Part 2

Southampton, directly alongside of the _Regina_. Magnificent vessel. Crowd trooping in out of train. Men in uniform at gangway, directing everyone to go below and get billeted. I join the crowd descending the companion. As everyone comes to a table where certain M.& N. officials are standing, each person shows his or her invitation-card, and receives a number. Then they disappear, some singly, some in couples, as if it were the Ark, and ROSSHER were NOAH settling it all. Evidently the first thing necessary is the invitation-card. Ha! there is ROSSHER in the distance, at the far corner of the table. I wave my hand to him in the heartiest manner, expressive of my delight at seeing him, and I am sincerely grateful, for I feel at this moment that ROSSHER is the only friend I have in this strange world, from which I am liable at any moment to be summarily ejected, being unable to show my _raison d'etre_ in the shape of the invitation-card.

"Name?" says a sharp man in ordinary civilian's dress, from whom, judging by his tone and business-like manner, I feel confident I can expect no mercy. "I haven't got one," I reply, whereat he frowns as if he didn't mean to stand any nonsense, and I apologise humbly for having mistaken his question. _I_ thought he was asking for my card. "No," he says, eying me suspiciously. "Name! Where is it? Down here?" And he hands me the confounded list, at which I make no pretence of looking, but cast an appealing look towards ROSSHER, who at that moment, most fortunately for me, comes up, having finished shaking hands with two hundred out of the two hundred and fifty arrivals.

"Ah! you here!" he exclaims, with an air of cheery surprise. "That's capital. Didn't know you were coming."

I am considerably staggered. "Why," I say to him, protesting, "I telegraphed----"

"Ah!" says ROSSHER in an off-hand way, "then I didn't receive it. You wait quietly here, and we'll see what can be done for you."

I catch Weather-beaten Stranger's eye. He is waiting, also, with his back against a cabin-door, most patiently. I meet several friends. I explain to them all, over and over again, my melancholy story, and while I do so I stand as near the table as possible, so that the sad tale may reach some of the officials, and excite them to pity and immediate action on my behalf. My friends nod at me pleasantly, hope it will come all right, and leave me, to see after their own comforts. What a selfish, unsympathetic world this is!

"Hallo!" says a young man, not in naval costume, but evidently an official of some sort, blithely turning towards me and mentioning my name inquiringly, which I immediately acknowledge, whereupon he continues, "I'm delighted to meet you. My name's CRICK." I smile, and shake his hand warmly, as if congratulating him on his appellation. "Where's your berth?" Then I have to explain it all over to him. I'm becoming sick of these explanations. They're asking me for the number of my berth, as if they wanted an extract from my baptismal-register, or my marriage-certificate. "Don't know what you'll do," says CRICK, smiling as if the whole thing were a good joke. And I thought he could help me! "Where's your dinner-place?" he asks. Good heavens! I don't know--how should I? Where's _his_ dinner-place? "Oh," he replies, "mine's aft. If you like to join us, we'll find room. It's very jolly. Not so swell, you know." No, I don't know, and haven't an idea what he means. But if I can't get dinner "forward," I'll dine "aft" with pleasure. ROSSHER comes up.

"All right," he says to CRICK. "Just take this gentleman" (meaning me) "to the Saloon; there are several spare places." ROSSHER pats me on the back, encouragingly. Oh, how grateful I am to ROSSHER! CRICK says, "Yes, Sir," (what is CRICK?) and takes me to the Saloon--beautifully laid out for two hundred and fifty guests--and finds me a capital place. Why didn't he do this before? No matter, it's settled now. First bell sounds. CRICK directs me to the wash-and-brush-up. In ten minutes I have made my toilette, including opening my bag and getting out a dark serge for dinner wear, and I walk into the Saloon as the convives are assembling, with the air of a man who is well within his rights.

_Happy Thought._--I won't ask ROSSHER anything more about berth and cabin until after dinner. After dinner is always a good-natured, complaisant time.

