Oh! bring my Butler back to me; I stray and lapse alone! If this be freedom, to be free Were something best unknown. He used to look so grand and grave-- So sad when I was slack; 'Twas difficult to misbehave-- Oh, bring my Butler back! In him was nothing flash nor green-- A Seneschal confessed; Most people deemed his reverend mien Some family bequest. And yet but three short, happy years Had seen him on our tack, And made us verge on VERE DE VERES-- Oh, bring my Butler back! A Pedigree in swallow-tails, He gave our household "tone." My soul plebeian trips and fails (See stanza first) alone. I fall on low Bohemian ways, I doff my evening black; I dine in blazer all ablaze-- Oh, bring my Butler back! I breakfast now and smoke in bed; I wrench the bell for coals; No master-hand and master-head The day's routine controls. No stately form in homage curved, Our commissariat's lack, Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_"-- Oh, bring my Butler back! A few old friends drop in at times, But ah! their zest is gone; No organ voice with awe sublimes BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON. They sound to me quite commonplace, Who seemed a ducal pack: 'Twas he who lent them rank and race-- Oh, bring my Butler back! And _they_ must think me very queer, Each unennobled guest: I munch my chop, I quaff my beer At meal-times unrepressed, I laugh a laughter rude and loud; My little jokes I crack; The parlour-maid with mirth is bowed-- Oh, bring my Butler back! Yes! bring that paragon to me-- 'Tis true he drank my wine; But, as I found it disagree, I don't so much repine: 'Tis true we missed a little plate When _he_ gave _us_ the sack. But "all things come to them that wait"-- Oh, bring my Butler back! That gorgeous grace, that smile severe, That look of Lords and Barts, These are the charms that most endear His image to our hearts. The standard of my broken life With him has gone to rack, And, if it were not for my wife, I'd bring my Butler back! * * * * * FINE, OR REFINE? [An Educational Journal recently suggested the formation of a "Guild of Courtesy," with especial view to refining the manners and language of the youth of the working classes.] Hail, noble Guild! By all means drive Expletives from our highways; They are the ruin of our roads, The byword of our byways! And rowdies too--to teach them grace A philanthropic art is; _These_ subjects for the Guild may well Be called the "Guildy parties"! The lumbering horse-play of the streets, Can we its spirits soothe? Will blarneying do? Or can "the Rough" Be "taken with the smooth"? And there's the working girl: can we From yells and rompings wean her? For the demeanour of a Miss Is oft a mis-demeanour.