I leave your isle, the truth to tell, With qualified regret. July in London would be well, But for the heavy wet. The soaking shower, the sudden squall, Spare not Imperial "tiles." May it be dry when next I call, Your slushiest of isles! Yet I've enjoyed my visit, much, In spite of wet and wind. I with JOHN BULL have been in touch; _You_ have been passing kind. My father and grandfather gone Once trod your city sad; Now I the daring deed have done, And--it is not half bad. That Opera Show was quite a sight; Your Sheriff HARRIS--well-- AUGUSTUS, after Actium's fight, Was scarce a greater swell. The long parade, led by the Blues, Gave _me_ the blues again. Not that the citizen were screws, No, Grand'ma, 'twas that rain! I--ahem! _blessed_ it fervently, Emperors must not complain; But do, _do_ keep your Babylon dry, When I come back again. For Garden Parties, Shows, Reviews, And civic functions pale, When water soaks the stoutest shoes, And it blows half a gale. Your Lord MAYOR and his liveried lot, _They_ know a thing or two. Speeches of course are always rot, But then--the skies were blue! As for your Crystal Palace--ah! Your pride I would not shock, But you owe much, dear Grandmamma, To PAXTON and to BROCK. Your warriors are fine, if few; But still, if you ask _me_, You leave far too much power to A Railway Company. I would not let civilians snub My paladins--no fear! But then a Teuton--there's the rub! Is no mere Volunteer! And now I really must be gone Upon the wide, wide sea. Stiff state no more shall make me groan, Hurrah for liberty! I'm tired to death of functions fine, And ceremonial rot; Hurrah for ease! the breezy brine Tar-toggery, and my Yacht! With yonder bark I'll gladly brave The seas about your isle. Thanks, Grand'ma, for that kerchief wave, And that right royal smile! Welcome, ye billows, tumbling brisk Beneath a cloud-swept sky! Give your white kerchief one more whisk, Dear Grandmamma--Good-bye! * * * * * SCOTT (ANYTHING BUT) FREE. ["It is human nature, after all. When conscientiously I cannot praise actors or actresses, or authors, they turn their backs upon me. But when conscientiously I am able to draw attention to their great merits, they simply overflow."--Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT, in _The Illustrated London News_.] Unlucky Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT! Since those who act our plays or write them, Are so exacting that he's got The greatest trouble to delight them. When conscience tells him not to praise They "turn their backs" and will not know him, When their "great merits" make him raise His voice--they "simply overflow" him! * * * * *