Excellent dinner. Amusing company. Chiefly stories about long voyages, rats and cockroaches. From what I hear I should not like a long voyage in an old ship. We disperse over the vessel. Music, coffee, cigars, and conversation. Lovely sight. Still, it will be lovelier if I am quite certain where I am going to sleep. I find ROSSHER. "Ah!" he cries out, cheerily, as if he had quite forgotten my particularly sad case, "how are you getting along? All right? Eh?" And he is just going on to join a lively party of distinguished visitors when I detain him sharply, as the Ancient Mariner did the guest, and hold him with my glittering eye.

"How about the berth?" I say, with as little show of anxiety as the desperate circumstances of the case will permit.

"The berth!" he repeats. "Why, haven't you got a berth yet?"

"No," I return, abjectly, as if I were a poor stowaway, without a friend to speak up for me. He meditates a moment. What can he be thinking about? Putting me on shore at once? Getting rid of me politely, as a sort of Jonah. I await his decision nervously.

"Come to the Purser," he says. I follow him.

The Purser is in his counting-house, counting out his billets. Aha! at the sight of me he knows what we have come about. "You're all right," he says to me. "Your berth is No. 273."

"There!" exclaims ROSSHER, triumphantly, exulting in the capabilities of the M. & N.'s new ship _Regina_. "Now you're fixed up." I am. I could go on my knees to ROSSHER; I could bless the Steward, Purser, I mean,--whatever a Purser is,--but I content myself with concealing my agitation, thanking ROSSHER simply but warmly, and then I follow a black man dressed in white, who carries my bag to No. 273. A lovely outside cabin, airy as if it were on deck, with an electric light, and three empty bunks (I think they are called "bunks,"--but am not certain) besides mine. How four persons on a long voyage, or a short one, can live, move, and have their being in this, I don't know; but how _one_ can is evident, and temporarily I am that privileged one. I hope I shall remain so. I do; and have it all to myself.

Up on deck again. Evening spent happily--chiefly in smoking-room. Turn in at twelve. Up next morning at 5.30. Awoke by the light, and fresh breeze. Lovely marble bath--then early coffee. Breakfast _a la fourchette_, at 9.30. Everything as I had anticipated, _en prince indien_. Lounge on deck. Newspapers arrive. More lounging. Refreshments. Chatting. Then luncheon. The Review becomes quite a secondary consideration. Ships everywhere, bunting and flags all about. Weather lovely--scene gay. At three what is called "the fun" is to commence. The "fun" for the coloured seamen in white, consists in their having to stand in a row on the yards up aloft for about an hour and a half. If this is nautical etiquette, I'm very glad I'm not one of the coloured sailors. I suddenly remember that I have to get away. Now begins my trouble again. I find four other persons to whom getting away is an absolute necessity, and not one of them knows how he is going to achieve it, and not one of them likes to broach the subject to ROSSHER. We try the Captain, a bluff seaman, who replies, with a pleasant sort of sea-doggishness, that "he is ready to take the ship wherever Mr. ROSSHER orders him." At present Mr. ROSSHER hasn't issued any orders, but he (the Captain) thinks he means sailing for Cherbourg to-morrow (Sunday) early. Cherbourg!! The Purser, on being asked, can't say any more.

For one moment I see ROSSHER. I remind him that he promised to land me. "Did I?" he says, with an air of quiet astonishment which is most provoking. "Well, I don't know how I'm going to do it. We'll see--after the QUEEN has gone." I catch at a first chance, and say, cajolingly, as if suggesting a plan that he could have adopted long ago if he had only thought of it--"Couldn't you send us off in a launch or the tender?" I had ascertained the existence of these two boats in attendance, "After the fireworks?" ROSSHER looks at me, thunderstruck. He simply says, "Impossible!" and turns on his heel.

The fact is, when you get out to sea on board a great ship, the visitor is in the power of the owners of the vessel, who have settled all their arrangements for the comfort and amusement of two hundred-and-fifty persons, and if a proposition is made which will interfere with these laws of nautical Medes and Persians in the smallest degree, it is like suggesting the slightest possible alteration, _pro tem._, in the solar system. No help for it. I make up my mind philosophically. If they can't put me on shore, they can't. It's a serious matter, it's the loss of thousands, it's misery for a year, perhaps, it's ruin to a family, but----I shall see the fireworks and illuminations, and have a cruise to Cherbourg, where I don't particularly wish to go. In the meantime let us look at the Review. I am temporarily resigned.

