"ROUGE GAGNE"?
Make your Game! Is't fortune, fame,
Power supreme, mere notoriety,
'Tis mere gambling all the same,—
Craving knowing not satiety.
Marquis or Gavroche, what matter?
Rabagas or Noble Red;
How the bullion's clink and clatter
Fires the eye and heats the head!
Mammon-Mephistopheles
At the sight in shadow grins;
And the player, at his ease,
With a dream his heart may please,
Red wins!
Will it win, or, winning, will
La République lose or gain?
Is the game chance versus skill,
Sly intrigue 'gainst heart and brain?
Sanguine as sanguineous,
The Mob-loving Marquis sits.
Exile, will finesse and fuss,
Clack of tongues, and clash of wits,
Play the patriotic game?
Fall the cards, the ball re-spins!
Blood a-fire and walls a-flame
Menace if—to Wisdom's blame—
Red wins!
The Long Frost.—Sportsmen are coming up to town in despair. Their hunters are"eating their heads off," and very soon there will be nothing left to tell the tail!
In the Lords.—Lord Battersea "the Flower of the Flock."