That charter, noblest instrument on earth, That grand old charter, gift of royalty―― Poor charter, what will all thy words be worth, And what avail thine ancient liberty, When in a lapsed state? We――we――who strove to hold our powers complete, If we have only fought and toiled in vain, When all men kick, the region of our seat Will suffer mortal pain―― Too hard――too hard a fate! THOMAS H. KNIGHT, JUN. ―――――――― TO THE JINGO.――(ON HIS REPORTED REAPPEARANCE.) YOU――you――since you have failed to understand The Brag of England serves no turn at all―― Will never rise to curse again this land, And never have the fall Five years ago your fate. This creed, the maddest vainest creed on earth, That one small isle should lord o’er all lands be―― Poor jingo! what would this small isle be worth, Where its great wealth, its ancient name of “Free,” Wert thou to rule our state? You――you――when you’d the ordering of the Fleet, Did you not strive to compass our disgrace? Do you forget ’twas once the “wild mob’s” feat To kick you from your place? You’ll mend――too late, too late! GEORGE MALLINSON. ―――――――― Few――few――so few can really understand Why all this fighting to our share should fall―― Or why Old England should protect a land That is not hers at all, Although she is so great―― This isle, the mightiest meddling power on earth, The would-be lord of every land and sea―― Poor England, what is all the honour worth, To crush a people struggling to be free, And help a rotten state? Few――few――there are who would not wish to fight If Russia should encompass our disgrace, And make for India――why, then with right We’d kick her from the place―― But now――we’ll wait, we’ll wait. EDWARD SCOTT. ―――――――― GLADSTONE’S REBUKE. You――you――if you have failed to understand The peace of nations is our all in all―― On you will come the blame of all the land If those strong efforts fall That we have used of late. This isle, once fairest spot in all the earth, This one small isle that boasts the name of “Free”―― Poor England! what will that fair name be worth, And what will be thy “prestige” presently, At war with every State? You――you――who grovel still at Jingo’s feet, If you shall plunge us in this dark disgrace While thousands, starving, walk about the street, They’ll hiss you to your face; But all――too late, too late! JESSE H. WHEELER. [Illustration]