DRINKS ALL ROUND.

(Being an attempt to arrange Mr. Tennyson’s noble words for truly patriotic, Protectionist, and Anti-aboriginal circles.)

“A health to Jingo first, and then
A health to shell, a health to shot! 
The man who hates not other men
I deem no perfect patriot.” 
To all who hold all England mad
We drink; to all who’d tax her food! 
We pledge the man who hates the Rad,
We drink to Bartle Frere and Froude!

            Drinks all round! 
    Here’s to Jingo, king and crowned! 
      To the great cause of Jingo drink, my boys,
    And the great name of Jingo, round and round.

To all the companies that long
To rob, as folk robbed years ago;
To all that wield the double thong,
From Queensland round to Borneo! 
To all that, under Indian skies,
Call Aryan man a “blasted nigger;”
To all rapacious enterprise;
To rigour everywhere, and vigour!

            Drinks all round! 
    Here’s to Jingo, king and crowned! 
      To the great name of Jingo drink, my boys,
    And every filibuster, round and round!

To all our Statesmen, while they see
An outlet new for British trade,
Where British fabrics still may be
With British size all overweighed;
Wherever gin and guns are sold
We’ve scooped the artless nigger in;
Where men give ivory and gold,
We give them measles, tracts, and gin.

            Drinks all round! 
    Here’s to Jingo, king and crowned! 
      To the great name of Jingo drink, my boys. 
    And to Adulteration round and round.

The Jingo fever having abated, another malady appeared in the body politic.  Trouble broke out in Ireland, and in January 1881 Parliament was summoned to pass Mr. Forster’s Coercion Act.  My diary for that date supplies me with the following excellent imitation of a veteran Poet of Freedom rushing with ardent sympathy into the Irish struggle.

A L’IRLANDE.

PAR VICTOR HUGO.

    O Irlande, grand pays du shillelagh et du bog,
    Ou les patriots vont toujours ce qu’on appelle le whole hog. 
    Aujourd’hui je prends la plume, moi qui suis vieux,
    Pour dire au grand patriot Parnell, “How d’ye do?”
    Erin, aux armes! le whisky vous donne la force
    De se battre l’un pour l’autre comme les fameux Freres Corses. 
    Votre Land League et vos Home Rulers sont des liberateurs. 
    Payez la valuation de Griffith et n’ayez pas peur.

      De la tenure la fixite c’est l’astre de vos reves,
    Que Rory des Collines vit et que les landgrabbers crevent
    Moi, je suis vieux, mais dans l’ombre je vois clair,
    Bientot serez-vous maitres de vos bonnes pommes de terre. 
    C’est le brave Biggar, le T.P.  O’Connor et les autres
    Qui sont vos sauveurs, comme Gambetta etait le notre;
    Suivez-les, et la victoire sera toujours a vous,
    Si a Milbank ce cher Forster ne vous envoie pas.  Hooroo!