To The Daily Mail

(Aug. 3, 1901)         My dear "Daily Mail," -         To-day you attain         Your 1,650th number,         Which, for the sake of talking,         We will call your Jubilee.         Congratulations,         My dear Daily Mail,         Congratulations!         There are people in the world         Who,         In the time of your infancy,         Gave you the usual three months.         Most new papers         Get three months on the day of their birth.         For at the sight of a new sheet,         Your wise man invariably taps his nose,         Looks even wiser than is his wont,         And says,         "My dear Sir,         I give it         Three months."         Well,         My dear Daily Mail,         You have survived the sentence of the wise,         And I am given to understand         That you have long been a tremendous property.         Once again         Congratulations!         BUT         (These buts are fearful things,         Are they not?) -         But         (Pray excuse me if I appear to say "but" again) -         But -         Well, you know what I mean, don't you?         Let me put it this way.         When I come to town of a morning,         Per 'bus or Potromelitan Railway,         As the case may be,         What do I see?         Not to put too fine a point upon it,         I see a row of silk or straw hats         (According to the state of the weather),         And I see a row         Of choice trouserings,         And between the hats and the trouserings         There is spread         A row of rustling morning papers.         I can tell you the names of those papers         With my eyes shut:         Five out of six of them is called         The Daily Mail.         This upsets me.         It is all right for you, of course,         But it distresses me,         And I do not like being distressed.         Now, why does it distress me?         Shall I tell you?         Are you sure that you could bear the blow?         Can you pull yourself together for a moment?         Very well, then,         You distress me         Because         The price of you is one halfpenny.         I am of opinion         That in the present condition of the general purse,         Things which are sold for a halfpenny         Are really too cheap.         I will give you my reasons some other day.         Meanwhile         (To take your own case)         When I look into your pages,         Which is seldom,         What do I find?         I will be frank for the second time,         And tell you:         I find,         My dear Daily Mail,         Ha'pennyness         Writ in every line of you,         From the front page, "Personal Column,"         With its "Massa, me nebber leab you         While you keep So-and-So's toffee about,"         To the last line         Of your astonishing Magazine page,         You are         Ha'pennyness,         Ha'pennyness,         Ha'pennyness,         Ha'pennyness,         Ha'pennyness,         Ha'pennyness         All the time.         Of course there is no harm in that,         Especially         As you get the ha'pennies,         And far be it from me         To contemn you for it.         On the other hand,         As I have remarked previously,         I do not like it.         I have no advice to offer you,         Inasmuch         As I do not see how you can help yourself.         But I shall ask you kindly to note         That the congratulations         Expressed at the beginning of this poem         Bear reference to your attainment of your 1,650th number         And not         To another matter,         Which,         While you certainly have the right upon your side,         You appear to me to be conducting         IN         AN         UNMITIGATED         HA'PENNY         WAY.