[Footnote 1:  The colours of lobsters vary a good deal in various localities. Homarus vulgaris, the common lobster, is spotted, and, on the upper part, more or less of a bluish black.  I once saw a lobster that had just got a new shell, and was of every lovely shade of blue and violet.]

[Footnote 2:  Palurinus vulgaris, the spiny lobster, has no true claws, but huge hairy antennae.  These lobsters are red during their lifetime!  I have seen them (in the Crystal Palace Aquarium) seated exactly as here described, with blue lobsters watching them from niches of the rocky sides of the tank, where they looked like blue-jerseyed smugglers at the mouths of caves.]

    From the moment that those Nine he saw,
    He never could bear his blue coat more. 
    “Oh, Brothers in misfortune!” he said,
    “Did you ever see any lobsters so grand,
    As those who sit down there in the sand? 
    Why were we born at all, since not one of us all was born red?”
    “Dear Brother, indeed, this is quite a whim.” 
    (So his brothers and sisters reasoned with him;
    And, being exceedingly cultivated,
    The case with remarkable fairness stated.)
    “Red is a primary colour, it’s true,
            But so is Blue;
    And we all of us think, dear Brother,
    That one is quite as good as the other. 
    A swaggering soldier’s a saucy varlet,
    Though he looks uncommonly well in scarlet. 
    No doubt there’s much to be said
    For a field of poppies of glowing red;
    For fiery rifts in sunset skies,
    Roses and blushes and red sunrise;
    For a glow on the Alps, and the glow of a forge,
    A foxglove bank in a woodland gorge;
    Sparks that are struck from red-hot bars,
    The sun in a mist, and the red star Mars;
    Flowers of countless shades and shapes,
    Matadors’, judges’, and gipsies’ capes;
    The red-haired king who was killed in the wood,
    Robin Redbreast and little Red Riding Hood;
    Autumn maple, and winter holly,
    Red-letter days of wisdom or folly;
    The scarlet ibis, rose cockatoos,
    Cardinal’s gloves, and Karen’s shoes;
    Coral and rubies, and huntsmen’s pink;
    Red, in short, is splendid, we think. 
    But, then, we don’t think there’s a pin to choose;
    If the Guards are handsome, so are the Blues. 
    It’s a narrow choice between Sappers and Gunners. 
    You sow blue beans, and rear scarlet runners. 
    Then think of the blue of a mid-day sky,
    Of the sea, and the hills, and a Scotchman’s eye;
    Of peacock’s feathers, forget-me-nots,
    Worcester china and “jap” tea-pots. 
    The blue that the western sky wears casually,
    Sapphire, turquoise, and lapis-lazuli. 
          What can look smarter
    Than the broad blue ribbon of Knights of the Garter?