This was one of the unsatisfactory cycles or phases through which most schools periodically pass; indeed, it is said that they have recurred with great regularity, and each time, no doubt, experience has dictated some new measures for the future suppression of irregularities. As a picture of "The _Britannia_ from Within," a little booklet written by a cadet a year or two later may very well be quoted from here. It is styled "H.M.S. _Britannia_, the Cradle of the Royal Navy: by one of the Babies," and sets forth in a light vein the experiences of a few days in the life of a cadet:-- THE PREFACE Being that part of a book which is seldom or never read, why need I write one? It does not seem much in my line; but I may as well remark that these notes, scribbled at odd times, are published at the request of my friends, and dedicated To My Mother By Navilus. Let us follow our "Baby" throughout one of his specimen days:-- "5.25 a.m.--Bump! Bother the corporal! 'Now then, Mr. Jones, time for you to turn out.' So Jones has 'twos' again, poor chap! But I wish the corporal would not bump against my hammock when he is waking other fellows. I can hear Jones softly swearing to himself as he gets into his clothes, and I thank my stars that I still have time for another snooze. * * * * * Hullo! There go five bells already, and the bugle. Never mind; the fourth term go first through the bath. Time now, however. I struggle for'ard, half asleep, through the bath. All the fellows come up by degrees. Ugh! how cold the water is! But it has the effect of waking us up pretty quickly. How nice it is to be out and drying. I mean to be dressed in good time to-day, as I have had enough punishments lately. Now to wash. This time the water is too hot, and it is five minutes before I can bear it. Jones, having completed his punishment, is washing alongside me. There's Smith at his tricks again--throwing water as usual, and a cold stream pours down my back. I _must_ go for him. Another five minutes' delay. I fall into conversation with Jones, and am giving him good advice about his various shortcomings, when first warning goes. We hurriedly complete our ablutions, and go to our chests. Second warning. Not half dressed, and here comes the corporal--bad luck to him--with his pencil and paper. 'Clear off the sleeping deck, there! Now then, Mr. Martin, late again as usual; go on deck before breakfast, sir,' and my name is entered on the fateful bit of paper.