THE INCORRIGIBLES.

"Guard! for I still concede to you the title,

Though well I know that it is not your due,

Being devoid of everything most vital

To the high charge which is imposed on you;

Listen awhile—and, Number Two, be dumb;

Forbear to scratch the irritable tress;

No longer masticate the furtive gum;

And, Private Pitt, stop nibbling at your thumb,

And for a change attend to my address.

"Day after day I urge the old, old thesis—

To reverence well the man of martial note,

Nor treat as mere sartorial caprices

The mystic marks he carries on his coat,

And how to know what everybody is,

The swords, the crowns, the purple-stainéd cards,

The Brigadiers concealed in Burberries,

And render all those pomps and dignities

Which are, of course, the raison d'être of guards.

"With what avail? for never a guard is mounted

That does not do some wild abhorrent thing,

Only in hushed low tones to be recounted,

Lest haply hints of it should reach the KING—

Dark ugly tales of sentinels who drank,

Or lost their prisoners while imbibing tea,

Or took great pains to make their minds a blank

Whene'er approached by gentlemen of rank,

And, when reproved, presented arms to me!

"There is no potentate in France or Flanders

You will not heap with insult if you can.

For lo! a car. It is the Corps Commander's;

The sentries take no notice of the man,

Or fix him with a not unkindly stare,

And slap their butts in an engaging way,

Or else, too late, in penitent despair

Cry, 'Guard, turn out!' and there is no guard there,

But they are in The Blue Estaminet.

"Weary I am of worrying and warning;

For all my toil I get it in the neck;

I am fed up with it; and from this morning

I shall not seek to keep your crimes in check;

Sin as you will—I shall but acquiesce;

Sleep on, O sentinels—I shall not curse;

And so, maybe, from sheer contrariness

Some day a guard may be a slight success;

At any rate you cannot well do worse."