True, all thy statesmen _say_ the same, MORLEY hands COBDEN'S dictum down. Yet Ins and Outs do play a game That hardly adds to thy renown. Rule, BRITANNIA! BRITANNIA rule the waves! _But_ Parties squabble and the Exchequer--saves! If thou'dst maintain thine ocean reign, And first in Commerce still would'st shine, The easy optimistic strain And Pangloss pose must not be thine. Rule, BRITANNIA! BRITANNIA rule the waves! But constant warding constant watching craves. Devotion to the needs of home, And claims parochial, is not all. Beware, lest shades more darkling come, With gloomier writings on the wall. Rule, BRITANNIA! BRITANNIA rule the waves! Britons to careless trust should ne'er be slaves. Say, Statesman, are those figures found Full warrant for your picture bold? Our watch the wave-washed world around Needs iron hearts, _and_ ungrudged gold. Rule, BRITANNIA! BRITANNIA rule the waves! Britons--free-handed--never need be slaves! * * * * * Mrs. R thinks the reason so many of the young men of the present day are bald is, because they don't use antimacassar oil as they did in her time. * * * * * MARCH IN NOVEMBER. "Blow, blow, thou winter wind," In verse some call thee wind. Though Thursday's crowd was thinned By blasts so unrefined, And men in armour, tinnèd Like lobsters, mutely pined-- They, later, "wined" and "ginned," Whilst guests superbly dined On turtle, fish (that's finned), Joints, game of matchless kind, And wines, rare, old, long-binned. Blow clear, before, behind, The streets where lately dinned The band--each man, defined, Of _Vaterland_ the _kind_-- And sightless singers whined Not much like _Jenny Lind_; Would they were dumb, not blind! Whilst grinders grimly grinned, And ground their graceless grind. I swore; perhaps I sinned. But now they seem to find Their rags, just tied and pinned, Let in thy blast unkind, By which they're almost skinned. Then blow, I do not mind, Thou rough November wind-- Pronounced by many, wind. * * * * * Seasonable. When garden lawns are a green bog, And shrubbery vistas veiled in fog, Reload revolvers, let dogs run! The Burglar Season has begun! * * * * * [Illustration: "RULE, BRITANNIA!" (?)