Part 4

18. Give example of "meridian altitude of a celestial object," by drawing a picture of the Chinese giant who was over here some time ago.

19. Give history of "the Poles." Who was Kosciusko? Is this spelling of his name correct?

20. "Civil time." Illustrate this term from English history.

21. Can a "first mate's ordinary certificate" be granted by Doctors' Commons or the Archbishop of Canterbury?

(_On these questions being satisfactorily answered, the next Examination Paper will be issued._)

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I'M AFLOAT

(_Mr. Punch in the Ocean on the broad of his back, singeth_)

I'm afloat, I'm afloat, what matters it where? So the devils don't know my address, I don't care. Of London I'm sick, I've come down to the sea, And let who will make up next week's number for me! At my lodgings, I know, I'm done frightfully brown, And e'en lobsters and shrimps cost me more than in town; I've B. flats in my bed, and my landlady stern, Says from London I've brought 'em to give her a turn. Yet I'm happier far in my dear seaside home, Than the Queen on Dee side, or Art-traveller in Rome; A Cab-horse at grass would be nothing to me,

On the broad of my back floating free, floating free! On the broad of my back floating free, floating free! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!

With the lodging-house-keepers all day on the bite, And the insects I spoke of as hungry at night, With the organs "_Dog-traying_" and "_Bobbing Around_," And extra-size Crinolines sweeping the ground, You may think _Mr. Punch_ might be apt to complain That the seaside's but Regent Street over again: But from devils and copy and proof-sheets set free, I've a week to do nothing but bathe in the sea. In steamers and yachts I've been rocked on its breast, And didn't much like it, it must be confessed; But a cosy machine and shoal water give me, And there let me float--let me float and be free! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha! (1858)

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THAMES WEATHER

Come, George, give your clubs and your Haskells a rest, man: You can't spend the whole of your lifetime in golf; If it pleases your pride I'll admit you're the best man That ever wore scarlet or teed a ball off; I'll allow they can't match you in swinging or driving, That your shots are as long as they always are true, And I'll grant that what others effect after striving For years on the green comes by nature to you.

But the sun's in the sky, and the leaves are a-shiver With a soft bit of breeze that is cool to the brow; And I seem to remember a jolly old river Which is smiling all over--I think you know how. There are whispers of welcome from rushes and sedge there, There's a blaze of laburnum and lilac and may; There are lawns of close grass sloping down to the edge there; You can lie there and lounge there and dream there to-day.

There are great spreading chestnuts all ranged in their arches With their pinnacled blossoms so pink and so white; There are rugged old oaks, there are tender young larches, There are willows, cool willows, to chequer the light. Each tree seems to ask you to come and be shaded-- It's a way they all have, these adorable trees-- And the leaves all invite you to float down unaided In your broad-bottomed punt and to rest at your ease.

And then, when we're tired of the _dolce far niente_, We'll remember our skill in the grandest of sports, Imagine we're back at the great age of twenty, And change our long clothes for a zephyr and shorts. And so, with a zest that no time can diminish, We will sit in our boat and get forward and dare, As we grip the beginning and hold out the finish, To smite the Thames furrows afloat in a pair.

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ON THE RIVER

I sat in a punt at Twickenham, I've sat at Hampton Wick in 'em. I hate sea boats, I'm sick in 'em-- The man, I, Tom, and Dick in 'em. Oh, gentles! I've been pickin 'em. For bait, the man's been stickin 'em (Cruel!) on hooks with kick in 'em The small fish have been lickin 'em. And when the hook was quick in 'em, I with my rod was nickin 'em, Up in the air was flickin 'em. My feet so cold, kept kickin 'em. We'd hampers, with _aspic_ in 'em, Sandwiches made of chicken, 'em We ate, we'd stone jars thick, in 'em Good liquor; we pic-nic-ing 'em Sat: till our necks a rick in 'em We turned again t'wards Twickenham. And paid our punts, for tickin 'em They don't quite see at Twickenham.

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THE CHANNEL BAROMETER

_Very fair._--Really delightful. Nothing could be pleasanter. Sunshine. Ozone. Does everyone a world of good. Would not miss such a passage for worlds.

_Fair._--Yes; it is decidedly an improvement upon a railway carriage. Room to move about. I don't in the least mind the eighty odd minutes. If cold, you can put on a wrap, and there you are.

_Change._--Always thought there was something to be said in favour of the Channel Tunnel. Of course, one likes to be patriotic, but the movement in a choppy sea is the reverse of invigorating.

_Wind._--There should be a notice when a bad passage is expected. It's all very well to describe this as "moderate," but that doesn't prevent the beastly waves from running mountains high.

