This victory was very popular, and the third hand was roundly abused for suggesting that Mnemosyne had been doped.  Even if Newton had got away with the pistol he would never have stood a chance against her.  She was the fleetest weevil I ever saw.

Another weevil was Bertie, who belonged to the second engineer, but he was caught pilfering the skipper’s private supply of fresh butter, which he kept in a jar in his bunk and was very jealous of, so Bertie had to be made away with.  He walked the plank at daybreak one grey stormy morning just off the Nethermost Ruff of the Dogger.  The second was very upset for a day or two; he said he would have staked anything on Bertie’s honesty.

We kept Mnemosyne for over two months, and never once did she misconduct herself or behave in an unseamanlike manner.  Her one failing, if such it can be called, was a weakness for condensed milk, and this it was that led to her untimely end.  We had come to regard her as one of the crew, and had a little lifebelt made for her in case of need.  Jones, our signaller, who has poetical moments, was inspired by her to make verse, which began:—­

  There is something very evil
  In the war-whoop of a weevil.

This was indignantly censored as a libel, but he excused himself on the plea that “evil” was the only possible rhyme to be found for “weevil,” and declared that his very last intention had been to be personal or to cast the least reflection on the lovable disposition of Mnemosyne, so we forgave him with a caution.

Well, Mnemosyne is gone, and the ship seems a dull place without this exhilarating little pet.  Never so long as ship’s biscuits continue to buckle the jack-knives of British seafarers will there be another weevil like Mnemosyne.

We flew the White Ensign at halfmast from dawn to sundown on the day she died.

* * * * *

A Rash act.

Extract from the report of a ladies’ Lacrosse Club:—­

    “The deplorable habit of scratching with no sufficient reason,
    just before a practice, has mounted almost to a disease.”

* * * * *

“Will any kind gentleman help an Indian with a loan of Rs. 7,000 at 6%?  No risk.  Gentleman having deep love for mother will understand advertiser’s noble cause.  No brokers should apply.”—­Statesman (Calcutta).

What’s the matter with brokers?  Aren’t they also born of woman?

* * * * *

LIPS AND THEIR LESSONS.

    ["General PERSHING has collected round him a staff of thin-lipped
    determined men.”—­The Observer.]

  If physiognomists are right,
    And faces count as half the battle,
  We clearly ought not to invite
    Comparison with sheep or cattle,
  But rather should improve the features
  That mark us off from humbler creatures.