icture of gloom,
A moral in every pull.
Motionless wheels and idle loom,
What is their meaning in full?

Capital's greed and Labour's need
These be fair matters for fight.
_Must_ Trade, though, suffer and poor hearts bleed?
_Must_ wrong be the road to right?

Glad there is talk of a better way,
Truly 'tis worth the search;
For little you'll profit by higher pay
If Commerce be left in the lurch.

* * * * *

[Illustration: PROSPECTS FOR THE COMING SEASON.

THE LIONS ARE DECIDEDLY SMALL THIS YEAR, BUT THE BEAUTIES ARE FINER,
LARGER, AND MORE LIKE EACH OTHER THAN EVER.]

* * * * *

A BOAT-RACE VISION.

[Illustration]

(_By an Oxbridge Enthusiast._)

WINDS from the East may provoke us,
Making us angry and ill,
Dust of the Equinox choke us,
Yet we will welcome thee still,
Spring, now the runnels of primrose and crocus
Trickle all over the hill;

Now, when the willow and osier
Flicker in diffident green;
Now, when the poplars are rosier,
When the first daisies are seen,
And the windows of draper and hosier
Are bright with their 'Varsity sheen.

"Not what it was, Sir, in my time,"
Grumbles a fogey, or two;
"Then we had really a high-time,
Lord, what mad things we would do!
Skylarking! Well, it was sky-time.
Blue! It was nothing but blue!"

Well, let the people and papers
Say what it please them to say,
Shops of the politic drapers
Follow them, sombre or gay,
"Men" be austere, or cut capers,
Still 'tis a glorious day!

* * *

Visions of Sandford or Ely,
Baitsbite, or Abingdon Lock,
Skies that are stormy or steely,
Seas that we ship with a shock,
"Coaches," whose mouths are not mealy,
"Faithfuls," who riverward flock,

Mornings, inclement and early,
Stinted tobacco and beer,
Tutors reluctant and surly,
"Finals" unpleasantly near--
All are forgot in the hurly--
Lo! the long looked-for is here!

Now, at the start, as I'm eyeing
The back, that I know like a friend,
I wonder which flag will be flying
In front at the winning-post bend--
Shall we triumph, or, fruitlessly trying,
Row it out, game to the end?

Point after point we are clearing,
Mile after mile we have sped;
Multiplied roaring and cheering
Sound as they sound to the dead.
Surely the end