TOMMY ATKINS, TOMMY ATKINS, BULL is sweet on “loyal toasts,”
  And he spends his millions freely on his squadrons and his hosts,
  But there isn’t much on’t, messmate, not so fur as I can see,
  Whether ’tis rant or rhino, that gets spent on you and me. 
  Still the Times has took our case up,—­werry handsome o’ the Times!—­
  I have heard it charged with prejudice, class-hate, and similar crimes,
  But it shows it’s got fair sperret and a buzzum as can feel
  When it backs us with a “Leader” arter printing our “Appeal.” 
  You are better off, my TOMMY, than the Navy Rank and File,
  You may chance to get promotion,—­arter waiting a good while—­
  But the tip-top of Tar luck’s to be a Warrant Officer;
  We ain’t like to get no further, if we even get as fur. 
  ’Tain’t encouraging, my hearty.  As for me, I’m old and grey,
  ’Tis too late now for promotion if it chanced to come my way;
  And my knowledge, and my patter, and my manners—­well I guess
  They mayn’t be percisely fitted for a dandy ward-room mess. 
  But the Navy of the Future, TOMMY ATKINS, is our care,
  We have gone through many changes, and for others must prepare. 
  It will make the Navy popular, more prospect of advance;
  And what I say is, TOMMY,—­let the young uns have a chance!
  Some I know will cry “Impossible,” and slate the scheme like fun. 
  Most good things are “impossible,” my TOMMY,—­till they’re done!
  Quarter-decks won’t fill from fokesels, not to any great extent;
  But, give good men a better chance!  I guess that’s all that’s meant. 
  As the Times says, werry sensible and kind-like, preju_dice_,
  Though strong at first, dies quickly, melts away like thaw-struck ice;
  If every brave French soldier, with a knapsack on his back,
  May find a Marshal’s baton at the bottom of that pack,
  Why should not a true British Tar, with pluck, and luck, and wit,
  Find at last a “Luff’s” commission hidden somewheres in his kit?

* * * * *

WAKING THEM UP.

FLY-LEAF FROM AN ENERGETIC KAISER’S DIARY.

10 P.M.—­Slip out of Opera and take somebody else’s overcoat from cloak-room when nobody is looking, jump into a four-wheeler, and drive to station.  Am recognised, and a special train is called out.  Give them the slip, and get into a horse-box of third-class omnibus-train just about to start.

10.15 P.M. t_ 2.30 A.M.—­Still in horse-box.

2.45 AM.—­Stop at a big town.  Hurry out.  Stopped for ticket.  Throw off disguise of somebody else’s overcoat, and declare myself.  Guard called out to escort me.  When they are looking the other way, hide under refreshment-counter, and get out of station unobserved on all-fours.  Am collared by a policeman.  Again have to declare myself.  Give policeman twenty marks, bind him to silence, and borrow his official cloak.  Find out Burgomaster’s address.  Hammer at his front door till I have stirred up the whole household.