The summer day proved all too short, But light forbade the pleasant sport, And silent lay the tennis court, Where time had flown so rapidly. But morning saw another sight, When, after slumbers soft and light, The girls, once more, rushed forth to fight Upon the level greenery. On either side the net they stand, Each with her tennis bat in hand, The fairest maidens in the land, Opposed in bloodless rivalry! Then “faults” no longer were forgiven, Then o’er the net their balls were driven, And like the deadly bolts of Heaven, The “serves” in their velocity! But faster yet the balls shall fly Beneath the cloudless summer sky, And still more frequent be the cry Of “Deuce” that sounds so naughtily! ’Tis noon, but still resounds the blow, Though scorching hours may come and go, Those maidens, fleeter than the roe, Are ever darting rapidly! The combat deepens, Grace will win, In Jersey, fitting like her skin, Just give the ball a subtle spin, And snatch from Maud the victory! A few games more, and Grace _has_ won! “Ho! Claret Cup! we both are done!” And from the fury of the sun They scamper most bewitchingly! F. B. DOVETON. From _Society_. ――――:o:―――― “WE ARE RUINED BY CHEAP CHINESE LABOUR.” In _Punch_ for January 16, 1886, a Parody (in four verses) appeared apropos of an assertion that Chinamen were being largely employed on vessels of the Royal Navy, stationed in the China Seas. It commenced:―― Ye Mariners of England Who watch our distant seas, ’Tis very odd that you should be The half of you Chinese. It scarcely fits our notions To have you down below; And though your keep, perhaps is cheap, The news comes like a blow; To think we’ve got a Mongol Jack Gives one a dreadful blow. * * * * * THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. At Summer eve, when Heav’n’s aërial bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. * * * * * THOMAS CAMPBELL. ―――― CAMPBELL, UNDONE AND OUTDONE.