You’ll see the Queen, of pride chock-full,
  Take first prize with her Shorthorn bull;
  Dr. H. WATNEY, of Buckhold,
  With “Cleopatra” hit the gold.

  A medal or a champion cup
  For cheese to munch, or cream to sup,
  Are pleasures rural souls to move,
  So live with me and be my love.

  Butter and eggs, milch cows and churns,
  With cattle foods shall take their turns;
  If Dairy Shows thy mind have won,
  Then come with me to Islington.

Viator.  Trust me, Master, it is an apt song, and archly sung by modish MAUDLIN.  I’ll bestow a bucolic Cockney’s wish upon her, that she may live to marry a Competitive Dairyman, and have good store of champion cups and first prizes stuck about her best parlour.

* * * * *

A LICENCE FOR LORDS.

[At the Blackheath Petty Sessions, Mr. LAWLESS, stated that the Trafalgar Hotel, belonged to the Lords of the Admiralty, and asked the Bench to transfer the licence to the resident caretaker.

    Captain ROBERTSON-SHERSBY, J.P.:  Why not transfer it to the
    First Lord of the Admiralty?  Are there no whitebait dinners
    held there?

    Mr. LAWLESS said that he was afraid that the days of whitebait
    dinners were over.

    The Bench, finding the Admiralty held the hotel for charitable
    purposes, granted the application.]

  Come, landsmen, give ear to my ditty,
    I’ll make it as short as I can. 
  There was once—­was it London?—­a city
    Which stretched from Beersheba to Dan. 
  Of course that is gammon and spinach,
    Or, to put it correctly, a joke. 
  It extended from Richmond to Greenwich,
    This city of darkness and smoke.

  It had sailors who ruled o’er the ocean,
    And sat all the day upon Boards,
  And described, with delightful emotion,
    Themselves and their colleagues as “Lords.” 
  They had tubes that were always exploding,
    And boilers that never were right,
  But had all got a trick of exploding,
    And blowing a crew out of sight.

  They had docks (and, alas! they had dockers),
    They had ships that kept sinking like stones,
  Which resulted in filling the lockers
    Provided below by D. JONES. 
  Of their country these lineal successors
    Of NELSON deserved very well,
  When at last they became the possessors
    Of an old fully-licensed hotel.

  And they made up a case which was flawless,
    For the Sessions that sat at Blackheath,
  And they sent—­which was strange—­Mr. LAWLESS,
    Who was crammed full of law to the teeth. 
  “The days when we all lived in clover,
    With whitebait, can never revive,
  I assure you,” said LAWLESS, “they’re over,
    But, oh, keep the licence alive.”