ote-books galore, and any
amount of foolscap, represent "the composition" of our party. I must
get on with my "compo." Is reminds me of doing a "Theme" at Eton. This
is a holiday task. One, two, three, off!--and away!

ALL ABROAD.

Before I know where we are, so to speak, we have left London, and are
at Lisbon. On the voyage Captain G. WILLIAMS suggests these lines, to
which I append my own translation. BALFOUR rather behind me in Latin
at Eton (I hear by private wire that he admitted as much in his recent
speech at the fourth centenary celebration), and so, perhaps,
couldn't give the translation as easily as I do. Here is the Captain's
reminiscence, and my translation when he isn't looking:--

"Ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes
Angulus ridet, ubi non Hymetto
Melle decedunt, viridique certat
Bacca Venafro.

"Vir ubi longum tepidusque praebet
Jupiter brumas, et amicus Aulon,
Fertili Baccho nimium Falernis
Invidet uvis."

Which translated means:--

He, the Englishman (_Angulus_), beside me (that is, "sitting on deck
by my side") laughs at all people on shore when he is quite certain
(_certat_) that he can't get good tobacco from VENAFER'S (a local
tobacconist). (This) man prefers the long clay pipe, which gets so
soon hot, for, by Jove, you'll burn yourself (_brumas_), and being
a friend of AULON'S ("all on," local joke), he envies those who
can smoke the green tobacco, and doesn't wonder that they go in for
Falernian (_classic metaphor for Cape wine_).

I think that's pretty good for an old Etonian who could give BALFOUR
(the "Four" of the Fourth Party, a four-oar without a steerer) a mile
over any course of VIRGIL or OVID, and beat him easily.

WHERE ARE WE NOW?

[Illustration: The Fifth of November anticipated in Quite Mad-eira.]

_En route_, called on the Bey of Biscay. Found him in amiable
temper--not a bit rough. Lisbon delightful. Chatsworth not in it
with the smallest flower-and-kitchen garden here. Dined at the
"Brag"--short for Braganza. Suddenly inspired--wrote drinking song:--

_Sancho Panza_
At Braganza,
Quaffed no end of cup,
But _Don Quixit_
Said "Don't mix it--
Let us go and sup."

Have composed my own music to this--call it my musical cup-yright.
Shan't publish it, for fear of pirates. No other rates at sea, except
pi-rates, and the rate we're now going at--i.e., two knots an hour,
and ties pay the dealer. Hoorah! I enc