Their bones are strewed to every tide from Torres Strait to Tyne-- God's truth, they've paid their blooming dues to the tin-fish and the mine, By storm or calm, by night or day, from Longships light to Line. With a bomb or a mine or a bursting shell, And she'll follow the seas no more, She's fetched and carried and served you well, The same as she's done before-- They've fetched and carried and gone their way, As good ships should and as brave men may ... And we'll build 'em still, and we'll breed 'em again, The same good ships and the same good men, The same--the same--the same as we've done before! C.F.S. * * * * * A FIRST-CLASS MISDEMEANANT. Cozens has a conscience--a conformist conscience--and is a first-class season-ticket holder. The other morning we were travelling up to town together as usual. He was evidently bursting with the anticipatory pride of telling me something very much to his credit. Presently, at a gap in my reading, he said:-- "I left my season at home this morning, so I bought a return." "What on earth for?" I expostulated. "You've already paid the company once by taking out a season; why pay twice? And anyhow it's only the Government." "It's the first duty of a citizen to obey the laws of his country," he proclaimed sententiously. "Oh, all right; but you'll never get your money back--not from the Government. Besides, you could easily have got through without a ticket." "How?" "By taking out your note-case at the barrier and showing the girl the back of a Bradbury. Dazzled by the display of so much wealth, she'd pass you without a murmur." "A miserable subterfuge," Cozens protested. "Or you and I might walk up to the barrier deep in conversation. I should then get in front, and the examiner would pull me up for my ticket. I should fumble before producing my season. Meantime you would have passed beyond recall." "I simply couldn't do it." "Or why not pay at the barrier, if you _must_ pay?" "Yes, and lose the return ticket rate. How should I get down to-night?" "That's easy. Buy a platform ticket. The man at the gate at home will pass you; he knows you." "All underhand work," said Cozens. "It's much more dignified to buy a ticket." Just then a travelling inspector entered our carriage. "Tickets, gentlemen, please!" And Cozens, looking supremely undignified, produced a third-class return, and tried to explain. * * * * * [Illustration: _Little Girl_ (_reading poster_). "OH, MUMMY, ISN'T THAT VULGAR? OUGHTN'T THEY TO PUT 'PERSPIRED LABOUR'?"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS_.)