niggard to poets, and his pedantry was engaged on the right side. Charles I. was not one to to bear easily with a man of rough and rugged temperament such as Ben Jonson. Moreover, as Clarendon, quoted by Messrs Herford and Simpson, says, he "paused too long in giving." Jonson lost his pension, and was in request no longer as a maker of masques. Inigo Jones at last got the better of his great colleague, and insisted, to the satisfaction of the court, that the mere embellisher, the poet's creature, was of greater

import than the poet himself. And so in poverty Jonson crept back to the stage, and suffered a rebuff at the hands of those who found him old and out of fashion. But he rose above all the misfortunes incident to age and sickness, and his chamber in Westminster was still the resort of scholars and poets. It was, indeed, in these last sad years that he exerted his greatest influence upon the Tribe of Ben. Truly, no misfortune could break his indomitable spirit, and he died, as he lived, a zealous scholar and a brave man.

7167

THE mail flag hung limp in the clammy heat; even the siren appeared to have difficulty in forcing its voice through a super-saturated atmosphere overladen with many mixed but powerful stenches. The s.s. Sir Hubert Hinton, carrying His Majesty's mails, such passengers as necessity forced to travel on her, and a varied cargo chiefly of rich and penetrating odours, was ready to sail and bleated the fact impatiently. But the four white passengers booked for the trip hung back in the shelter of a shed on the wharf and gossiped. It was raining gently, somewhere in the nature of a paltry eighth of an inch an hour, but a real shower seemed to be waiting almost directly overhead; and the four whites, aware that there was no question of missing tides, and caring nothing at all for the Hubert Hinton or her scheduled times, were inclined to let it fall before attempting the run across the open jetty. The mate, a man of infinite politeness where white passengers, especially white woman passengers, were concerned, waited beside the gangway without impatience; but from up above the siren broke into short gasping barks, then stopped, and a square reddish face and a pair of remarkably powerful shoulders

Nodding, she made her way among the boxes which crowded the miniature promenade deck to her stateroom, but her husband, taking off his hat and wiping sweat and rain water from his face, lingered to have a word with the mate.

"The new skipper seems a humorist, and looks a bit of a bruiser," he stated. "Is he a good sort, Bunn ↑ "

Her accommodation is seriously considered for pre-eminence by those who have knocked about a bit and believe that they know something about the world's worst vessels. The food supplied upon her is unquestionably rich and, fortunately, rare. Strong and hungry men do, weakly, quail before it. She is owned by a rich and powerful company, yet in the expensive brochures, which inform intending passengers of the comfort and luxury of the line, neither her name nor her portrait appears. Periodically, when high Government officials are forced to travel on her, the agents receive dignified complaints in writing, to which they reply suitably; further action is not considered necessary, as there is no possibility of competition on the run. Consequently, the traders and the small officials, who make up her regular passenger list, are compelled to take her as she is, contenting themselves with much plain speech concerning the filth of her, and the pious hope that some curi

66 Couldn't be better," Bunn declared. "No nerves about him. And, good-night! man, he can handle a ship. He'll have one of the company's big boats soon. See you later. I must get her untied now." The Hubert Hinton is well known in the corner of the world in which she sails. In marine circles she is highly considered, otherwise her reputation is unsavoury. She was built in England especially for her run, and the tales which are told of her maiden voyage from home would fill a volume. She is registered at something a trifle over five hundred tons, can carry a dozen saloon passengers, twenty second-class, and a matter of near two hundred in the stifling hell called the steerage. Besides mails she will take any cargo she can find, but it is alleged that for really vicious - smelling merchandise she will cut her freight rate to a minimum. She certainly specialises in evil stinks, and napi and durian are seldom

the line which owns her to spend a week in her during the height of the south-west monsoon. The hope is, of course, futile, but it comforts the regular passengers.

Yet in marine circles the Hubert Hinton is highly considered. She is unquestionably staunch in a seaway. She will do strange things when there is no more than a light breeze blowing, and she will positively touch originality when the monsoon is raging through the islands. On such occasions her buck and wriggle when she is contending with seas that tower above her compel admiration. Bunn, her present mate, who has sailed on her as long as any officer she has ever had, has got it down to a phrase; and, being a man not inclined to let a good thing be forgotten for want of repetition, he repeats it to any passenger who will listen to it.

She only carries two navigating officers, master and mate, who work her trick and trick about, through good weather and bad. Towards the end of the monsoon, when she has bumped and bored and twisted and screwed her way during many weeks through all that the tropic seas have sent her, her two nurses wear the look of tired men. Yet, if you ask them, they will tell you that their billet is a plum. But, except Bunn, who seems to have a knack of holding on, the nurses do not last long. They get moved on to something better, or they meet a mishap and step down again, or death steps in and removes them quick; but while they are at it they seem to like to have the job. To understand why is difficult. It is true that the Hubert Hinton lies for two nights out of every ten in the port of Rangoon, so that the master can stretch his legs ashore for forty-eight hours, and the mate stands a decent chance of a run round if nothing hinders the working of cargo. It is also true that, owing to the trick and trick business when the craft is at sea, and the fact that the master is his own pilot, extra pay goes with the job. On the other hand, the Hinton has to run to time, and her run is mixed up with some funny anchorages and a crop of islands that take a bit of

knowing, so that even in fine weather sleep comes sparingly to the navigators, and in bad it does not come at all. Besides, the smell of the vessel alone would be enough for most men; even the frequent run ashore and the extra pickings could hardly make up for continuous acquaintance with it.

was

On the particular trip on which Captain Field, the square, reddish-faced humorist, entertained by the sight of sprinting passengers, the southwest monsoon was getting into its stride. All the way downriver driving rain blotted out everything but a small circle of muddy water. Passing the Hastings solid sheets of falling water shut out every trace of buildings or even of river-bank. Off the Brig the rain had cleared, but it was blowing strong. During lunch, as the Hinton altered course south, she began to slide the plates about the saloon table; and one of the passengers, having consumed two full pegs of whisky in quick succession, left hurriedly. By tea-time, when the three survivors had finished their afternoon sleep, the wind had gone, and the Hinton rolled amazingly on a heavy swell under a hot grey sky. By dinner-time, after the passengers had with much abuse and threatening of the chief steward procured sufficient water for baths, and had discovered, what they had expected, that the stifling heat of the staterooms made bath

ing and the changing of clothes an extravagant waste of time, the sky was clear and the monsoon appeared dead or sleeping.

Punctually as the bell rang for dinner Captain Field came down the ladder from his quarters. He had never seen any one of the passengers before that morning, yet he greeted them all by name as though they had sailed with him a dozen times before.

One casualty on a beautiful night like this! " he announced. "But perhaps running before breakfast isn't good for Mr Hicks. I must remember that. ber that. Now, Mrs Manton, come and sit down alongside me. If you want to get your own back-though I don't see why you should, for you sprinted beautifully-you'll ask me to button up the collar of my jacket. I'll do it if you insist. But it will cramp my style considerably, and I want to eat largely of this excellent repast."

"If," Mrs Manton replied, as though genuinely astonished, you really intend to do that, I wouldn't dream of asking you to spoil such a hero's act."

Captain Field turned upon the lady grey eyes that twinkled amongst a mass of fine wrinkles.

"Pass partner," he declared. "I won't be drawn. And you just watch the hero at work.”

He took up the menu-card and began reading it aloud as though the names of the dishes brought him pleasurable anticipation. Manton, his wife, and Ward, the third passenger,