Or scour 'er plankin' or scrape 'er seams when the days are sunny an' bright;
No one to sit on the hatch an' yarn an' smoke when work is done,
An' say, 'That gear wants reevin' new some fine dogwatch, my son.'

"No one to stand by tack an' sheet when it's comin' on to blow;
Never the roar of 'Rio Grande' to the watch's stamp-an'-go;
An' the seagulls settin' along the rail an' callin' the long day through,
Like the souls of old dead sailor-men as used to be 'er crew.

"Never a port of all 'er ports for 'er to fetch again,
Nothin' only the sea an' the sky, the sun, the wind an' the rain;
It's cruel 'ard on a decent ship, an' so I tell you true,
An' I wish I knew she 'ad gone to 'er rest as a good ship ought to do."

C.F.S.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Mabel_. "WHAT SORT OF A DANCE WAS IT LAST NIGHT? HOW
DID YOU GET ON?"

_Gladys_. "OH, ALL RIGHT. I WAS UP TO MY KNEES IN BOYS ALL THE
EVENING."]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)_