Whose new embrasures speak not scorn? Whose fleet’s on never a billow borne That flows towards the Golden Horn? The Russians! Who turn no envious gaze upon The lands which Clive subdued and won―― Our Indian Empire and Ceylon? The Russians! Who were our friends in ’fifty-four, And spared our country’s life and gore, And hope to shed them nevermore? The Russians! Whom should we court and value more Than bearded statesmen’s art and lore, And love and cherish evermore? The Russians! BENJAMIN D―――― _His Little Dinner_, 1876. ――――:o:―――― MY FATHER. _By Mr. Gladstone, Junr._ Who loved me when I was a child, And never at my pranks grew wild, And when I broke his china, smiled? My Father! Who, when I used to mix his work And his last manuscript to burke, Would merely say, “you little Turk”? My Father! Who, when――this was my boyish dread―― My mother sent me up to bed, Would give me jam with my dry bread? My Father! Who, when we led the Liberal host, Made me so snug a treasury post? A thousand pounds a year it cost―― My Father! Who, now that he has lost his pow’r, Is growing querulous and sour, And more eccentric every hour? My Father! Who must again the Liberals lead, And Hartington soon supersede? Who is it that the people need? My Father! _Truth_, September 6, 1877. ――――:o:―――― THE DOCTOR. [The other day a baker was fined for adulterating his bread with what is called in the trade the “doctor,” a mixture composed principally of alum. The use of the “doctor,” it came out, results in making inferior bread look of a good quality.] What makes the quartern loaf a sight To glad the heart and bring delight, So crusty brown, so crumby white? The “Doctor.” What turns the flour from mouldy wheat Into a substance _looking_ sweet, Ambrosia that a god might eat? The “Doctor.” Who is the baker’s firmest friend? Who passes all they choose to vend? Who makes them wealthy in the end? The “Doctor.” Who is the public’s meanest foe? Who deals it many a stealthy blow With daily lumps of poisoned dough? The “Doctor.” _Funny Folks_, June, 1877. ――――:o:―――― TIGHT LACING IN THE PULPIT.