_Old Lady._ "Goodness gracious, Mr. Boatman! What's that?" _Stolid Boatman._ "That, mum! Nuthun, mum. Only the Artillery a prac-_ti_-sin', and that's one o' the cannon balls what's just struck the water!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: POOR HUMANITY! _Bride._ "I think--George, dear--I should--be better--if we walked about----" _Husband_ (_one wouldn't have believed it of him_). "You can do as you like, love. I'm very well (!) as I am!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Intelligent Foreigner._ "I am afraid zey are not much use, zeze grand works of yours at Dovaire. Vot can zey do against our submarines?--our leetle Gustave Zêde? Ah, ze submarine e' is mos terrible, an' ze crews also--ze matelots--zey are 'eroes! Vy, every time zey go on board of him zey say goodbye to zer vives an' families!"] * * * * * [Illustration: A TRYING MOMENT _Doris._ "Oh, Jack, here come those Sellerby girls! Do show them how beautifully you can punt."] * * * * * [Illustration: THE HEIGHT OF IMPROPRIETY _Miss Grundison, Junior._ "There goes Lucy Holroyd, all alone in a boat with young Snipson, as usual! So imprudent of them!" _Her Elder Sister._ "Yes; how shocking if they were upset and drowned--without a chaperon, you know!"] * * * * * [Illustration: LOCAL OPTION _Captain of Clyde steamer_ (_to stoker, as they sighted their port_). "Slack awee, Donal', slack awee"--(_he was interested in the liquors sold_)--"they're drencken haurd yenoo!!"] * * * * * 'ARRY ON A 'OUSE-BOAT [Illustration] Dear Charlie,--It's 'ot, and no error! Summer on us, at last, with a bust; Ninety odd in the shade as I write, I've a 'ed, and a thunderin' thust. Can't go on the trot at this tempryture, though I'm on 'oliday still; So I'll pull out my _eskrytor_, Charlie, and give you a touch of my quill. If you find as my fist runs to size, set it down to that quill, dear old pal; Correspondents is on to me lately, complains as I write like a gal. Sixteen words to the page, and slopscrawly, all dashes and blobs. Well, it's true; But a quill and big sprawl is the fashion, so wot is a feller to do? Didn't spot you at 'Enley, old oyster--I did 'ope you'd shove in your oar. We 'ad a rare barney, I tell you, although a bit spiled by the pour. 'Ad a invite to 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, prime pitch, and swell party, yer know, Pooty girls, first-class lotion, and music. I tell yer we did let things go. Who sez 'Enley ain't up to old form, that Society gives it the slip? Wish you could 'ave seen us--and heard us--old boy, when aboard of our ship. Peonies and poppies ain't in it for colour with our little lot, And with larfter and banjos permiskus we managed to mix it up 'ot.