BONNIE W. G.
A Song of the Snowy South.
["'We were caught in a snowdrift' was Mr. Gladstone's explanation. 'In Scotland they would have cleared it away in no time, but here they are not accustomed to deal with snow;' and, with upright bearing, and carrying a travelling rug which he refused to give up to a servant, he marched out of the station with a springy gait."—Central News Telegram from Cannes.]
Air—"Bonnie Dundee."
To our own G. O. M. 'twas the doctor who spoke;
"You'd better get out of our frost, fog, and smoke.
You are now eighty-five, though a wonder you be;
So follow the sun, bonnie W. G.!
Come flit from cold Hawarden, and fly off to Cannes,
The sunny South calls you, our own Grand Old Man!
Take the first train de luxe, and be off, fair and free,
To Rendel and roses, dear W. G.!"
The G. O. M.'s off to the southward—to meet
Not sunshine, but train-stopping snow-drift and sleet.
Yet he "pops up" at Cannes as alert as can be,
After five hours long snow-block, our W. G.
Then fill up the cup to our Crichton at Cannes.
Nestor wasn't a patch on our own Grand Old Man;
May he come back as bonnie as bonnie can be,
For we've not seen the last of our W. G.!