The pageantry that every step attends Is not the martial pomp that tyrants love, No purchased shout of slaves the shamed air rends; Peace's white-pinion'd dove Might perch upon those banners unafraid, The shackled forces here are thralls of Art and Trade. * * * * * Triumph! Shall we not triumph who have seen Those fifty years round on from sun to snow, From snow to sun, since when, a girlish Queen In that far June-tide's glow, Your brow first felt that golden weight well-worn, Which tried the Woman's heart, but hath not over-borne? Fifty fair years which, like to all things fair, Are flecked with shadow, yet whereon the sun Hath never set in shame or in despair, Their changeful course have run. And we who saw the dawn now flock to see June's noonday light illume Victoria's Jubilee. Just, pure, and gentle, yet of steadfast will When high occasion calls and honour pricks! With such a soul our Commonwealth should thrill, That, that alone shall fix Our rule in rock-like safety, and maintain Free way for England's flag o'er the wind-winnowed main. And _Punch_, whose memory scans those fifty years, Whose patriot forecast broods o'er coming-days, Smiles with the smiling throngs, and lifts his cheers, With those the people raise, And prays that firmer faith, spirit more free, May date from this proud day of jocund Jubilee. The June and July numbers are dominated by the Jubilee, and _Punch_, though he spoke with many voices in dealing with the various phases of the festival, kept his criticism within limits of wholly genial satire and whimsicality. There was a scene of decorous "revelry by night" at the Reform Club, which gave a ball on June 16, recorded in a set of verses with solos for Sir William Harcourt, John Bright and Lord Rosebery, packed with political innuendoes, and winding up with a soliloquy from the grand old M.C. (without) who sings:-- Call this a Ball? More muddled every minute; Not one good dancer there. Glad I'm not in it! The Lord Chamberlain, in Sambourne's picture, figures as the "boots" of an hotel, run off his legs by the demands of Princes, Potentates, Ambassadors:-- 'Midst pleasures and 'midst palaces to roam, Is nice for foreign dignities, no doubt; But then they've lots of palaces at home, Which we are quite without.