A LESSON FOR "LABOUR."

You're not in-fal'be'-le, Doctor dear— Excuse the painful pun, Though you merit treatment e'en more severe For all the ill you've done. You held a nasty cloud of doubt Above our sunlit sky, And now at length we've found you out, Our summer is near gone by. Yes, a summer indeed we've had this year, In spite of your doleful croak, Though perhaps your early prediction drear Was simply a practical joke— A wearisome joke that wouldn't die, For every man one met Would remind one of Falbe and his prophecy— "We're soon to have lots of wet." But what of the tradesmen who laid in store Of "brollies" and mackintosh On the strength of your hint as to rain galore And unlimited Autumn slosh? Oh, Falbe, if they but got hold of you, What a tune they would perform! There's one prediction we'd warrant true— You'd find it extremely warm!

Hanbury, Bowles, and Bartley, Talk and wrangle tartly; Sour as unripe cranberry Are Bartlet, Bowles, and Hanbury; Three most sorrel souls Are Hanbury, Bartley, Bowles! They the blame would fix On the Liberal Thirty-six. As "tyrants," what are we Compared with that "Tartar Three," Who—but I'll be mum:— "I hear the Tartar drum!" Loudly thumped, and smartly, By Hanbury, Bowles, and Bartley!

The Ladies' Eight at Cookham rows right well, There's many a crew of men would not get near them; But is it not a saddening truth to tell? The ladies often take a man to steer them!

Summers come and Summers go, Sir, As appints the course of Nater: In the winter I'm a grocer, In the Summer I'm a waiter. I'm a waiter at the sea-side; There's the "Grand Hotel" up yonder— Never hancient Rome or Greece eyed Poet of the Summer fonder. Though I'm quite self-heddycated, Yet I love the Summer golden; Every gent on whom I've waited Feels 'isself to me beholden; As appropriate verse I quote, Sir, I can watch 'em growing gladder: They're aweer 'ow much I dote, Sir, On the golden light and shadder. "Tipped with gold" the clouds and copses, "Tipped with gold" yon arf-awake ox, "Tipped with gold" the sheep and wapses, "Tipped with gold" the 'arvest 'aycocks; "Tipped with gold" the cows as browses, Ditto waves and fish and sea-things, Ditto shops and dwellin'-'ouses, Ditto our hotel and tea-things. "Tipped with gold." It's langwidge splendid, Summing hup the Summer brightly— Good for Nater, good for men, did Gentlemen but read it rightly. "Tipped with gold" still what I quote is: 'Umble folk should not be proud, Sir,— Which I 'opes you've marked our notice— "No gratuities allowed," Sir!

O dubious hybrid, what your patronymic Or pedigree may be, does not much matter; But if my own attire you mean to mimic, And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter— Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with you A bone or two. Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior, In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti? You wish to show an intellect superior, (And hide a profile which is not too pretty?) Or is it, simply, you prefer to go Incognito? A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be, But still I bar your method of progression; For while I sit, as helpless as a baby, And scale each precipice in steep succession, You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge Of ev'ry ledge. How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm These Alpine heights, when balanced à la Blondin, While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm? I cry Eyupp! Avanti!—you respond in Attempts straightway to improvise a "chute" For me, you brute! Basta! per Bacco! I'll no longer straddle (With cramp in each adductor and extensor) This seat of torture that they call a saddle! Va via! in plain English, get thee hence, or—— On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest, I think, were best!

A little saint! At church I see you pray, As if a worldly thought would make you faint, Serenely walking on your heavenly way, A little saint. And yet—although I would make no complaint.— You quickly doff the grave to don the gay. Your cheeks aren't wholly innocent of paint, You flirt outrageously the livelong day. Colloquially, dear Maude, in fact you ain't I'm thoroughly rejoiced to say A little saint.