runching the poor little mussels for fun.
In these fetters hypnotic a foe holds me fast,
And you'll find that they'll hang me, in seaweed, at last.

* * * * *

WELCOME, LITTLE STRANGER!

[Illustration]

Last Friday there appeared a startling paragraph, announcing the first
appearance of a New Island. Appropriately, it was on the face of _The
Globe_. The intelligence came to us _via_ Marseilles. Did it come
up to the surface ready furnished for occupation, as in our second
National Anthem about "Britons never being slaves" Britain is
described as doing? The quotation is:--"When Britain first at Heaven's
command, Arose from out the azure main," (or words to that effect),
She (the Island) came up with a ready-made charter, and was open to be
taken furnished. If this is the case, with the new Island, the sooner
some parties "who won't be missed" pack off, bag and baggage, and take
possession of the property, the better. It's a chance. "Island to Let.
Ready furnished. Quite ready for occupation when thoroughly dry. No
Agents need apply. Ground-Swell Landlord, Neptune, C. district."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

(_MODERN POLITICAL VERSION, A LONG WAY AFTER MARLOWE._)]

"COME LIVE WITH ME, AND BE _MY_ LOVE
AND WE WILL ALL THE PLEASURES PROVE
THAT LAND REFORM, ALLOTTED FIELD,
AND VILLAGE COUNCILS SOON MUST YIELD."

And thou shalt sit at ease, and mock
The Tory Shepherds of the flock,
The Squire and Parson, o'er whose fall
The Primrose Dames already squall.

And I will give thee cots most cosy,
Of structure sound and aspect rosy;
True homes, salubrious if not garish,
And proper influence in the parish.

One-Man-one-Vote, the Ballot, School,
And rating on a fairer rule;
A Charity less harsh and cold
To warm thine heart when thou grow'st old.

A chance upon the land to dwell,
Free, independent, faring well;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be _my_ love!

Though Tory Swains thy vote may crave
To keep thee still the Landlord's slave,
If freedom's joys thy mind may move,
Come live with _me_ and be _my_ love!

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

(_Some way after Sir Walter Raleigh._)

If I were sure 'twere sooth thou'st sung,
That truth were on thy silvery tongue;
These pleasures must my passion move
To live with thee and be thy love.