wish?"

"If you are really the Magician, you are to fight with me!"

The Magician, armed to his teeth, came rushing out, in a rage. But when he saw the dagger he sank trembling on his knees, and begged piteously: "Oh, spare my life."

"Good-for-nothing Magician!" the youth cried, angrily; "you have deceived me! Now I will keep you in chains until the Princess is freed from the spell!"

Then he put him in chains, stuck the dagger into the earth, and fastened the chain to it so that the Magician could not move.

"You are mightier than I! Now I realize it!" cried the enchained Magician, gnashing his teeth. "Take the goldsmith's ring from the Princess's finger, and she will be released from the spell."

Not until the youth had learnt that the Princess had escaped with only a few burns on her hands, owing to the promptness of the bystanders in extinguishing the flames, did he summon up enough courage to appear before the King again.

"Your Majesty, I implore your pardon!" he said. "The treacherous Magician, not I, was the cause of the disaster. Now I have completely overcome him, and my remedy will succeed. I have only to draw the goldsmith's ring from your daughter's finger and she will be all right again."

And so it happened. As soon as the ring was taken off, the Princess at once changed back to what she had been before. But who would believe it to be possible? Her tongue, eyes, and ears were missing; they had been consumed by the flames! The youth's perplexity at this new disaster was indescribable. Again he applied to his guardian Fairy for help.

"You have let him make a fool of you a second time!" she said, again giving him advice, to help him towards the fulfilment of his wish of becoming the King's son-in-law.

When he came to the Magician he shouted at him: "You miserable deceiver! Now my patience is at an end! But eye for eye, tongue for tongue, ear for ear!"

With these words he seized the Magician to strangle him.

But the latter cried, in the utmost peril of death: "Have mercy! Have mercy! Let me live! Go to my sisters, who live a little farther back than this."

Then he gave him the necessary directions so that he might find the way there without delay, and also the magic word which he had to pronounce at the gate. After some hours he came to the gate of a palace, which was in every respect like that of the Magician. He knocked, and in answer to the question, "Who are you, and what do you want here?" he answered, "I want the little gold horn."

"I perceive that my brother has sent you to me. What does he want of me?"

"He wants a little piece of red cloth; he has torn a hole in his cloak."

"Here's a piece, and now get you gone from here!" a woman in the palace cried angrily, at the same time throwing into his opened hands a little piece of red cloth, which she had cut in the shape of a tongue.

He journeyed on for several hours, and at last came to the foot of a high mountain. On a spur of rock was a castle, which looked exactly like that of the Magician. Then he knocked at the great gate, and a voice came from the interior, saying, "Who are you, and what is your desire?"

"I want the little gold hand."

"That's all right. I perceive that my brother has sent you. What does he want from me?"

"He wants two lentil-grains for soup."

"What rubbish! Here, take them and make yourself scarce!"

Then the owner of the castle threw him two little lentil-grains, wrapped in a piece of paper, and noisily closed the window.

At last he came to a wide plain, in the middle of which a castle exactly like the Magician's was built. When he knocked he was asked what he wanted, and answered: "I want the little gold foot."

"THE OWNER OF THE CASTLE THREW HIM TWO LITTLE LENTIL-GRAINS."

"Ah! my brother has sent you to me! And what does he wish from me?"

"He wishes you to send him two snails for his supper."

"Here they are, but now leave me in peace!" a woman called out, ungraciously, from the window, at the same time throwing him the two snails he desired.

Now the youth returned with the things he had collected to the Magician, and said: "Here I bring you what you wished for."

Then the Magician gave him all the necessary instructions as to the use of the three things. But when the youth turned his back to go away, the captive cried, imploringly, "And you are going to leave me lying here?"

"It would be no more than you deserve. However, I will release you. But woe betide you if you have deceived me again."

After the youth had released the Magician from his chains, he hurried away to appear before the Princess.

Opening her mouth, he put in it the little piece of red stuff which he had brought with him, and she at once had a tongue.

But the first words which came from her mouth were: "Miserable cobbler! Out of my sight! Begone!"

The poor youth was motionless with painful amazement, and said to himself: "This is once more the work of the faithless Magician."

But he would not let this bitter ingratitude prevent him from completing the good work. Then, taking the two little lentil-grains, he put them into the blind pupils of the girl's eyes, and at once she was able to see as before. But no sooner had she turned her eyes upon him than she covered her face with her hands and cried, scornfully, "Oh, how ugly mankind is! How horribly ugly!"

The poor youth's courage nearly vanished, and again he said to himself, "The worthless Magician has done this for me!"

But he would not allow himself to be put out. Taking the empty snail-shells from his pocket, he put them very skilfully where the girl's ears had once been, and behold! the Princess had back again her sweet little ears.

Then the youth turned to the King and said, "Your Majesty, now I am your son-in-law!"

But when the Princess heard these words she began to weep like a spoilt child, sobbing, "He called me a witch! He said I was an old witch!"

That was too much ingratitude for the poor youth. Without saying a word, he hurriedly left the castle, to seek out his Fairy.

"Fairy, where are you?" he cried, still trembling with anger and vexation.

"I am at your service."

Then he told her how shamefully he had been treated by the Princess, who was now restored to health.

The Fairy said, laughing: "You probably forgot to take the Magician's other ring from her little finger?"

