Divines inform us that the Primal Curse On poor humanity was Compulsory Work; But Civilisation has devised a worse, Which even Christian effort seems to shirk. The Worker's woes love may assuage. Ah, yes! But what shall help Compulsory Worklessness? Not Faith--Hope--Charity even! All the Graces Are helpless, without Wisdom in high places. Though liberal alms relieve the kindly soul, You can't cure destitution by a dole. No, these are days when men must dare to try What a Duke calls--ARGYLL the high-and-dry-- "The Unseen Foundations of Society"; And not, like wealthy big-wigs, be content With smart attacks on "Theories of Rent." Most theories of rent we know, the fact is What we have doubts about, Duke, is--the practice! When Rent in Power's hands becomes a rack To torture Toil, bold wisdom will hark back To the beginnings and the bases; ask _What_ hides beneath that Economic mask Which smiles unmoved by Sorrow's strain and stress On half-starved Work and whole-starved Worklessness! * * * * * THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S. A STORY IN SCENES. SCENE IV.--Mrs. TIDMARSH'S _Drawing-room_; MR. TIDMARSH _has just shaken hands with the latest arrival, and is still in the utmost perplexity as to the best manner to adopt towards him. The other Guests are conversing, with increased animation, at the further end of the room._ _Lord Strathsporran_ (_to_ Mr. TIDMARSH). Afraid I'm most abominably late--had some difficulty in getting here--such a fog, don't you know! It's really uncommonly good of you to let me come and see your antiquities like this. If I am not mistaken, you have got together a collection of sepulchral objects worth coming any distance to study. [_He glances round the room, in evident astonishment._ _Mr. Tid._ (_to himself_). Nice names to give my dinner-party! Impudent young dog, this--Lord or no Lord! (_Aloud, with dignity._) I--ha--hum--don't think that's quite the way to speak of them, Sir--my Lord, I suppose I _ought_ to say! _Lord Strath._ Oh, I expect a most interesting evening, I assure you. _Mr. Tid._ Well, I--I daresay you'll have no cause to complain, so far as _that_ goes, Lord--er--STRATH--you'll excuse me, but I haven't _quite_ got accustomed to that title of yours. _Lord Strath._ (_smiling_). Not surprised at that--feel much the same myself. _Mr. Tid._ Ha--well, to tell you the honest truth, I should have been just as pleased if you had come here _without_ any handle of that sort to your name. _Lord Strath._ Quite unnecessary to tell me so--and, you see, I couldn't very well help myself. _Mr. Tid._ (_to himself_). BLANKLEY sends 'em _all_ out with titles--then his _is_ bogus! (_Aloud._) Oh, I don't blame _you_, if it's the rule; only--(_irritably_)--well, it makes me feel so devilish _awkward_, you know!