M. of the B. Our boat ain’t never mis-stayed with us, ’t all events; ye can’t deny that!

M. of the D. We don’t go out for sailing, we don’t—­we go out for pleasure! (As the “Daisy,” having received her complement of passengers, puts off.) Tralla! we’ll resoom this conversation later on; you won’t ha’ got off afore we’re back, I dessay!

    [The Mate of the “Buttercup” is reduced to profanity.

ON BOARD THE “DAISY,” DURING THE TRIP.

The Stout Lady. Very ’an’some they fit these yachts up—­garding-seats all across the deck, and all the cushings in red plush.  It do give you sech a sense of security!

A Lugubrious Man. Oh, we shall be all right, so long as this squall that’s coming up don’t catch us before we’re in again.  Else we shall take our tea down at the bottom, along with the lobsters!

A Chirpy Little Man with a red chin-tuft (to a female acquaintance).  Well, how are you feelin’, eh?

The Acquaintance. Oh, all right, thenks—­so long as I keep still.  There’s more waves than it looked from the Pier.

The Chirpy Man. Waves?  These ain’t on’y ripples.  When we’re off the Foreland, now, you may talk!

The Acq. If it’s worse than it is now, I shan’t.

The Chirpy Man. Why, you ain’t afraid o’ being queer already?  I’m reg’lar enjoyin’ it, I am.  You don’t object to me samplin’ a cigar?  You enjoy the flavour of a smoke more when you’re on the water, yer know.

First Girl. I can see our lodgings; and there’s Ma out on the balcony—­see?  Let’s wave our handkerchiefs to her.

Second Girl. Ma, indeed!  Did you ever know Ma stir off the sofa after her dinner?  I wouldn’t make myself ridiklous waving to somebody else’s Ma, if I was you!

First Girl (unconvinced).  I’m sure it is Ma—­it’s just her figger.

Second Girl. You are such an obstinate girl!  If it’s Ma, what’s become of the verander?

First Girl (conquered by this unanswerable argument).  I forgot we had a verander—­it’s one of those old cats next door!

The Stout Lady (to the Captain who is steering).  Shall we be out long, Captain?

The Captain. I hope not, Marm, because I’m dining at the tabbly dote at the Cliftonville this evenin’, and I’ve got to be home in time to dress.

    [The passengers regard him with increased respect.

The Mate (familiarly to the Captain).  Yes, dear; you don’t want to die in here, do you? (explanatorily) “die in”—­dine—­you’ll excuse me, but the ocean always makes me feel so facetious.  Captain, dear, if you’ll pardon a common sailor like myself for making the suggestion, I beg to call upon you for a song. (The Captain obligingly bellows “The Stormy Nore—­The Jolly old Nore,” to the general satisfaction).  Ah, they didn’t know what a canary-bird you were, Captain!  Here’s a lady asking you to drink at her expense.