Tug of War! It _is_ a Tug, and not, alas! mere friendly war, As when rival muscles tussle, Highland lad or British tar, 'Tis a furious fight _à outrance_, knitted, knotted each to each, Heels firm-planted, hands tense-clenching, till the knobby knuckles bleach. Federated Masters straggle, Federated Toilers strain, Each intent on selfish interest, each on individual gain, And a chasm yawns between them, and a gulf is close behind! What is the most likely issue of such conflict fierce and blind? Unionism 'gainst Free Labour, Capital against mere Toil! Is it better than two tigers fighting for some desert spoil? "Federate" the Libyan lions as against the elephant herds, Will the battle be less savage? Let us not be fooled by words! Say the tense-strained rope-strands sunder, say that either band prevail! Shall not "conquer" in the issue prove a Synonym for "fail"? "Banded Unions persecute," and Federated Money Bags Will not prove a jot or tittle juster. Fools! Haul down those flags! Competition is not conflict. So the Grand Old Casuist says, Speaking with the sager caution of his earlier calmer days. True! Athletic rivals straining at the tense tough-stranded rope, Strain in friendly competition, ruin not their aim or hope; But a lethal Tug of War 'twixt "federated" foemen blind. With a chasm at their feet, and each a yawning gulf behind, On a precipice precarious! Truly, too, a foolish fight! Rival Federated Wrongs will never further Common Right! * * * * * "GIVE IT TO THE BARD!"