“We sweep a bit and we fight a bit—­an’ that’s what we like the best—­
  But a towin’ job or a salvage job, they all go in with the rest;
  When we ain’t too busy upsettin’ old Fritz an’ ’is frightfulness blockade
  A bit of all sorts don’t come amiss in the North Atlantic trade.”

  “And who’s your skipper, and what is he like?” “Oh, well, if you want to
                know,
  I’m sailing under a hard-case mate as I sailed with years ago;
  ‘E’s big as a bucko an’ full o’ beans, the same as ’e used to be
  When I knowed ’im last in the windbag days when first I followed the sea. 
  ‘E was worth two men at the lee fore brace, an’ three at the bunt of a
                sail;
  ’E’d a voice you could ’ear to the royal yards in the teeth of a Cape
                ’Orn gale;
  But now ‘e’s a full-blown lootenant, an’ wears the twisted braid,
  Commandin’ one of ’is Majesty’s ships in the North Atlantic trade.”

  “And what is the ship you’re sailin’ in?” “Oh, she’s a bit of a terror. 
  She ain’t no bloomin’ levvyathan, an’ that’s no fatal error! 
  She scoops the seas like a gravy spoon when the gales are up an’ blowin’,
  But Fritz ’e loves ’er above a bit when ‘er fightin’ fangs are showin’. 
  The liners go their stately way an’ the cruisers take their ease,
  But where would they be if it wasn’t for us with the water up to our
                knees? 
  We’re wadin’ when their soles are wet, we’re swimmin’ when they wade,
  For I tell you small craft gets it a treat in the North Atlantic trade!”

  “An’ what is the port you’re plying to?” “When the last long trick is
                done
  There’ll some come back to the old ’ome port—­’ere’s ‘opin’ I’ll be one;
  But some ‘ave made a new landfall, an’ sighted another shore,
  An’ it ain’t no use to watch for them, for they won’t come ’ome no more. 
  There ain’t no harbour dues to pay when once they’re over the bar,
  Moored bow and stern in a quiet berth where the lost three-deckers are. 
  An’ there’s Nelson ‘oldin’ is’ one ‘and out an’ welcomin’ them that’s
                made
  The roads o’ Glory an’ the Port of Death in the North Atlantic trade.”

[Illustration: 

DOCTOR:  “Your throat is in a very bad state.  Have you ever tried gargling with salt water?”

SKIPPER:  “Yus, I’ve been torpedoed six times.”]

Parliament has devoted many hours of talk to the discussion of Mr. Henderson’s visit to Paris in company with Mr. Ramsay MacDonald to attend a Conference of French and Russian Socialists.  As member of the War Cabinet and Secretary of the Labour Party he seems to have resembled one of those twin salad bottles from which oil and vinegar can be dispensed alternately but not together.  The attempt to combine the two functions could only end as it began—­in a double fiasco.  Mr. Henderson has resigned, and