Poor Mr. MacNeill! Well may he say, "Save me from my friends!" The Press put on their comic men to make copy at his expense. If I were to publish it all, it would make a volume as large as this. By permission I publish the following lay from the _St. James' Budget_ (September, 1893): "THE LAY OF SWIFT MACNEILL. (_Picked up in the Lobby._) "Have ye heard, have ye heard, of the late immortal fray, When the lion back of Swift MacNeill got up and stood at bay, When the lion voice of Tanner cried, 'To Judas wid yer chaff!' An' the Saxon knees were shaking, though they made believe to laugh. "'Twas widin the Commons' Lobby, in the corner by the dure, There was Misther Harry Furniss a-standing on the flure, When up to him came stalking, like O'Tarquin in his pride, The bowldest of the bowld, MacNeill, wid the Docther by his side. "Then the valiant Swift MacNeill from his pocket he took out A picther very like him, an' he brandished it about, An' he held it up to Furniss for his Saxon eyes to see, An' he asked of him, 'Ye spalpeen, is this porthrait meant for me?' "''Tis your likeness, as I see it,' was the answer that he got, An' the wrath of Misther Swift MacNeill then wax'd exceeding hot, An' he cast the picther from him, an' he trod it on the ground, An' he took an' danced an Irish jig the artist's form around. "'Ye spalpeen,' thus again he spoke, 'ye most obnoxious fellow! Ye see that I'm a lion, yet ye've made me a gorilla; If your Saxon eyes are blinded to the truth of what I say, Go and borrow for a moment the glasses of Tay Pay. "'They will show ye that our seventy are Apollos one and all, That we're most divinely lovely an' seraphically tall; They will show ye we're all angels--though for divils I'll allow, 'Tis the black ones ye'll be seeing where the lost to Redmond bow.' "Then Misther Swift MacNeill, just to lave his meaning clear, Wid flowers of Irish eloquence filled Mr. Furniss' ear; An' he also shook wid passion, an', moreover, shook his fist, An' the Docther an' his blackthorn stood all ready to assist. "Misther Furniss smiled serenely, an' the only word he spoke Was to say it seemed that Misther Swift was slow to see a joke, But for all his jokes an' blarney, things were looking like a fight, When a minion of the Spayker was seen to be in sight. "Then Apollo Swift MacNeill from his dignity got down, An' he withered Misther Furniss wid a godlike parting frown, An' he stalked along the Lobby wid his grand O'Tarquin stride, An' the other Mimbers followed him, an' went the House inside. "An' there they still are threading on the necks of Saxon slaves, An' nightly wid their eloquence they're digging Saxon graves; An' my counsel to the artist who their fatures would porthray, Is to thry and see their beauty through the glasses of Tay Pay."