_Stormy._--It is simply disgraceful. Would not have come if I had known. Too depressed to say anything. Where is the steward?

_Gale._--Why--was--I--ever--born?

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LOVE ON THE OCEAN

They met, 'twas in a storm, On the deck of a steamer; She spoke in language warm, Like a sentimental dreamer.

He spoke--at least he tried; His position he altered; Then turn'd his face aside, And his deep-ton'd voice falter'd.

She gazed upon the wave, Sublime she declared it; But no reply he gave-- He could not have dared it.

A breeze came from the south, Across the billows sweeping; His heart was in his mouth, And out he thought 'twas leaping.

"O, then, Steward," he cried, With the deepest emotion; Then tottered to the side, And leant o'er the ocean.

The world may think him cold, But they'll pardon him with quickness, When the fact they shall be told, That he suffer'd from sea-sickness.

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LECTURES ON YACHTING

_By_ PROFESSOR AQUARIUS BRICK

We were present when the accomplished Professor Brick recently delivered a series of lectures on yachting, which were very well attended. By his kind permission, we have preserved bits of the discourses here and there. We extract, _à discrétion_:--

"I come now," went on the Professor, "to your most important yachters--your genuine swells. Their cutters are in every harbour; you trace their wake by empty champagne bottles on every sea. To such dandy sea-kings I would now say one word.

"About your choice of cruising ground you cannot have much difficulty. The Mediterranean is your proper spot. It is true that we will not tolerate its being made a French lake--its proper vocation is that of English pond!

"I would advise you all to be very particular in not letting your 'skipper' have too much authority. Remember always, that _you are the owner_--high-spirited gentlemen do. Surely a man may sail his own yacht, if anybody may! It is as much his property as his horse is. To be sure, when the weather is very bad, I would let the fellow take charge then. There is a very odd difference between the Bay of Biscay and the water inside the Isle of Wight, when it blows. And a skipper _too much snubbed_ gets rusty at awkward times.

"Your conduct in harbour will be regulated by circumstances--which means, dinners. Generally speaking, the fact of having a yacht will carry you everywhere. As every aëronaut is 'intrepid' by courtesy, so every yachtsman is a 'fashionable arrival.' This great truth is scarcely enough appreciated in England. I have known very worthy men spend in trying to get into great society in London, sums which, judiciously invested _in a yacht_, would have taken them to dozens of great people's houses abroad. You will get asked to dinner; you will be feasted well, generally. Anything in the way of excitement--particularly good, rich, hospitable excitement--is heartily welcome in our colonial settlements and stations.

"But I am not now speaking only to those who yacht, because to have a yacht is a fine thing. I recognise also an imperial class of yachtsmen--the swans of the flock of geese. I have seen a coronet on a binnacle, before now. I have seen a large stately schooner sail into a Mediterranean port--as into a drawing-room--splendid and serene. The harbour-master's boat is on the alert these mornings. The men-of-war send their boats to tow; the dandiest lieutenant goes in the barge; the senior captain offers his services. When such a yacht as that goes into the Golden Horn, the Sultan is shown to these yachters--like any curiosity in his capital--like any odd thing in his town! They are presented to him, as it is called, that _he_ may be looked at.

"To this magnificent class I have not much to say. They don't snub their skipper--they are far too fine to do that. They are scarcely distinctive as travellers, for they are the same abroad as at home. In them, England is represented. England floats in a lump through the sea, like Delos used to do. As they say and do just the same as they have always said and done at home--see and mix with the same kind of people--I often wonder what they learn by it. When they go to visit Thermopylæ or Marathon, it is with a lot of tents, donkeys, camp-stools, travelling-cases, guides, and servants--such as Xerxes might have had. They encumber the ruins of temples with the multitude of their baggage. The position seems so unnatural, that I can't fancy their getting any moral or intellectual profit from it. They are too well off for that--like a fellow who cannot see for fat. Depend on it, you cannot see much through a painted window, however fine it is."

Professor Brick concluded his first sketch amidst much applause.

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TO A COUPLE OF THAMES NAIADS

Row, ladies, row! It will do you good: Pleasant the stream under Cliefden Wood: When our skiff with the river drops down again, Glad you will be of some iced champagne. O, a boat on the river is doubly dear When you've nothing to do but adore and steer.

Row, darlings, row! Whether stroke or bow Is sweeter to look at, better to row, Is a question that plagues not me, as I laze, And on their graceful movement gaze. 'Tis the happiest hour of the sultry year: The swift oars twinkle; I smoke and steer.

Row, beauties, row! 'Tis uncommon hot: I _can_ row stroke, but I'd rather not. As we meet the sunset's afterglow, Two absolute angels seem to row; Wingless they are, so of flight no fear-- Home to dinner I mean to steer.

