The gun, the golf-club, and the rod avail not
In his tired heart to make full holiday;
E'en amidst pastime he must watch, and fail not,
Approaching ills, the shadows on the way.
Shadowed! And not by common gloom, poor Minister!
The passing shades that chequer every course.
This spectral presence is as stern and sinister
As _atra cura_ on the rider's horse.
Before, the vision of the helpless peasant!
Behind, the famine phantom black and grim!
How should the holiday-hour, to all so pleasant,
Bring gladness true or genuine rest to him?
Wake! There is need for provident prevision,
For watchful eye, and for most wary hand.
In mellow Autumn's interlude Elysian
The old grim Shadow strikes across the land.
May Heaven arrest its course, avert its terror,
And keep the Statesman who this foe must fight
From careless blindness and from blundering error,
Such as of old lent aid to the Black Blight.
* * * * *
"JACK SHEPPARD REVERSED."
This is the title of an amusing article in last week's _Saturday
Review_. It is not the story of JACK SHEPPARD once more done into
rhyme. The title so happily selected is thoroughly justified by the
doings of an eccentric and original burglar, who, broke _into_ a
prison! This certainly was JACK SHEPPARD reversed with a vengeance!
The hero of the escapade is said to be a tinted native of
Barbadoes--his portrait should be published as a companion to the
"penny plain" of his prototype as "twopence coloured.
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