And the moon went down and the stars came out o'er the smoky London town; And never a moment ceased the flow of the purple liquor down! Glass after glass, the whole night long, the mighty magnums went, And bottle after bottle was away from the table sent. "Dead men," as in a battle field, lay strewn upon the floor, But still there was no cry of "Hold!" but constant shouts for "more!" For he said, "Drink on, drink on!" Though he scarce could lift his hand. And it chanced when more than half of the summer night was gone That he rose up on his feet and tried to stand, But he sunk into his chair, and lay back grinning there, And close up to his side we stept, Then--the rule in such a case--we cork'd him on the face, And he fell upon the floor, and he slept. So pass'd we all, and when we woke each knew of a heavy head, For not a soul of all of us had found the way to bed! And a tempest of indignation swept over our surging brains, That we could be floored by vintage, ay, ev'n of a hundred Spains! "It never was PORT"! we cried, and so we tasted it once again--'twas SLOE! Vile SLOE, with all our might, we had drunk for half the night! And brave Sir Richard Tankard said, "Boys, although we drank hard, 'Tis SLOE-JUICE, and not Spanish wine, is giving us such pains!" Then in a sink, that day, we poured the rest away, To be lost evermore in the drains. On the 15th March, 1882, at one of the London Ballad Concerts, Mr. Santley sang, for the first time, a patriotic song, written by Alfred Tennyson, the music composed by Mr. C. V. Stanford. This song was announced with much ceremony as a new work, whereas it was simply an abbreviated, and somewhat modified, arrangement of a poem in five verses, entitled _Hands all Round_, which had appeared in the _Examiner_ in 1852, over the signature _Merlin_. The song did not arouse any enthusiasm, and is now only memorable for the offence its chorus gave to the temperance party. The first verse is quoted to illustrate the parodies:-- "First pledge our Queen, my friends, and then A health to England, every guest; He best will serve the race of men Who loves his native country best! May freedom's oak for ever last, With larger life from day to day; He loves the present and the past Who lops the moulder'd branch away. Hands all round! God the traitor's hope confound! To the great cause of Freedom, drink my friends, And the great name of England round and round." On this poem getting into the papers, the Good Templars attached far too much importance to it, and wrote to remonstrate with the Poet Laureate. The following reply was sent to Mr. Malins, the Chief Templar:--