A HAWARDEN PASTORAL;

What am I piping about to-day? Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! What shall I praise in my pastoral way? Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Here I am, smiling, afar from strife, (Indifferent substitute, true, for my wife!) Discussing, as though they'd absorbed my life: Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! A Georgic, my lads, is my task this time, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Horace I've Englished in so-so rhyme, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! To-day I am in a Virgilian vein, My pastoral ardour I cannot restrain; And so I will sing, like some Mantuan swain, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Home Rule? Dear me, no! Not at all in the mood! Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! (Though Irish butter, you know, is good.) Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! I hear they're yet wrangling down Westminster way; The "Busy B's" there are still having their say. Now the care of those B's—but that is not my lay. Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! "The frugal bee," (as the Mantuan sings), Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Is valued for honey, and not for stings, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Poor Harcourt's hive has a good many drones, And more sting than honey. Eh! Who's that groans? Well, well, let me sing, in mellifluous tones, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! The ladies have taken to speeches of late, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Serious matter, dear friends,—for the State! Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! On Female Suffrage I hardly dote, But ladies may speak, while they have not the vote.— Beg pardon! That's hardly the pastoral note! Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Not only to flowers we look, but fruits; Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Nay, not to them only, but also to roots. Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! The root of the matter, in Irish affairs, Of course is Home Rule—but there, nobody cares For such subjects here! Let's sing poultry, and pears, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! This "little culture"'s the theme I'd touch, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! (Tories pooh-pooh it!—they've none too much!) Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! But "mickles" soon merge into "muckles" you know, And from "little cultures" big aggregates grow, Just as small majorities—Woa, there, woa!— Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Hawarden's example will do much good,— Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! Nay, friends, I am not in a militant mood,— Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! So I don't mean mine, but your own example. The powers of the soil are abundant and ample; You'll teach men to furnish—and up to sample— Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! I'm a little bit tired—in a physical sense— Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! But my pleasure in pastoral things is immense, Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees! My Georgic to-day I must cut short, I fear, But—if you desire—and we're all of us here, I may give you a much longer Eclogue—next year! Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees!

RHYME TO ROSEBERY. (On his Revival of the Ministerial Whitebait Dinner at the "Ship," Greenwich, Wednesday, August 15, 1894.) Good, Primrose! If not a fanatical "Saint," At least you're a genial "Sinner." At the thought of a Race—and a Win—you won't faint, Nor squirm at a loss—with a Dinner! Pluck, patience, and cheer make good Statesmanlike form. We trust that you relished the trip, Sir! If not—yet—"the Pilot who weathered the Storm," You're the Skipper who stuck by the "Ship," Sir!

The Old (Parliamentary) Adam. (On the Eve of Prorogation.) Would-be Abdiel (M.P.) loquitur:— With rest-thirst and holiday-yearning to grapple I strive, but in August begin to despair. I pity poor Eve with the thirst at her thrapple, Though what tempted her was a snake and an apple, My lures are "a brace" and a "pair."