He was pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, To measure the seas, and to study the skies; He would hoist all her canvas on Victory's tack, Kind Heaven crowd it fuller when wafting him back To his home in far Hawarden, where hearts will rejoice To welcome MCGLADSTONE, the Chief of our choice. _Midlothian no more!_ 'Tis a sorrowful cry, And we gaze on the waves, and we glance at the sky; We shall long, when clouds darken and wild waves o'erwhelm, For his voice through the gale, for his hand on the helm. Now we shout through the shadows, with tears in our voice: Farewell to MCGLADSTONE, great Chief of our choice! _Midlothian no more!_ Faith, we fancy we hear The cry of the Chieftain who never knew fear, Stout still through its sadness, "Keep up the good fight! Let Midlothian, let Scotland, still stand for the Right!" The last burden brave of the valorous voice Of dauntless MCGLADSTONE, great Chief of our choice! _Midlothian no more!_ In despite, Chief, of all, The Heart of Midlothian responds to your call. Its echoes shall live, though no longer your form Shall steer us to sunshine, or cheer us in storm. Then farewell to the presence, but not to the voice Of "Auld WULLIE" GLADSTONE, great Chief of our choice! * * * * * THE COPPERATION AT WINSER. Oh, didn't the grand old Copperation have a grand treat last week at Winser! Her grashus Majesty the QUEEN asked 'em all down to her butiful Pallace to hear the sollem Recorder read to her their joyful feelings at the birth of her dear little Great Grand Son! And then, to the great joy of all on 'em, Her MAJESTY read such a delishus arnser as amost brort tears to the eyes of some of the young uns of the Party, and sent 'em away to the butiful Lunshon Room to refresh exhorsted natur with a delicate Lunch, and sum exkisit Madeary, such as King GEORGE THE FOURTH is said to have saved xpressly for simmilar glorius ocasions. Don't let it be supposed as I wants peeple to beleeve as I was there; but I had the hole account given by one as was, and I ain't ixagerated it not a bit. There is a sertain Body of gents in London as ewidently wonts to play fust fiddel in the guvernment of our grand old City, but I havent heard of their being asked down to Winser Carsel to congratulate her Most Grayshus MAGESTY on the late appy ewent. Should they be so I should most suttenly make a pint of seeing 'em all start, if it were only out of curiosity to see what sort of State Mazerine Gownds they would all wear!