THE IMPERIAL INFANTICIDE.
It was a mighty Emperor
Of ancient pedigree
Who said, "The future of our race
Lies on the rolling sea!"
And straightway laboured to fulfil
His royal guarantee.
And when the Day had dawned, for which
He long had toiled and planned,
Unto his Grand High Admiral
He issued his command:
"Go forth, and smite the enemy
Upon his native strand."
Sailing by night and veiled in mist,
His swiftest ships of war
Rained death on two defenceless towns
For half an hour or more,
Till they had slain and wounded babes
And women by the score.
The Fatherland was filled with joy
By this heroic deed;
It gloated o'er the slaughtered babes
Of Albion's hated breed;
And Iron Crosses fell in showers
On those who'd made them bleed.
But honest neutrals everywhere
Were sickened and dismayed;
The Turk, not squeamish as a rule,
No special glee betrayed;
And even Mr. Bernard Shaw
Failed to defend the raid!
Then more in sorrow than in wrath
The Emperor made moan:
"Though martyred and misunderstood
I tread my way alone,
At least I have the sympathy
Of God on His high throne."
Then from the pillar and the cloud
Came accents clear and plain:
"The Massacre of Innocents
Passes the guilt of Cain;
And those who sin with Herod earn
His everlasting stain."
Two announcements at Hereford:—
"Cathedral Service, Sunday, Dec. 13th.
Preacher: Rev. H. M. Spooner.
Baptist Chapel.
Lecture: 'Slips of Speech and Trips in Type.'"
"Yes," said the President of New College on his way to the Cathedral, "I know something about slips of speech, but what are tips in tripe?"
