Fair play they say’s a jewel; There’s honour among thieves; But this new dodge is cruel-- For look how it deceives! Our Mayor should call a meeting-- His lordship can’t refuse-- Denouncing law competing With crime in silent shoes. It’s hard enough at present For us to earn our bread, And always most unpleasant To hear the peeler’s tread; But we between starvation And honesty must choose, If once the British nation Allows these blarsted shoes. The Clarinet. When all the sunshine lies behind, And all the dusk before, When friends have turned to foes unkind, And love is love no more; When life is but a cruel ache, And living but a fret, ’Tis then, poor heart, the time to take Your good old clarinet. When wife and child have passed away, And health has broken down; When you are growing old and gray, And Fortune wears a frown,-- When to your heart’s despairing cry No answer you can get, ’Tis then, if you are wise, you’ll try Your good old clarinet. Go, victim of life’s battle, go, And, heedless of your scars, Find solace here for all your woe In half a dozen bars. ’Twill reconcile us to our stay Here, where our task is set, To hear life’s million victims play The good old clarinet. No Evening Dress. The Church believes God will not bless A crowd that comes in evening dress. Of worldliness the antidote, Our “Arch.” proclaims the morning coat. What folly!--since God’s only care Is what we _are_, not what we _wear_. Alone in London. (Dizain.) The dust blows through the empty street, The low skies gather grim and gray, The raindrops on the windows beat This cold and cheerless August day. And all my friends are far away Across the moors or by the sea, But I must linger, woe is me! Since cruel fortune so doth choose Then, friends who read the _Referee_, Forgive me if I get the blues. The Volunteer. It was a gallant Volunteer, He woke one wintry night, The long-expected sound to hear, “The foe is now in sight.” He leapt from out his cosy bed, He kissed his frightened wife, Then put his helmet on his head, To fight for home and life. He gaily donned his uniform-- Such portions as he had-- And then went out into the storm; The night was very bad. The snowflakes fell as large as eggs, The blast his bosom smote; He had no trousers on his legs, He had no overcoat. His heart was full of brave intent, He started at a trot; But O, he shivered as he went-- Il n’avait pas de bottes!