_The Review._--Which are the War-vessels? Where is the QUEEN? How silent it all is. The yards are manned everywhere. Very pretty. Firing and smoke in distance, hardly any noise, and though there must be cheering somewhere, yet the wind blows it away from us and we hear scarcely a sound. Dull. Through the glass we see the QUEEN'S Yacht passing along: then as the ship swings round we turn and turn, and everybody gets more or less of a stiff neck. The Band stands ready to play "_God Save the Queen_," but two hours elapse, and HER MAJESTY is nowhere near us, and never will be; most of the Band are fast asleep, the violoncello, having gone off first, is nodding over his instrument. The ladies yearn for five o'clock tea, and gradually disappear to get it. The party watching the QUEEN dissolves.

Aha! the Tender! The four separatists are to be put on shore, and to do this a large party, wishing to see the ships of war, the torpedo-boats, and gun-boats, will accompany us on the tender. We steam down the line, we dodge in and out, we see all the ships, and this is the liveliest and most interesting part of the day's proceedings. Then comes the most melancholy, when we steam back, and allow the other guests to re-embark for dinner on board ("Wish you'd stop," says ROSSHER, heartily, and I as heartily wish I could; so do we all), and then the four separatists, waving their _adieux_, are conveyed on board the tender to Southsea. In the crowd I lose the other three. I see no illuminations. I am thankful for what I have seen, and am content to imagine the rest, which I do as, in a carriage all to myself, I am taken up to London, stopping only once--at Guildford--_en route_, and am finally at home by 1.30 A.M., when I find the card of invitation of the M. & N. Co. on my desk. It is over. It is an experience. _Vive la Compagnie!_

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HENRY MAYHEW.

BORN, 1812. DIED, 1887.

"THE MAYHEW Brothers." A familiar phrase On all men's lips in _Punch's_ earlier days, Suggesting pleasant wit and genial mirth. Green grow the grass and lightly lie the earth Above the latest of the brilliant band! _Punch's_ first pages knew that skilful hand. HENRY the shrewd, and gentle HORACE both Watched o'er its birth, and helped its budding growth, Not long indeed, yet lovingly. Farewell! The record of the age's course will tell Of him whose name a double honour bore, Comrade of _Punch_, and champion of the poor.

[Mr. HENRY MAYHEW was never at any time Editor of _Punch_. He assisted the first Editor, Mr. MARK LEMON, in his work at the commencement, and made many valuable suggestions. His connection with _Punch_ was not of long duration.--ED.]

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PROFESSIONAL CRICKETERS.

_Fancy Portraits by Dumb Crambo._

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DIFFICULT NAVIGATION;

OR, THE PROUD SKIPPER AND THE PATIENT PILOT.

_A (more or less) Nautical Ballad._

I.--AT SEA.

THE Government Yacht (with a rather mixed crew) _Sing hey, sing ho, and a capful of wind!_ Sets sail to crack on with a will till all's blue. _Ho! the breeze blows brisk o'er the billow!_ The Skipper is stout, if his _looks_ are a clue (But you mustn't trust them, you may err if you do), And the smart second officer carries the blue Like an amateur yachtsman at Margate. Woohoo! The sea is as soft as a pillow.

The Government Yacht it sets sail in full state, _Sing hey, sing ho and a well-caulked deck!_ And what do you think of that canny first mate? _Ho! the sky is as bright as a beryl._ That canny first Mate is a smart Volunteer, And to look at his jib and to list to his cheer, You would think as a hero he hadn't a peer, Superior wholly to flurry or fear In the tryingest moment of peril.

With a Skipper so stout and a Mate so astute, _Sing hey, sing ho, and an even keel!_ The course of that yacht can't be hard to compute, _Ho! the sky shines fair in the offing!_ SALISBURY dauntless, and SMITH debonair, And GOSCHEN a Nautical Ajax who'll dare All the lightnings on hand--at least so he'll declare!-- How finely with such a fine crew they should fare, In spite of the land-lubbers scoffing.

Hooray!--Humph! By Jove that's a suddenish squall, _Sing hey, sing ho, and a spinnaker boom!_ The Skipper, he doesn't look steady at all, _Ho! there's something amiss with the compass!_ Whilst SMITH, the first Luff, looks a little less smart, And GOSCHEN--by Jove, can _he_ be losing heart? He swears there's some blessed mistake in the Chart, Is his not the cool imperturbable part? Then why should _he_ kick up a rumpus?

