_can't_ go now, I can't _go_ now, I can't go _Now_!

I know not if 'tis far or near,
Some six months' hence, while we both live;
I know not who the blame shall bear,
Or who protest, or who forgive;
But when we part, some day, some day,
France, fairer grown, the truth may see,
And all those clouds be rolled away
That darken love 'twixt her and me.
Some day, some day,
Some day I must leave you!
Lawks! I know not when or how,
(Though the Powers kick up a row),
Only this, only this,
(Which I won't deceive you),
Only this--I can't go _now_, I shan't go _now_, I won't go _Now_!

* * * * *

IS SCIENCE PLAYED OUT?

["In a grain of butter you have 47,250,000 microbes. When you eat
a slice of bread-and-butter, you therefore must swallow as many
microbes as there are people in Europe."--"Science Notes" in
_Daily Chronicle_.]

Charlotte, eating bread-and-butter,
Read this Note with horror utter,
And (assisted by the cutter)
Went on eating bread-and-butter!
Man will say--with due apology
To alarmed Bacteriology--
Spite of menacing bacilli,
Man _must_ eat, friend, willy-nilly!
And where _shall_ he find due foison
If e'en bread-and-butter's poison?
Science told our amorous Misses
Death may be conveyed _in kisses_;
But it did not keep the nation
From promiscuous osculation.
Now it warneth the "Young Person"
(Whom GRANT ALLEN voids his curse on)
"Bread-and-butter Misses" even
In _their_ food may find death's leaven!
Never mind how this is made out!
Science--as a Bogey's--played out.
Spite all warnings it may utter,
Women _will_ have Bread-and-Butter!

* * * * *

OUT OF WORK.

(_After reading "Outcast London" by the Daily Chronicle's Special
Commissioner at the East End._)

Divines inform us that the Primal Curse
On poor humanity was Compulsory Work;
But Civilisation has devised a worse,
Which even Christian effort seems to shirk.
The Worker's woes love may assuage. Ah, yes!
But what shall help Compulsory Worklessness?
Not Faith--Hope--Charity even! All the Graces
Are helpless, without Wisdom in high places.
Though liberal alms relieve the kindly soul,
You can't cure destitution by a dole.
No, these are days when men must dare to try
What a Duke calls--ARGYLL the