Our Dragon here is a bigger beast
    Than LAMBTON slew, or MORE did;
  On poor men’s bodies he doth feast,
    And ill-got gold long hoarded. 
  He hath iron claws, and from his jaws
    Foul fumings are emitted. 
  The folks, his prey, who cross his way,
    Are sorely to be pitied.

  Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
    Held seventy men inside him?
  This Dragon’s bigger, and of such force
    That none may rein or ride him. 
  Men hour by hour he doth devour,
    And would they with him grapple,
  At one big sup he’ll gobble them up,
    As schoolboys munch an apple.

  All sorts of prey this Dragon doth eat;
    But his favourite food’s poor people,
  But he ’d swallow a city, street by street,
    From cottage to church steeple. 
  Like the Worm of Wear, this Dragon drear,
    Hath grown, and grown, and grown, Sir,
  And many a lair of dim despair
    The Worm hath made its own, Sir.

  In Bethnal Green our Laidly Worm
    Hath made a loathly den,
  And there hath fed for a weary term
    On the bodies and souls of men. 
  There doth it writhe, and ramp, and slower,
    Whilst in its coils close prest
  Are the things it thrives on—­“Landlord Power,”
    And “Vested Interest.”

  Now, who shall tackle this Dragon bold? 
    Lo! a champion appears. 
  He seems but small, and he looks not old—­
    A youth of scarce three years. 
  But “he hath put on his coat of mail,
    Thick set with razors all,”
  And a blade as big as a thresher’s nail,
    On that Dragon’s crest to fall.

  And like young LAMBTON, or young MORE,
    He to the fight advances. 
  Yet looks to that Slum Dragon o’er,
    With caution in his glances. 
  If he make shift that sword to lift,
    And smite that Dragon dead,
  No hero young song yet hath sung
    A fouler pest hath sped.

  Now guard ye, guard ye, young County C.! 
    That two-edged blade is big, Sir! 
  That Dragon’s so spiky, he well might be
    “Some Egyptian porcupig,” Sir,
  (As the singer of Wantley’s Dragon says,
    In his quaint and curious story.)
  If this Dragon he slays, he shall win men’s praise,
    And legendary glory.

  When London’s streets are haunts of health
    (Ah! happy if distant, when)
  And the death-rate ruleth low, and Wealth
    Feeds not on the filthy den;
  The men to this champion’s memory
    Shall lift the brimming flagon,
  And drink with glee to young County C,
    Who slew the Grim Slum Dragon!

* * * * *

A “DARK CONTINENT” HINT.—­Mr. STANLEY, it is said, now wishes he had gone on his exploration journey quite alone, without any travelling TROUP.  It is a curious fact, but worth mentioning here, that, up to now, the only mention of difficulties with a “Travelling Troupe” is to be found in a little shilling book recently published by Messrs. TRISCHLER & CO., at present nearing its fifty thousandth copy, entitled, A New Light thrown across the Darkest Africa.  Whether H.M.  STANLEY will appeal to this as evidence remains to be seen.  We must have the whole truth out about STANLEY’S Rear Column before we rear a column to STANLEY.