It's hard navigation midst quicksands and rocks; _Sing hey, sing ho, and a chopping sea!_ The hull has been strained by some smart little shocks, _Ho! the sky looks black in the offing!_ Is this the plain-sailing you promised, my Lord? Why the rival Skipper will swear he has scored. What say you, Chief Mate? It won't do to be floored, _Don't_ you think we had best take a pilot aboard, In spite of piratical scoffing?

II.--ON SHORE.

There's a smart Cockney Tar with his glass to his eye, _Sing hey, sing ho, and a Brummagem salt!_ And what does the trim longshore yachtsman descry? _Ho! he's spying like Robinson Crusoe!_ The Pilot in pose imperturbable stands, With slouching Sou'wester and pocketed hands, But his eye's on the Yacht and he quite understands, The fix of the Skipper--poor chap!--who commands, Or at least is imagined to do so.

"Hillo!" cries the Cockney; "they're signalling now, _Sing hey, sing ho, and a flag to the peak!_ If the Yacht runs aground, Mate, there will be a row. _Ho! the Pilot is peacefully winking._ I've an interest in her myself; can't afford She should seek Davy Jones, not at least till _I've_ scored. How is it, my HARTY--beg pardon!--my Lord! They signal a pilot; shall you go aboard To save 'em from striking or sinking?"

[_Left considering._

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THE SAILOR'S SLIP.

(AIR--"_The Sailor's Journal._")

SPITHEAD, SATURDAY, JULY 23RD, 1887.

_Lord Ch-rl-s B-r-sf-rd sings_:--

'TWAS when the Great Review was o'er, To signal Lady C. I started. Oh, etiquette's a horrid bore! I erred, and hence am broken-hearted. The whole huge Fleet the signal read-- Confound that thoughtless act of folly! What could I do but bow my head, And bid a long (?) adieu to SOLLY?

I hear my name's on every tongue As a true Sailor, brisk and cheery; That like a breeze my voice has rung, And waked the Commons, dull and weary. I'm little now to mirth inclined, I'm not, as usual, gay and jolly, But care I'll whistle down the wind, And try to make it square with SOLLY.

You see 'twas getting on for night, And true-bred tars, e'en midst carouses, Think with considerate delight About their sweethearts or their spouses. Up went my signal, frank and free, (A breach of rule most melancholy) To "give the tip" to Lady C., And now I have to part with SOLLY.

"Tell Lady CHARLES to go on board The _Lancashire Witch_, where I will join her"---- And all the Fleet read this and roared. Well--of strong words JACK's a free coiner, But never mind what I remarked When I perceived my act of folly. They'll think the Naval Lord has larked! Hang it! I'll say good-bye to SOLLY.

Such games aboard the Royal Yacht!-- Although I am a chartered rattle, The Big-wigs won't stand this. 'Tis rot, But with red-tape who, who can battle? A private message to my wife By public signal! Oh, what folly! It _is_ a lark, upon my life! But--I'll resign my berth, dear SOLLY!

Will our good QUEEN accept? She _may_, The Public doubts it altogether. A sailor's slip on such a day, A stretch of discipline's tight tether, Is scarce a heavy fault to score Against a sailor frank and jolly. Still, I'll resign when once ashore, And leave it to my QUEEN and SOLLY.

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ROBERT AT SPITHEAD.

THE question as prayed on my mind during the long waits at the Rewiew on Saturday, and which not ewen the Marines couldn't anser, and for which I dessay as I shall have to wait till the next Jewbilly afore I gits it sattisfactoryly xplained, is, why must these sillybrations be all begun so uncommon hurly? There may be sum werry singlar peeple as likes hurly rising. Having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do of a heavening, they natrally goes to roost hurley, like powltry, and plowmen, and such like, and having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do in the morning, they natrally gits up hurley to do it, like the powltry aforesaid. But to Waiters in gineral and to Hed Waiters in pertickler, nothink is so hawful as hurley rising. As late as you like at nite and as late as you likes in the morning. Them's my sentiments and I means to stick to 'em. And I suttenly thinks as I never seed sitch a sleepy-looking set of gents as assembled at Warterloo Stashun at about arf-past seven, Hay. Hem. on Saturday Morning. However, we most of us had a nice refreshing slumber on the way down, and then pulled ourselves together for the gorgeous specktacle.