"Oh, dear! I did not think of that in my confusion," exclaimed the youth, seizing his head between his two hands in mingled terror and shame.

"Now hasten and repair the mistake!" advised the Fairy.

Sooner than he had thought possible, he was standing in front of the Princess and drew the evil ring from her little finger. Then a lovely smile spread over her beautiful features, and she thanked him so sweetly and kindly that he became red with embarrassment.

Then the King said, solemnly: "This is your husband."

And the youth and the Princess embraced one another in the sight of all, and a few days afterwards the wedding was celebrated.

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[A Funeral at Sea.]

By J. H. Barker.

Life on board one of the large liners which run from Southampton or London to the Cape is almost ideal. After the first week of the trip, calm seas and glorious sunshine are experienced, and on board we are free from the rush of business life, and can laze away our time to our heart's content. No letters to be looked through, no clients or customers to interview, and no morning paper to read. If that is not a holiday, what is?

For certain reasons, the first part of the voyage is not so enjoyable to some as to others, for the Bay of Biscay has a very bad name, and although it may be a bugbear whose growl is often worse than its bite, nevertheless, it sometimes acts up to its reputation. However, when Madeira is past, all thoughts of mal de mer are put aside, everyone begins to take a fresh interest in the trip, and things in general begin to "brighten up." Deck chairs are placed in the shady parts of the deck, and we recline in comfort and talk scandal (for scandal is talked even on board), read novels and smoke.

Soon after "The Canaries" are left behind, however, a committee is formed, and a programme of sports and entertainments drawn up, to enliven the remaining fortnight of the voyage. There are cricket for the more energetic, bull-board, quoits, sports, concerts, dances (including a fancy dress ball), etc., in which everyone takes part, and a good time is provided for one and all.

But life at sea, as on land, is not all sunshine and happiness, and I shall ever remember a certain lovely hot morning in December, when we were still nine or ten days' sail from Cape Town, and those of us who cared for the luxury were having beef-tea and biscuits in the saloon, when the captain's clerk came in, and said: "There's to be a funeral this afternoon at four o'clock."

I can never forget the change that came over the company. It seemed as though a thunderbolt had fallen. A few minutes before we had all been talking of the various amusements which were to take place during the day, and no thought, except of pleasure, had entered our minds.

"Who is dead?" we asked, and were told that a steerage passenger had died of consumption.

There were no games that day: it seemed as though the life on board had completely changed.

BRINGING THE BODY ON DECK.

From a Photograph.

At four o'clock nearly all the passengers came on deck to attend the funeral. The ceremony was to take place in the "after-well" of the vessel, the lower deck being kept for the officers and men who were to take part in the service. The "gangway" was taken down, everything prepared, the engines slowed down, and the body was borne out on to the deck by the "bosun" and three of his men, and placed near the side of the vessel.

DURING THE BURIAL SERVICE.

From a Photograph.

At sea the body is sewn up in a canvas sack, which is heavily weighted at the foot, and this is laid on a "coaming" (a part of one of the hatches), which takes the place of a bier. The whole is covered with a Union Jack, which is fastened to the four corners of the "coaming," so that when the time comes to commit the body to the deep the one end of the "coaming" is raised and the body slips off into the water, leaving the flag in its place.

The captain and first officer read the burial service between them, the other officers and men joining in the responses.

Never have I heard the service read more impressively than it was that December day, and during parts of the reading there were few dry eyes to be seen amongst the passengers. The beautiful words are impressive at any time, but at sea their beauty is magnified a hundredfold.

A few minutes after the service had commenced, at a signal from the first officer, the engines were stopped altogether, and then there was absolute stillness and silence, broken only by the voice of the captain and the ripple of the water as the ship still moved along her way.

"We, therefore, commit her body to the deep...." and at these words the men who had stood by the "coaming" on which the body rested raised it gently up, there was a dull splash, and the body sank to rise no more, until the great day when the deep shall give up her dead.

Everything was done in the most reverent spirit, and when at the close of the service the engines were again put full steam ahead, the "gangway" closed up, and the ordinary routine of ship-life resumed, I could not help thinking that there is something very grand in having the profound sea for a tomb. God seemed nearer in that solitude than in the crowded city.

ALLOWING THE BODY TO SLIDE INTO THE SEA.

From a Photograph.

As I was going down to my cabin a little later I met one of the officers, who said, "Not been taking the funeral, have you?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, it's your own look-out, and you have to take the risk yourself."

A little farther down I came across one of the engineers, and he asked me the same question. I told him I had taken a few snap-shots, and he said, "You have? I wouldn't have done it for anything you could have given me."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Don't you know that to photograph a funeral on board ship is about the most unlucky thing you could do? Anyhow, it's your own risk, so it does not matter to me. Still, I would not take such a risk myself."

Not being superstitious, no harm accrued from my daring.

SHOWING THE FLAG LEFT BEHIND, AFTER THE BODY HAS GONE.

From a Photograph.

Gradually we got back again to our usual life on board, and to our games and frivolities; and by a few, perhaps, the solemn act of burying the dead had been forgotten ere we gained our first view of the beautiful Table Bay, with the picturesque town and grand Table Mountain in the background, but on some of us, I feel sure, it will have a lasting influence.

AT THE CLOSE OF THE SERVICE.

From a Photograph.

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[Curiosities.][2]

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