_WOLF! Wolf!_ The cry that wakes The slumbering shepherds, shakes The faint-hearts of the fold with shuddering fear. The flock's ferocious foe Compassion doth not know, His breathing's heard, his furtive foot-fall's near. It is no season for slack guard, But watchful care and unrelaxing ward. This is the Man-Wolf, theme Of ancient classic dream, And mediæval myth, at last made fact. Worse than the lupine pest Upon whose hoary crest Old monarchs laid a price! 'Gainst him a pact Of all the peoples must be made; Rapine's his life, red ruin his dread trade. The old grey wolf who prowled Around the fold, and howled Impotent rage to the black wintry skies, Was no such foe as this, Our Were-Wolf, whom the abyss Of yawning chaos looses, whose red eyes, Half human and half bestial, glare Malignant menace from his secret lair. Such subter-human guise, Such fiercely fiendlike eyes, Arcadian Lycaon. Jove-changed, bore When mortal hate took on, At the Olympian frown, Its fitting shape. The lessons of old lore, Magic-divested, myth-stripped, still Commend themselves to human wit and will. Humanity must urge Against this lupine scourge Civilisation's forces banded close. The watch-dogs, as of old, Must guard the human fold Against this last and worst of order's foes; And the world's sleuthhounds led by Law Must hunt this Were-Wolf of the insatiate maw. Hunt him from every lair, Till, outlaw everywhere, This friend of carnage and sheer chaos finds A foe at every turn. A foot to crush or spurn, The warning cry of "Wolf!" on all the winds, And wheresoe'r the ravener stray Civilisation's light must search--and slay! * * * * * "TRÈS BANG!"--To T-M SM-TH, of the Wholesale Crackery Warehouse, with _Mr. Punch's_ compliments. Certainly, at Christmas-time. T. S.'s crackers "get the pull!" At least, so says his Lordship the pop-ular Bishop of GO-BANGOR. * * * * * Dr. R-bs-n R-se (_In the "Fortnightly" this month_). To be in perfect health live well and wisely: This just sums up my article concisely. * * * * * QUITE ON THE CARDS.--In last Saturday's _Daily Graphic_ there was an interesting picture on a pretty subject, to which was subscribed the legend: "The New Governor of the Isle of Man being Sworn in at Castle Rushen." Suppose by some printer's-devil's error the "at" had been placed before the "in"! "O what a difference in the morning," when it would have read: "being Sworn at in Castle Rushen." * * * * * DUCAL DOINGS. "Lord A. B. C. will return to town to-morrow."--[_Any "Fashionable Intelligence" column._]