My werry fust thort was, how about the foaming billows? and I'm bound to say as they behaved theirselves uncommon steady. There was no playfool game of pitch and toss, but they were as quiet as Chelsea Reach. The number of great big ships as we seed was enuff to make ewen an Hed Waiter proud of his country, but I confesses that I carn't say much as regards their beauty, for I thinks they was about as hugly a lot of black-looking monsters as ever tried to rule the waves.

Having propperly attended to my offishal dooties, I learned from a most respectable-looking Marine that it wood be at least two hours afore the QUEEN came, so I thort I wood seize the hoppertoonity of increasing my nolledge of ships and shippery by arsking my frend a few naughtical questions. Of course I begun with the Anker, and arkst him when it was last weighed--he said, about a week ago. How much did it weigh? Just 2 tun, 4 pound, 6 ounces. Why did they weigh it so offen? To see if it wood stand the shivering of our timbers when we fired our big gun. Had he spliced his mane brace lately? Not during the last fortnite. Having got on so well with him, I thort I woodn't not arsk him no more questions, for fear of betraying my hignorance, and I seed him afterwards a pinting me out to sum grinning Sailers, ewidently as the werry rewerse of a mere Land Lubber.

He had kindly shown me the best plaice to stand to see the QUEEN'S Pursession pass, so I quietly warked up to it about 3 a clock, wen she was xpected to start, and there I waited till 4 a clock, and then we heard the gun fire as told us the QUEEN had started; and then began such a deffening noise with all the ships a salooting, as they calls it, and such a blinding smoke arterwards, that I wished myself miles away: and then, jest as the Percession was a gitting in site, there cum a order from the Hed Hofficer, "All below!" witch I soon found out meant as no one of us laymen was to stop on deck to see the QUEEN, for fear as the QUEEN mite see us, witch wood have bin agin the rules! So we was all bundled down stares, ladies and all, and a few was kindly allowd to peep through the Port Holes, as sumbody called 'em, though, as there wasn't no Port served out, I carnt make out what that means.

I amost forgot to menshun the heat, but it really was that hot that when a going for to lean cumferably against the Capstain Bar, I think they calls it, it amost burnt a ole in my and! Speaking about this to my frendly Marine, he told me as they didn't think nothink of that, for when they went to the Troppix, wherever that may be, they allers cooked their stakes and chops on the Fokestal by the heat of the Sun, which did 'em to a turn, and then roasted their Appels for desert, and then biled the Kettel for Tea. What a grand thing is Nolledge! for I am free to confess as I was quite hignorant of all these fax afore. But then it's werry easily accounted for in my frend's case.

He isn't like a mere common Sailer a got to look after the Ship. A Marine is of that shuperior class of man as is allers seleckted to receeve the most himportant hinformation. When anythink of a werry striking charackter occurs it is allers reckomended that it should be "told to the Marines," so they is naterally allays brim full of hinformation, and allers reddy to communicate it troothfully and onerably, as my frend did to me, and without which I shood have remained in my prewious state of hignorance.

If arsked for my reel opinion as to the Naval Rewiew, truth would compel me to say that what with the noise, and what with the smoke, and what with being ordered below jest as the QUEEN went past, I didn't see werry much of it, and what I did see didn't strike me as werry himposing, like a Lord Mare's Show for instance, or the Drewry Lane Pantomime. But it gave me the oppertoonity of bragging about it to them as wasn't there, and that's about the cause of most peeple going to such things, I rayther fancies; but after all, there's such a fine feeling of purfect safety on Terror Firmer, as nothink can't equal on the bounding Sea, so I hopes when the next Naval Rewiew is held, that they'll have it on Shore. ROBERT.

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AMENDMENT TO LAND BILL.--"That any tenant unable to pay his rent should sell his holding before the next gale day. That this process should be known for the purposes of this Act as 'The Sale before the Gale.'"

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A CHESS-SHIRE CHEESE.