eem fired with the glory
Of such a brave ship, with so splendid a story!
Well, look on that picture, my lads, and on _this_!
And--no, do not crack out a curse like a hiss,
But with stout CONAN DOYLE--_he_ has passion and grip!--
Demand that they give us back NELSON's old Ship!

British hands from protecting her who shall debar?
Ne'er ingratitude lurked in the heart of a Tar.
"(Sings DIBDIN) That Ship from the breakers to save"
Is the plainest of duties e'er put on the brave.
While a rag, or a timber, or spar, she can boast,
A place of prime honour on Albion's coast
Should be hers and the _Victory's!_ Let us not say,
Like the fish-hucksters, "_Memories_ are cheap, Sir, to-day!"

* * * * *

ECCLESIASTICAL TASTE.--A condiment not much in favour with High
Churchmen just now, must be "Worcester Sauce." It is warranted to
neutralise the very highest flavour.

* * * * *

IMPROMPTU.

Of "garnered leaves"
And "garnered sheaves"
Sing sentimental donkeys.

Perhaps e'er long
Their simple song
Will be of Garnered Monkeys!

* * * * *

"A railway from Joppa to Jerusalem" sounds like a Scriptural Line. In
future, "going to Jericho" will not imply social banishment, as the
party sent thither will be able to take a return-ticket.

* * * * *

[Illustration: OF MALICE AFORETHOUGHT.

_Cheery Official._ "ALL FIRST CLASS 'ERE, PLEASE?"

_Degenerate Son of the Vikings_ (_in a feeble voice_). "_FIRST CLASS?_
NOW DO I _LOOK IT_?"]

* * * * *

THE LAY OF THE LAST KNIGHT.

My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART--
Ah! happy augury. Would I could
Leave it so. But 'twill not do.
Like soap of Monkey brand,
It will not wash clothes,
Or, in truth, ought else.
'Tis but an accident of rhythm
Born of the imperative mood that makes one
Start a poem of this kind on ten feet,
Howe'er it may thereafter crawl or soar.
What I really was about to remark was that
My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART-
LETT, Knight; late Civil Lord of Admiralty
You know me. I come from Sheffield; at least
I did on my return thence
Upon re-election.

II.

A sad world this, my masters, as someone--
Was it my friend SHAKSPEARE?--
Says. The sadness arises upon reflection, not
That I'm a Knight, but that I am, s