Punch (95.1888)

September 15, 1888.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

125

much a head for their meals, and then watch'the Steward's face after
Erith. If yon see the Steward smiling', beware,—if he chuckles and
rubs his hands gleefully, prepare for squalls—and if he laughs out-
right, disappear to your berth, and make such arrangements as your
past experience may suggest.

Hobson is a capital companion. He is most anxious that nothing
should even have the appearance of any likelihood to go wrong. He
never attempts forced jollity, but, naturally enthusiastic, he has cul-
tivated enthusiasm ; and naturally sympathetic, he has cultivated
the art of sympathising. I confess to being very soon depressed,
especially with the probability of nasty weather in view.

The sky appears lowering.

" We shailhave a storm, I think," is my melancholy foreboding.

"Oh, no," replies Hobson, cheerily. "That dark appearance is
due to London smoke." And then he dilates on the subjects of
smoke consumption, fogs, chimneys, gas, storage of force, and so
forth. In the meantime, I am watching the clouds.

" It's raining, I think," I say, not liking to be certain, and still
hoping against hope, as I see the marks of heavy drops falling, as if
nails had been driven into the deck at equal distances.

"Bain!" exclaims Hobson, putting on his glasses, and looking
about him with an air of the utmost incredulity at the bare idea of
the possibility of such a thing. "Rain? No. I think it's the spray
from the engine." And he looks round with a chirpy and perfectly
satisfied smile (being much pleased with his own ingenious explana-
tion), just as a heavy rain-drop as big a,s a pea hits him sharply on
the tip of his nose. He looks up with an expression of childlike
surprise, as if this were some part in a funny juvenile game, and he
had to turn round twice and find out who had touched him on the
nose.

" There's more where that came from," I say, seizing the camp-
stool and making for cover under the awning. There is: it comes
down heavily.

He follows me with his campstool, and his waterproof buttoned up
—for in spite of the sanguine tone of his consolation to others, he
himself is never without a handy and really serviceable Mackintosh
■—and looking round on the people all huddled together like sheep in
a storm, he says beamingly, as if he took rather a pride in this down-
pour, "Ah! that's something like a shower ! "

Then he continues :—

" Ton '11 see, this will clear the air ; it's just what was wanted—
not by us," he puts in, finely anticipating the general objection, "but
by the atmosphere, and it will be for our benefit, as we shall have a
lovely passage. Wind S. by S.W. ! " he exclaims, in an ecstasy of
delight, turning in that direction ; " couldn't be better, dear friend;
couldn't be better!"

" The rain makes the deck so sloppy; that's the worst of it," I
grumble.

"That is the worst of it," returns Hobson, triumphantly; "I
quite agree with you, that is the worst of it; but there's no mud, as
there would be ashore, and in five minutes the sun will come out and
the Captain will send a man with a mop, and the deck will be as
dry as a bone. Look, it's stopped now. And there's a dry place
right in the middle of the vessel, where you will scarcelv feel motion
at all."

We enjoy sunshine for a while. But the wily man with the mop
does'not make his appearance as the clouds are once more gathering.

" Looks threatening," I observe ; and I mean it.
. "Oh, no," Hobson replies, rubbing his hands gleefully; "when
it begins like this, it's always fine afterwards."

' Rather misty," I say, pointing ahead to a dense grey mist into
which we are rapidly steaming.

" Yes, rather misty," he returns, for the fact is undeniable; but
as he has a good word even for a river-fog, he at once adds cheerfully,

But what a wonderful effect! Look at that boat emerging from
the mist like a spectre ! "

i! Subject for Mistier,—I mean Whistler," I observe, gloomily.
^Exactly, dear friend, exactly," he replies, delighted to find me
willing to enter into his artistic views of this arrangement in fog
aii • •?rtL0''!'e' Then he points towards the dense mass of grey vapour

liTe are now approaching1! and exclaims, " Look! " After
winch he throws back his head and folds his arms with the air
"TV, COIlno:lsseur regarding some great masterpiece of Art, and says,

inere . There are wonderful effects! Wonderful! wonderful! "
And, as a wandering black barge slowly emerges from the fog, he
repeats to himself, sotto voce, "Wonderful! Beautiful! " in a sub-
dued tone of the most intense admiration. His tone of unqualified
approbation reminds me of the old Herr Voir Joel, who used to go
about at Paddy Green's selling twopenny cigars for sixpence apiece,
and exclaiming, << Pewtiful! Pewtiful! 'r Then, as the clouds gather
thicker and thicker, and the fog becomes more and more dense, he
turns towards me, smiling brightly, and says with anair of conviction
that deceives nobody, "Ah! dear friend, we shall have a very fine
passage."

