WHO that has sailed upon the ocean's face,

Or walked beside the sea along the sand,

Has not felt envy for the piscine race,

Comparing its domain, where noise is banned,

To the infernal racket that takes place

On land?

While up above the billows rage and roar

And make a most unnecessary noise,

And shallow Shrimps, who live too near the shore,

Are harassed by the shouts of girls and boys,

Who find the beach a place convenient for

Their toys,

The happy members of the Fishy clan

Pursue in peace their various pursuits,

All undisturbed by bell of muffin-man,

Or bellow of purveyor of fresh fruits,

Who at each "Pub" his voice republican

Recruits.

The harmless Herring gambols with his young,

And heeds but hears not their impulsive play.

(His heart is with their mother who was flung,

Kippered to feed a clerk's bank-holiday,

Into the salting-tub and passed unsung

Away.)

Now, had this Herring been of human breed,

And lived in London or some other town,

Fate would have made him hear as well as heed

His offspring as it gambolled up and down,

Original

Making a noise that's very hard indeed

To drown.

Moreover, organ-grinders would have ground,

And yowls from both "employed" and "unemployed";

Hoarse howls from those who had "salvation" found,

And bawls from those whose faith had been destroyed,

Would have combined to keep his sense of sound

Annoyed.

Who would not therefore rather be a Whale,

A Hake, a Haddock, or a Mackerel,

Than linger in this sad uncertain vale

(Here where men sit and hear each other yell)?

Better to go, if other places fail,

To ———