We'd soon emptied our three-gallon bottle, and Tommy he pulled a bit wild, And we blundered slap into a skiff, and wos jolly near drownding a child. Of course we bunked off in the scurry, and showed 'em a clean pair o' legs, Pullin' up at a waterside inn where we went in for fried 'am and eggs. We kep that 'ere pub all-alive-oh, I tell yer, with song and with chorus, To the orful disgust of some prigs as wos progging two tables afore us. I do 'ate your hushabye sort-like, as puts on the fie-fie at noise. 'Ow on earth can yer spree without shindy? It's jest wot a feller enjoys. Quaker-meetings be jiggered, I say; if you're 'appy, my boy, give it tongue. I tell yer we roused 'em a few, coming 'ome, with the comics we sung. Hencoring a prime 'un, I somehow forgot to steer straight, and we fouled The last 'eat of a race--such a lark! Oh, good lor', _'ow_ they chi-iked and 'owled! There was honly one slight _country-tong_, Tommy Blogg, who's a bit of a hass, Tried to splash a smart pair of swell "spoons" by some willers we 'appened to pass; And the toff ketched the blade of Tom's scull, dragged 'im close, and jest landed 'im _one_! Arter which Master Tom nussed his eye up, and seemed rayther out of the fun. Sez the toff, "You're the pests of the river, you cads!" Well, I didn't reply, 'Cos yer see before gals, it ain't nice when a feller naps one in the eye; But it's all bloomin' nonsense, my boy! If he'd only jest give _me_ a look, He'd a seen as _my_ form was O.K., as I fancy ain't easy mistook. Besides, I suppose as the river is free to all sorts, 'igh and low. That I'm sweet on true swells you're aweer, but for stuck-ups I don't care a blow. We'd a rare rorty time of it, Charlie, and as for that younger gurl, Carry, I'll eat my old boots if she isn't dead-gone on Yours bloomingly, 'ARRY. * * * * * [Illustration: MAKING THE BEST OF IT] * * * * * [Illustration: HINTS TO BEGINNERS In punting, a good strong pole is to be recommended to the beginner.] * * * * * [Illustration: THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER _Custom House Officer_ (_to sufferer_). "Now, sir, will you kindly pick out your luggage? It's got to be examined before you land."] * * * * * [Illustration: OUR YACHTING EXPERIENCES _Old "Salt" at the helm._ "Rattlin' fine breeze, gen'lemen." _Chorus of Yachtsmen_ (_faintly_). "Y--yes--d'lightful!"] * * * * * TO PYRRHA ON THE THAMES [Illustration] O Pyrrha! say what youth in "blazer" drest, Woos you on pleasant Thames these summer eves; For whom do you put on that dainty vest, That sky-blue ribbon and those _gigot_ sleeves?