Afloat or ashore, MR. PUNCH is never "at sea," and while his jokes have always their point, that point is never barbed, as these pages illustrative of the humours of boating and sailing--with MR. PUNCH at the helm--may be left safely to bear witness. [Illustration] * * * * * MR. PUNCH AFLOAT 'ARRY ON THE RIVER [Illustration] DEAR CHARLIE, 'Ot weather at last! Wot a bloomin' old slusher it's bin, This season! But now it do look as though Summer was goin' to begin. Up to now it's bin muck and no error, fit only for fishes and frogs, And has not give a chap arf a chance like of sporting 'is 'oliday togs. Sech a sweet thing in mustard and pink, quite _reshershay_ I tell you, old man. Two quid's pooty stiff, but a buster and blow the expense is my plan; With a stror 'at and _puggeree_, Charlie, low shoes and new mulberry gloves. If I didn't jest fetch our two gals, it's a pity;--and wasn't they loves? We'd three chaps in the boat besides me,--jest a nice little party of six, But they didn't get arf a look in 'long o' me; they'd no form, them two sticks. If you'd seen me a settin' and steerin' with one o' the shes on each side, You'd a thought me a Turk in check ditters, and looked on your 'Arry with pride. Wy, we see a swell boat with three ladies, sech rippers, in crewel and buff, (If _I_ pulled arf a 'our in their style it 'ud be a bit more than enough) Well, I tipped 'em a wink as we passed and sez, "Go it, my beauties, well done!" And, oh lor! if you'd twigged 'em blush up you'd a seen 'ow they relished the fun. I'm dead filberts, my boy, on the river, it ain't to be beat for a lark. And the gals as goes boating, my pippin, is jest about "'Arry, his mark." If you want a good stare, you can always run into 'em--accident quite! And they carn't charge yer nothink for looking, nor put you in quod for the fright. 'Ow we chivied the couples a-spoonin', and bunnicked old fishermen's swims, And put in a Tommy Dodd Chorus to Methodys practisin' hymns! Then we pic-nic'd at last on the lawn of a waterside willa. Oh, my! When the swells see our bottles and bits, I've a notion some language'll fly. It was on the Q. T., in a nook snugged away in a lot of old trees, I sat on a bust of Apoller, with one of the gurls on my knees! Cheek, eh? Well, the fam'ly was out, and the servants asleep, I suppose; For they didn't 'ear even our roar, when I chipped orf the himage's nose.