After lunch--with the essential Oriental curry--the necessary cigar and coffee-cum-liqueur; we talk as we pace the deck up and down and round and round, occasionally stopping to remark on the coast scenery, and to puzzle out the exact localities of the best known places from Whitstable to Dover. So passes a fine and most enjoyable afternoon; then more bugle, capital dinner, band playing, lively conversation, cigars and coffee, more pacing deck, storytelling, game of cards, music, piping (no dancing), grogging, and so to bed at an earlyish hour, to sleep soundly, undisturbed even by solos on the fog-horn which, I am subsequently informed, were of frequent occurrence, until the polite Commander of the Bath knocks at cabin door to inform me that it is seven A.M., and that the warm sea bath awaits me. [Illustration] _L'appétit vient en baignant_, and while walking the deck we gratefully welcome the bugler who bugles us to breakfast. We rush down. False alarm! It is only the politeness of the bugler, who beforehand, so that no one shall be taken by surprise, gives us the note of warning, letting us know thereby that, in half-an-hour, breakfast will be, so to speak, "under weigh!" Fair start for all. _Nine A.M._--Lions feeding not in it with us sea-dogs. What a breakfast! as if we were not going to be within reach of food for the next fortnight. We are all taking in stores hand over hand. Alas! when next the bugle sounds for lunch we shall not be there! For, as the clock strikes one, a tender from Plymouth arrives to fetch us, and in a pelting shower we leave the good ship _Orotava_, taking with us our chief cheery companion; and after bidding adieu to the other cheery companions on board, we (a small party of three) take train from Plymouth, S. Devon, to Ilfracombe, N. Devon, traversing as pretty a line of country as is to be found in England. And so we begin our holiday, and advise everyone to do likewise and enjoy the trip as much as we did, and a holiday as much as we intend to do. * * * * * Rhyme by a Rad. CHAMBERLAIN thinks the old, old Tory mind, Has changed in love of privilege, power, pelf: Say what JOE will, _our_ eyes he cannot blind; _We_ know that his Tory repeats itself! * * * * * [Illustration: COMING TO A FULL STOP. _Driver of bolting tandem_ (_to Rector, who has accepted a lift across the park_). "ALL RIGHT, MR. PORTLEY--DON'T BE FRIGHTENED! THE SUNK FENCE IS SURE TO STOP 'EM!"] * * * * * THE INDEPENDENT FEATHER PARTY. _First Partridge._ Hallo! Goin' strong on the wing? _Second Partridge._ So, so, dear bird. What prospects for the openin'? [Illustration] _F. P._ Nothin' cheerful. Agricultural depression and Death Duties and Pariah Councils and all that. Hear they're goin' to make allotments in our beanfield.