THE NEW NORTH-WEST PASSAGE.

SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.

Ethel Dering has not recognised me yet. Naturally she would not expect to find me being photographed on the beach with such a crew as this—but she will in another instant, unless,—ah, Louise's sunshade! my presence of mind never quite deserts me. There is a slit in the silk—through which I can see Ethel. As soon as she discovers what the excitement is all about, she turns away.... Thank goodness, she is gone! I have saved the situation—but ruined the group ... they are all annoyed with me. I had really no idea Louise looked so plain when out of temper!

As we go back, Alf wants to know whether I noticed that "clipping girl." He means Ethel. Louise says, he "ought to know better than to ask me such things, considering my situation." Agree with Louise.

Evening. I am staying at home; nominally, to work at the Drama (still in very elementary stage) really, to think out the situation. Remember now the Derings have a yacht; they may only have put in here for a day or two—if not, can I avoid being seen by her sooner or later? The mere idea of meeting her when I am with Alf or Ponking, and my Blazer acquaintances, makes me ill. (Not that I need distress myself, for she would probably cut me!) Can't think in Mrs. Surge's little front parlour. I must get out, into the air! Let me see, Louise and her Aunt (and no doubt Ponking and Alf) will be at the Music Hall this evening, as there is a "benefit" with the usual "galaxy of talent." If I keep away from the sands (where I might see Ethel), I shall be safe enough.

"Why, he's a man of whacks!" Shakspeare.

Turn into Public Gardens; nobody here just now, except a couple in front, who seem to have quarrelled—at least the lady's voice sounds displeased. Too dark to see, but as I come nearer—is it only my nervous fancy that—? No, I can't be mistaken, that is Ethel speaking now! "Why will you persist in speaking to me?" she is saying, "I don't know you—have the goodness to go away at once." Some impudent scoundrel is annoying her! Didn't know anything could make me so angry. I don't stop to think—before I know where I am, I have knocked the fellow down ... he can't be more surprised than I am! It is all very well—but what is to become of me when he gets up again? He is sure to make a row, and I can't go on knocking him down! Must get Ethel away first, should not like to be pounded into shapelessness before her eyes. "Miss Dering," I say, "you—you had better go on—leave him to me," (it will probably be the other way, though!) "Mr. Coney!" she cries. "Oh, I am so glad!—but don't hurt him any more—please." He is getting up, as well as I can make out in the darkness, I am not likely to hurt him any more ... I wish he would begin, this suspense is very trying. He has begun—to weep bitterly! Never was so surprised in my life; he is too much upset even to swear, simply sits in the gutter boohooing. If he knew how grateful I am to him! However, I tell him sternly to "think himself lucky it is no worse," and leave him to recover.

Must see Ethel safe home after this. She and her father did come in the yacht—they are at the Royal Hotel, and she missed her way and her maid somehow, trying to find a Circulating Library. She really seems pleased to meet me. It is not an original remark—but what a delight it is to listen to the clear fresh tones of a well-bred girl—not that Ethel's voice is anything to me now! She "can't imagine what I find to do in Starmouth,"—then she did not recognise me this afternoon, which is some comfort! I should like to tell her all, but it would be rather uncalled-for just now, perhaps. We talk on general matters, as we used to do. Singular how one can throw off one's troubles for the time—I am actually gay! I can make her laugh, and what a pretty rippling laugh she has! We have reached the Hotel—already!

"So many guests invite as here are writ."—Shakspeare.

Now I am here, it would be rude not to go in and see old Dering. I do. He is most cordial. Am I alone down here? Critical, this. After all, I am alone—in my lodgings. "Then I must come to luncheon on board the Amaryllis to-morrow." Ethel (I must get into the way of thinking of her as "Miss Dering") looks as if she expects me to accept. I had better go, and find an opportunity of telling her about Louise—who knows—they might become bosom friends. No, hang it, that's out of the question!

The Derings' private room opens on to the Esplanade; old Dering comes to the French windows, and calls out after me, "Don't forget. Lunch at two. On board the Amaryllis—find her at the quay." "Thanks very much—I won't forget. Good-night!" "Good-night!" Someone is waiting for me under a lamp. It is Alf, but I did not know him at first. "Why, where on earth!"—I begin. He regards me reproachfully with his one efficient eye, and I observe his nose is much swollen. Good heavens, I see it all—I have knocked down my future brother-in-law! Well, it serves him right.

