They go down to their work, ringing right cheery hail
Through the shrieks of the storm that shall not make _them_ pale,
Those bold Britons? They're brothers, sires, cousins, and sons,
For see how the "family name" through them runs
Those COTTONS could make up a crew at a pinch!
Whilst the HOOKEYS and WHITES from that task need not flinch.
Yes, these names sound as well on the Scroll, after all,
As NAPOLEON or CÆSAR; and when the Great Call
Of the last human Muster Roll comes, some plain "BILL,"
Whose business was rather to save than to kill,
May step before mad ALEXANDER.
Well, brothers,
(You BUCKETTS, and WOODFORDS and COOPERS and others,
Whose names he need hardly string into his rhymes,)
_Punch_ hopes you may look on this Record sometimes
With pleasant reflections. Mere words, he well knows,
Will not--"butter your parsnips"--(to put sense in prose):
But you have his hearty good will, and you know it,--
Right gladly he takes this occasion to show it!
And when or wherever _another_ should come,
Be sure your friend _Punch_ won't be careless or dumb!

* * * * *

CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

VI.--THE DUFFER AT WHIST.

(_CONTINUED._)