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ON THE RIVER

(_Page from the Diary of a Sweet Girl Clubbist_)

_Monday._--Very pleased I have been chosen for the boat. So glad to have been taken before Amy and Blanche. I am sure I shall look better than either of them. They needn't have been so disagreeable about it. Amy asking for her racquet back, and Blanche refusing to lend me her cloak with the feather trimmings. Fanny should make a first-rate stroke, and Kate a model coach.

_Tuesday._--We were to have practice to-day, but postponed it to decide on our colours. Blouses are to be left optional, but we are all to wear the same caps. We had a terrible fight over it. Fanny, Rose and I are blonde, so naturally we want light blue. Henrietta is a brunette, and (selfish thing!) stood out for yellow! However, we settled it amicably at last by choosing--as a compromise--pink. Then I made a capital suggestion, which pleased everybody immensely. Instead of caps we are to wear picture-hats.

_Wednesday._--Went out in our boat for the first time. Such a fight for places! I managed to secure bow, which is a long way the best seat, as you lead the procession. Everybody sees you first, and it is most important that the crew should create a good impression. Henrietta wanted the position, and said that her brother had told her that the lightest girl should always be bow. I replied "quite right, and as I had lighter hair than hers, and my eyes were blue and hers brown, of course it should be me." Fanny and Rose agreed with me, and Kate (who was annoyed at not being consulted enough) placed her five. Henrietta was in such a rage!

_Thursday._--We are in training! Think it rather nonsense. Why should we give up _meringues_ and sponge-cakes? And as to cigarettes, that isn't really a privation, as none of us really like them. A mile's run isn't bad, but it wears out one's shoes terribly. Kate wanted us all to drink stout, but we refused. We have compromised it by taking _fleur d'orange_ mixed with soda-water instead. The Turkish bath is rather long, but you can read a novel after the douche. Take it altogether, perhaps training is rather fun. Still, I think it, as I have already said, nonsense, especially in regard to sponge-cakes and _meringues_.

_Friday._--Spent the whole of the morning in practising starts. Everybody disagreeable--Kate absolutely rude. Fancy wanting me to put down my parasol! And then Henrietta (spiteful creature!) declaring that I didn't keep my eye on the steering (we have lost our coxswain--had to pay a visit to some people in the country) because I _would_ look at the people on the banks! And Kate backing her up! I was very angry indeed. So I didn't come to practice in the afternoon, saying I had a bad headache, and went instead to Flora's five o'clock tea.

_Saturday._--The day of the race! Everybody in great spirits, and looking their best. Even Henrietta was nice. Our picture-hats were perfectly beautiful. Fanny came out with additional feathers, which wasn't quite fair. But she said, as she was "stroke" she ought to be different from the rest. And as it was too late to have the hat altered we submitted. We started, and got on beautifully. I saw lots of people I knew on the towing-path, and waved to them. And just because I dropped hold of my oar as we got within ten yards of the winning-post they all said it was _my_ fault we lost! Who ever heard the like? The crew are a spiteful set of ugly frumps, and on my solemn word I won't row any more. Yes, it's no use asking me, as I say I won't, and I will stick to it. There!

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HERE AND THERE

If you were only here, George, I think--in fact, I know, We'd get a girl to steer, George, And take a boat and row; And, striking mighty bubbles From each propulsive blade, Forget that life had troubles At ninety in the shade.

We'd swing along together, And cheerily defy This toasting, roasting weather, This sunshine of July. Our feather might be dirty, Our style might not be great; But style for men of thirty (And more) is out of date.

You'd note with high elation-- I think I see you now-- The beaded perspiration That gathered on your brow. Oh, by that brow impearled, George, And by that zephyr wet, I vow in all the world, George, There's nothing like a "sweat."

To row as if it mattered, Just think of what it means: All cares and worries shattered To silly smithereens. To row on such a day, George, And feel the sluggish brain, Its cobwebs brushed away, George, Clear for its work again!

But you at Henley linger, While I am at Bourne-End. You will not stir a finger To come and join your friend. This much at least is clear, George: We cannot row a pair So long as I am here, George, And you remain up there.

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"PERILS OF THE DEEP."--_Unprotected Female_ (_awaking old Gent, who is not very well_). "Oh, mister, would you find the captain? I'm sure we're in danger! I've been watching the man at the wheel; he keeps turning it round first one way and then the other, and evidently doesn't know his own mind!!"

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A QUIET DAY ON THE THAMES

(_Dedicated to the Thames Conservancy_)

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

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

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

12 NOON.--Aground.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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AT HENLEY AS IT IS

(_By Isaac Walton Minimus_)