He explains, sulkily; he meant no harm; never thought anyone would be offended by being spoken to civil; he never met girls like that before (which is likely enough); and to think I should have treated him that savage and brutal—it was that upset him. Tell him I am sorry, but I can't help it now. "Yes you can," he says, hoarsely. "You know this girl—this Miss Derin'," (he has followed us, it appears, and caught her name)—"you don't ought to play dog in the manger now—I want you to introduce me in a reg'lar way. I tell yer I'm down-right smitten." Introduce him—to Ethel! Never, not if I won the V.C. for it! "Then you look out!"

He has gone off growling—the cub! He will tell Louise. On second thoughts, his own share in the business may prevent that—but it is unfortunate.

Thrown over at a Watering-place.

Next Day.—Have got leave of absence (without mentioning reason). I believe I pleaded the Drama, as usual, and I have jotted down a line or two. Am dressing for luncheon—somehow I take longer than usual. Ready at last; the coast is clear, I am a trifle early, but I can stroll gently down to the quay.... Turn a corner, and come upon Ponking, with Louise. Fancy both look rather confused, but they are delighted to see me. "Was I going any where in particular?" "No—nowhere in particular." "Then I'd better come along with them—they have dined early, and are doing the lions." Louise makes such a point of it that I can't refuse—must watch my chance, and slip off when I can.

Later.—We have done an ancient gaol, the church, and a fishermen's almshouse—and I have not seen my chance yet. Ponking determined to see all he can for his money. Louise, more demonstrative than she has been of late, clings to my arm. It is past two, but we are working our way, slowly, towards the quay. Ponking suggests visit to Fisherring Establishment. Now is my chance; say I won't go in—don't like herrings—will wait outside. To my surprise, they actually meet me half-way! "If you want to get back to your play-writing, old chap," says Ponking (really not a bad fellow, Ponking!) "don't you mind us—we'll take care of one another!" Just as deliverance is at hand, that infernal Alf comes up from the quay, with an eye that is positively iridescent! "Oh, look at his poor eye!" cries Louise. I look—and I see that he means "being nasty." He addresses me: "Why ain't you on board your swell yacht, taking lunch along with that girl, eh?" he inquires. Exclamations from Louise: "Girl? yacht? who? what?" and then—it all comes out!

Painful scene; fortunate there are so few looking on. Louise renounces me for ever opposite the Town-hall. "She knew I was a muff, but she had thought I was too much the gentleman to act deceitful!" Ponking is of opinion I "haven't a gentlemanly action in me." So is Alf, who adds that he "always felt somehow he could never make a pal of me." There is balm in that!

Thank goodness, it is over! I am free—free to think of Ethel as much as I like! I see now what a wretched infatuation all this has been. I can tell her about it some day—if I think it necessary. I am not sure I shall think it necessary—at all events, just yet.

A love-lorn Romeo ready for his Beer.

I am a little late, but I can apologise for that. Odd—but I can't find the Amaryllis anywhere! Ask. A seaman on a post says "There was a yacht he see being towed out 'bout 'arf an hour back—he didn't take no partickler notice of her name." No doubt I mistook the moorings—better ask at hotel, perhaps. I do. Waiter says if I am the gentleman by name of Coney, there are two notes for me in Coffee-Room.

Open first—from Mr. Dering.

"Regrets; unforeseen circumstances—compelled to sail at once, and give up pleasure, &c."

Second—from Ethel; there is hope still—or would she write?

"Dear Mr. Coney,—So sorry to go away without seeing you. You might have told me of your engagement yourself, I think—I should have been so interested. Your brother-in-law and his aunt thought it necessary to call and inform us. We are delighted that you are having a pleasanter time here than you gave us to understand last night. With best wishes for all possible happiness," &c.

So that was Alf's revenge—it was a good one! After that, I shake off the sand of Starmouth—for ever!

A GOOD EXAMPLE.

John Bull (loq). "Very kind of Her Majesty to let me see Her Jubilee Gifts; but I wonder when Her Advisers will allow me to see my Own!"

ECHOES FROM ST. JAMES'S PALACE. (JUBILEE DEPARTMENT.)

Crowd discovered besieging entrance to Staircase. Policeman examines bags for concealed Dynamite.

Loyal Old Lady (presenting reticule for inspection). Which there's nothing in it but a few cough-drops.

Policeman (exercising a very wise discretion). Pass on, Mother!

On the Stairs.

