Let us then be up and doing With an eye to making tin, Any likely trade pursuing, Learn to gain your end and win. From _The Figaro_, December 3, 1873. * * * * * THE LIBERAL PSALM OF LIFE. Tell us not in mournful numbers Liberal union is a dream: Bright is cranky, Bob Lowe slumbers; Yet things are not what they seem. Opposition must be earnest, Or we shall not win the goal; If for Gladstone still thou yearnest, Thou art a weak-minded soul. Ministerial slips to follow Is our destined end and way, So that we may throw each morrow Stumbling blocks in Dizzy's way. Dizzy's strong, but fame is fleeting; Conservatism, now so brave, In the Bills which we are greeting, Yet may find an early grave. Trust no Forster, howe'er pleasant, Let past premiers bury their dead; Act with Hartington at present, Nor the coming session dread. Hansard's pages all remind us We have but to bide our time; Dizzy some fine day may find us In majority sublime. Gladstone's gone, but till another, Like him takes the helm again, Let us help our leader, brother, Hartington with might and main. Let us then be up and doing, Meeting Dizzy in debate, Tory tactics still pursuing, Find a policy--and wait! From _Funny Folks_, February 27, 1875, when the Conservative party, led by Mr. Disraeli, was in power, and the Liberal Opposition was led by Lord Hartington. * * * * * A PSALM OF LIFE AT SIXTY. _What the Heart of the Old Man said to the Genial Gusher at Christmas Time._ Tell me not in Christmas Numbers Life is but a _gourmet's_ dream! Sure your sense is dead or slumbers: Peptics are not what they seem. Life is serious! Life is solemn! And good grub is not its goal: _Menu_-making by the column Helps not the dyspeptic soul. Not delight from cates to borrow Is the aim of prudent will, But to eat so that to-morrow Finds us not exceeding ill. Feeds are long and health is fleeting; And old stomachs once so strong, Find that indiscriminate eating Very quickly puts them wrong. In the banquet's dainty battle, At the table's toothsome strife, Feed not like dumb hungry cattle, Wield a cautious fork and knife! Trust no _menu_, howe'er pleasant; Night-mare-Nemesis is dread; Swig and swallow like a peasant, You'll repent it when in bed! Memories of big feeds remind us Christmas pudding peace can slay; Touch it, and next morn shall find us Indigestion's helpless prey. Pudding that perhaps another, Light of heart and bright of brain, Some strong-stomached younger brother, Eating, sends his plate again.