e door of the stable;
And that never again no more should their cricket-fields, football
grounds, croquet lawns, bunkers,
Be profaned by the feet of Cossacks, Chasseurs, Bashi-Bazouks, or
Junkers;
And I don't think they talked very big about Nations in Arms, or
inscribed on their banners any particularly inspiring motto,
But they learnt to shoot and to drill, not more or less but quite
well--in spite of the dangers of Militarism--for the plain and simple
reason that they'd got to!

THE INCUBUS

Essence of boredom! stupefying Theme!
Whereon with eloquence less deep than full,
Still maundering on in slow continuous stream,
All can expatiate, and all be dull:
Bane of the mind and topic of debate
That drugs the reader to a restless doze,
Thou that with soul-annihilating weight
Crushest the Bard, and hypnotisest those
Who plod the placid path of plain pedestrian Prose:

Lo! when each morn I carefully peruse
(Seeking some subject for my painful pen)
The _Times_, the _Standard_, and the _Daily News_,
No other topic floats into my ken
Save this alone: or Dr. Clifford slates
Dogmas in general: or the dreadful ban
Of furious Bishops excommunicates
Such simple creeds as Birrell, hopeful man!
Thinks may perhaps appease th' unwilling Anglican.

Lo! at Society's convivial board
(Whereat I do occasionally sit,
In hope to bear within my memory stored
Some echo thence of someone else's wit),
Or e'er the soup hath yielded to the fish,
A heavy dulness doth the banquet freeze:
Lucullus' self would shun th' untasted dish
When lovely woman whispers, "Tell me, please,
What _are_ Denominational Facilities?"

From scenes like these my Muse would fain withdraw:
To Taff's still Valley be my footsteps led,
Where happy Unions 'neath the shield of Law
Heave bricks bisected at the Blackleg's head:
In those calm shades my desultory oat
Of Taxed Land Values shall contented trill,
Of Man ennobled by a Single Vote,--
In short, I'll sing of anything you will,
Except of thee alone, O Education Bill!

THE WORKING MAN
(After seeing his Picture in the Press)

Working Man! whose psychic beauty
(Unattainable by me)
Still it is my pleasing duty
Painted by your friends to see,--
You, whose virtues ne'er can bore us,
D