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REPORTED DECISION.—­Uganda is to be occupied till March next.  Then, order of the day, “March in, March out!”

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“SAFE BIND, SAFE FIND!”

P.C.  JOHN BULL LOQUITUR:—­

  Keep them?  Right my Gallic friend! 
    ’Tis my duty, sad but binding. 
  Free the Wolf—­to what good end? 
    Loose the Snake—­what vantage finding? 
  Faction flusters, Cant appeals
    In the name of sham-humanity. 
  Right, not wrath, my bosom steels;
    Softness here were sheer insanity.

  You’ve my warmest sympathy,
    Victim of the new Red Terror!
  My caged RAVACHOLS to free
    Were the maddest kind of error. 
  Prison walls and dungeon wards
    Love I not, I’m no born gaoler,
  But just Law which Freedom guards
    Must ignore anarchic railer.

  Blind offence of men half mad
    ’Neath the goad of brute oppression,
  Blunderings of fierce fools of fad,
    Demoniacal possession
  Of red rage at law unjust,
    I can check with calm compassion;
  But must firmly crush to dust
    Murder—­in the newest fashion.

  Dynamite as Freedom’s friend? 
    ’Tis the foul fiend’s latest juggle. 
  We must fight it to the end,
    Firm, unfaltering in this struggle. 
  Mere “Political Offence,”
    All this murder, mashing, maiming? 
  ’Tis a pitiful pretence,
    Honour-blinding, wisdom-shaming.

  Indiscriminate, ruthless raid! 
    Mad chance—­medly of disaster! 
  Sophistry, the fiend’s sworn aid,
    Never better served its master
  Than in calling such hell-birth
    A new gospel, holy, human,—­
  Blasting as with maniac mirth
    Blameless men, and guiltless women!

  No!  The Dynamiter’s creed—­
    Though hate swagger, though cant snivel—­
  Fires no “patriotic” deed;
    Base-born, all its ends are evil. 
  Let caged wolves and tigers free? 
    What more wicked, what absurder? 
  Amnesty to Anarchy
    Means encouragement to Murder?

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WHERE TO PLACE HIM.—­Why ought the future Poet-Laureate, whoever he may be, to occupy rooms over or close to the stables at Buckingham Palace?  Because he would then be inspired by the Royal Mews.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A TEST OF TRUE GENTILITY.

“WHAT’S THE NEW LODGER LIKE, MARIARANN?”

“HE’S NO GENTLEMAN, WHATEVER HE’S LIKE!”

“NO GENTLEMAN!  WHAT’S HE BEEN AND DONE?”

“WHY, HE SEE ME A-CARRYIN’ UP THE COALS, AN’ HE SAYS, ’I’M AFRAID THAT
SCUTTLE’S TOO HEAVY FOR YOU,’ ‘E SAYS,—­’PRAY LET ME CARRY IT!’ ’E
SAYS.  AN’ ’E UP AND CARRIES IT ISSELF, JUST LIKE A FOOTMAN!”]

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