The waifs from the slum and the gutter
    Are off “to the country” in troops,
  To feed on new eggs and fresh butter,
    To frolic with balls and with hoops;
  These three, with their eyes on the poster
    That hints unattainable joys,
  Must envy the son of the Coster,
    The waifs of the Workhouse.  Poor boys!

  They, too, are unitedly yearning
    To “go to the country,” together. 
  Hope on the horizon is burning
    With prospect of promising weather. 
  One pities them, looking and longing,
    Aweary of waiting their turn
  With those who are country wards thronging;
    The “Voice of the Country” they’d learn.

  The lay of the lark or the linnet? 
    The babble of brooklet or rill? 
  Nay, that “Voice,” to their ears, hath more in it
    Than sounds in the nightingale’s trill. 
  There’s a song, though to some it sounds raucous,
    For them most seductively rolls;
  ’Tis the crow of a bird (the “Caw-Caw-Cus”)
    Whose song is so like “Pretty Poll’s"!

* * * * *

HENLEY REGATTA.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S OWN ROWING MAN.)

Henley, Monday.

I have arrived, and Henley once more is Henley.  Even the weather has recognised me, and good old Plu himself came out to shake me by the hand and talk of old times.  The course is of the usual length, but a slight alteration has been made in the breadth.  Many house-boats are moored along the Oxfordshire bank.  The bridge has not changed its position since I saw it last.  The courteous Secretary of the Regatta assured me, that my complaint with reference to the impediment which this structure offers to rowing-boats had been laid before the Stewards.  No action, however, is to be taken this year.

This being the day before the Regatta, very heavy work was done by all the crews engaged in the race for the Grand Challenge Cup.  They all have a good chance, and, personally, I should not feel the least surprise if I saw at least two eights rowing in the final heat on Thursday.  Thames, London, Brasenose, Kingston, New College, and Trinity Hall all possess some “sterling oarsmen,” and carry “banners” of different colours.  I may remark, in passing, that no crew is allowed to row with more than eight oars.

The race for the Stewards will be exciting.  All these officials are in hard training, but the Mayor of Henley is favourite at short odds.*

    *_Note by the Editor._—­Are you sure this is right?

    Reply.—­Right?  Of course it is.  I’m here, and I ought to
    know.

I notice that the Ladies have a race all to themselves.  Doubtless this is due to Miss FAWCETT’s pernicious example, but the innovation is not to be commended.  The entries for the Visitors are of average quality.  Three visitors only are to compete over a course of picnic luncheons and strawberries and cream.  I have only room left to remark that the weather has been changeable, and that all the above tips are to be thoroughly relied upon.