“Certain members of the Royal Family do not like the betrothed of the Princess Beatrice. This may be; but, anyway, nobody will deny that if we have a Poet Laureate, he ought now and again do something for his salary. Whether any rumours have reached Lord Tennyson on the subject, I can’t say; but it is a remarkable fact that the day after such an opinion was expressed in this office the following communication was dropped into the editorial box: _A New Welcome in an old Form._ Serenity’s son from over the sea, Prince Henry! English and Scotch and Welsh are we, But we all shall pay taxes through welcoming thee, Prince Henry! Welcome him, thunders of fleet and of fort! (It costs us five pounds or so, every report) Welcome him, now let the joy bells begin! (We shall pay forty pounds for that steamer he’s in) Break, happy land, into earlier flower! (Trixy, thank fate! ’s the last girl we’ve to dower) Blazon your mottoes of blessing and prayer―― If it so be you are _not_ a tax-payer! Warble, O bugle! and trumpet, O blare! True, we must pay, but we won’t seem to care. Welcome him, welcome him, then, to our stand! Blow ye his praises, ye huge German band! Penniless bridegroom, yet happy is he, Knowing his bride will have much £ s. d. So come to our heart, and accept, if you will, Posts and positions our own sons might fill! Come to us, love us, and make England your home, Draw your pay quarterly, never more roam; For English or Scotch or Irish we, Taffys or Cockneys, whatever we be, We shall all pay our share towards the keeping of thee, _Dear_ Prince Henry! [Illustration] Lord Tennyson. THE FLEET. (ON ITS REPORTED INSUFFICIENCY.) You――you――_if_ you have fail’d to understand―― The Fleet of England is her all in all―― On you will come the curse of all the land, If that Old England fall, Which Nelson left so great―― This isle, the mightiest naval power on earth, This one small isle, the lord of every sea―― Poor England, what would all these votes be worth, And what avail thine ancient fame of “Free,” Wert thou a fallen State? You――you――who had the ordering of her Fleet, If you have only compassed her disgrace, When all men starve, the wild mob’s million feet Will kick you from your place―― But then――too late, too late. TENNYSON.