So Mars, and so All friends of Labour. Raise no stubborn "No!" At Arbitration's offering, seeing that there Lies fairest hope of an adjustment fair 'Twixt clashing claims, which if they "fight it out" In war's wild way may put to utter rout Humanity's fairest hopes. Oh, time enough When Arbitration fails to essay the rough And ruddy road of Mars. Stay, Vulcan stay! Or blameless hosts long-menaced by your fray May have a stern effective word to say! And you, as once of old, though stout and tall, Kicked out of heaven may have a maiming fall! * * * * * SURGEON-MAJOR PARKE. (_Doctor to Stanley's Emin Pasha Relief Expedition. Died September 10, aged 35._) "Rarest doctor in the world!" Tribute rare from sturdy STANLEY! Skilful, tender, modest, manly! England's flag may well be furled Over the young hero's bier, Whose memory is to England dear. Africa has cost us much. Fortune send us many such! * * * * * Mrs. R. says she understands that disaffecting (disinfecting) fluid * * * * * [Illustration: A LESSON FOR "LABOUR." MARS. "LOOK HERE, BROTHER VULCAN!--WHEN EVEN _I_ HAVE KNOCKED UNDER TO 'ARBITRATION,' SURELY _YOU_ MIGHT TRY IT?"] * * * * * TO DOCTOR FALBE. You're not in-_fal'be'_-le, Doctor dear-- Excuse the painful pun, Though you merit treatment e'en more severe For all the ill you've done. You held a nasty cloud of doubt Above our sunlit sky, And now at length we've found you out, Our summer is near gone by. Yes, a summer indeed we've had this year, In spite of your doleful croak, Though perhaps your early prediction drear Was simply a practical joke-- A wearisome joke that wouldn't die, For every man one met Would remind one of FALBE and his prophecy-- "We're soon to have lots of wet." But what of the tradesmen who laid in store Of "brollies" and mackintosh On the strength of your hint as to rain galore And unlimited Autumn slosh? Oh, FALBE, if _they_ but got hold of you, What a tune they _would_ perform! There's one prediction we'd warrant true-- You'd find it extremely warm! * * * * * [Illustration: "WELL, REALLY, MY DEAR!" _Mrs. R._ "CHRISTOPHER DARLING, I NEVER _CAN_ REMEMBER WHETHER 'SODA-WATER' IS WRITTEN AS ONE WORD OR TWO JOINED TOGETHER BY A SYPHON?!"] * * * * * THE THREE TARTARS. (_By One of the "Thirty-six Tyrants" of the Liberal Party._)