• ^■ar1°^5r are the words out of his mouth than down comes the rain
m bucketsful. '' Thunder," as the stage-directions have it,'' is heard

in the distance, and the scene [is illuminated with vivid flashes of
lightning." We descend below.

" If it's going on like this-" I begin, grumbling.

" It won't," Hobson assures me. "The effects of .this storm will
be to make the sea perfectly calm, and with the wind in a rather
rainy quarter, we shall have a splendid passage. You'll see. It
will be beautiful! beautiful! You won't feel even a qualm."

And if I did, he would tell me that the qualm I felt was the best
qualm in the world, and that a calm would follow on a qualm, and
then, if I were very unwell, he would prove to me scientifically that
nothing could be more beneficial to my general health than this short
sharp attack of mal de mer.

We are steaming down the Thames, with every now and then a
stoppage (the signal " Stop her!" being given by a sharp bell and a
gruff voice, as it appears to me,—a similar method being used to indi-
cate " Gro ahead again! "), in order to allow time for various huge
unwieldy barges,—laden or empty, which are generally in charge of
an inadequate crew, consisting of a dirty man clinging to a prodi-
giously long pole, with which he is stirring up the mud, a barking
dog very angry with our steamer, and an unkempt indolent boy,—to
get out of our way and save themselves from being run down or
swamped; and we are rapidly passing landmarks familiar to
Londoners who dine at Greenwich, and many more quite unfamiliar
even to them. I am beginning to feel hungry. Good or bad sign ?
"First-rate sign, dear friend," replies Hobson, enthusiastically.
"First-rate! Shows it's agreeing with you." Glad to hear it,
but I have my doubts.

OYENLY1

A Correspondent, signing himself "A Haushty Culttjrist,"

sends us this cutting from
The Garden, which we at
once proceed to plant within
our own borders:—

) TMPROVEE.—A lady highly
X. recommends a youth, age 17;
three years' good general expe-
rience under glass in her garden.

Three years under glass!
The lady doesn't mention his
ST height, nor his temperament.
2£L which must be somewhat of
a hot nature associated with
Bedded Out; or, " Cometh up as a Flower! " the Sunny South.

THE SYSTEM.

" Lord Charles Beresfokd says, indeed, that the fault is not theirs, but
that of the system."—Times.

What is it, when the Country facts appal,
And men for explanation loudly call,
Delays, impedes, and paralyses all?

The System!

What is it makes our training course effete,
And leaves us, should a foreign foe we meet,
To face him with a makeshift patehed-up fleet r

The System!

What, spite the ample millions it obtains,
The public clamour scornfully disdains,
And takes good care the Navy nothing gams ?

The System!

What is it hoards up useless stores by tons,

What falsifies on measured mile the runs,

And turns out fighting ships without their guns ?

The System!

And what, if peace to war by chance give place,
And bring us and our dangers face to face,
Would launoh on us a national disgrace ?

The System!

So what should Englishmen, without a doubt,
While yet they've time to know what they 're about,
Destroy, tread under foot, smash, trample out ?
_The System!

" Hombtjrgtng Them."—Last season H.R.H. the Prince of Wales
found that all the AmericanDudes atHomburg were sincerely flattering
him by closely imitating his costume, whatever it might be. But a
genuinely happy thought occurred to H.R.H. He arrayed himself,
so the Liverpool Post informs us, in hideous attire, the like of which
was never seen in Tweed or out of it. The Dudes were done, and
H.R.H. bears the distinguished title of the Prince of Wiles.