'Arry (to Halfred—taxing his memory). I dunno as I was ever 'ere before—was you?

Halfred (conscientiously). Not to remember.

A Deliberate Old Gentleman, full of suppressed general information (to his two boys). Now, the great thing is not to hurry—we shall find much deserving of careful study here. [Faces of boys lengthen perceptibly.

An Aunt (to Niece). You'd better go first, Eliza; then you can read it all out to me as we go along.

Confused Murmurs—"Where's Grandma?"—"It is ridiklous to go pushing like that!"—"Well, the Pit's a joke to this!" &c., &c.

In the State Apartments.

Delib. O. G. This, boys, is the ante-room, and here, you see, is a trophy presented by the Maha—— [Puts on glasses, to inspect label.

Policeman (loudly). Now then, Sir, don't block the way, please,—keep moving! [O. G. moves on, under protest, to secret relief of boys.

The Aunt (examining pair of Elephant Tusks set in carved Buffalo's Head). They may call them "tusks" if they like, Eliza,—but anyone can see they're horns. They belong to one of them "Cow-Elephants," depend upon it! [Peers anxiously about in vain attempt to discover it.

Loyal Old Lady. There's nothing here but these caskets. I thought they'd the Jubilee Cake on view!

Visitor (in state of general gratification). Ha! they've given her some nice things among 'em, I must say. There, you see,—an arm-chair,—always come in useful, they do!

Female V. Jane, come here, quick! (They gaze reverentially on carved chest full of slippers.) That's what I call a nice present, now,—but, if they were mine, I should unpick all that raised embroidery inside the soles before ever I put 'em on!

Jane. Well, I suppose she wouldn't only wear them when she's in state.

Policeman. Now, Ladies, please don't linger! Pass along, there!

The Well-informed Old G. You see this device, formed of green and yellow feathers, boys. Well, these feathers come from——

Policeman (as before). Don't stop the way, Sir, please!

Old G. (hanging on obstinately to barrier)——The Sandwich Islands, and are worn exclusively by—(is swept on by crowd, and wedged tightly against case containing samples of woollen products—boys dive under red cord, and escape).

Two Ladies (from the country). Those Policemen is like so many parrots, with their "Keep moving;" they don't give you time for a good look! That's a handsome pair of jugs the Crown Prince and Princess give her, a little like the pair old Mr. Spudder won with his Shorthorns at the Show, don't you think? Only more elaborate, p'raps. Tell me if you can see the Cake anywhere, my dear. I don't want to go away, and not see that!

Intelligent Visitor. That's a curious thing, now. Look at that label, "Presented by——" and the name left blank!

A Jocular Visitor (seeing an opportunity). Too bad, Maria! I'm sure we wrote our names plainly enough! [Sensation amongst bystanders, who regard the couple with respectful interest.

Maria (who considers this trifling with a serious subject). If I had known you were going to be so foolish, George, I should not have come! [Collapse of George.

A Practical Visitor. Now, there's a neat idea—d'ye see? A crown, made all out of tobaccer. There's some sense in giving a thing like that!

The Jocular Visitor (reviving at sight of embroidered Child's Frock in case). Pretty costume, that, eh, Maria? But do you think Her Gracious Majesty will ever be able to get it on?

Maria (horrified). I tell you what it is, George, if you go on making these stupid jokes, you will get us both turned out—if not worse! I'm sure that Policeman heard!

Loyal Old Lady. They've given her scent, and little brass-nailed boots, and cotton reels enough to set her up for life. But there, she deserves it all, bless her!

Party of Philistines (to one another.) You don't want to go in there—there's only a lot of water-colours presented by the British Institute. Let's see if we can find the Jubilee Cake!

Final Tableau.—At the General Exit.

Crush of enthusiastic Britons, gazing at a gigantic ornament from the Jubilee Cake. Various exclamations. "All of it pure sugar, I shouldn't wonder!"—"What do you think of that for a cake, Jemmy?"—"Lift Joey up to have a look!"—"Well, I do call that grand!"

Loyal Old Lady (forcing her way to the front—disappointedly). But that's only the trimmings!

A Bystander (correctively). You can't expect any Cake to keep long, with so many in the family; and, even as it is, you get some ideer what it must have been!

All (deeply impressed). Ah, you do, indeed—you get that! Well, I'm glad I came; I shan't forget this as long as I live! [Exeunt awestruck—their places are taken by others, who gaze long and respectfully on the Cake. Scene closes in.