Benevolence the crupper mounts,
    His arms, like Sancho’s, from behind fold;
  But it would seem, from all accounts,
    He, like Don Quixote’s Squire, rides blindfold;
  It may be to most glorious ends,
    It may be to disastrous spillings. 
  Sense fain would know before it spends
          Its hard-earned shillings.

  If all were genuine that is Big,
    If all were sound that’s well intended,
  Quixote’s wild jaunt and Sancho’s jig
    Would very differently have ended. 
  Zeal boldly mounts the Magic Horse,
    Charity on behind holds tightly,
  Who will not wish them skill and force
          To guide it rightly?

  But Human Life’s a complex maze,
    And Nature’s laws are most despotic. 
  Vice is not killed by kindly craze. 
    Nor suffering quelled by zeal Quixotic. 
  Big questions the Big Scheme beset. 
    Bid Pity think, and do not ask it
  Too blindly all its eggs to get
          In one huge basket.

  Philanthropy, which facts will school,
    Is not a theme for mocking merriment. 
  As MORLEY says, he is the fool
    Who never ventures bold experiment. 
  Against the ills our State that shake,
    The spectre Vice, Want the pale ogress,
  Punch hopes the Magic Horse may make
          Practical progress.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS, MARK, BUT I CAN’T HIT A BIRD TO-DAY!”

“LET’S SEE YOUR GUN, SIR.  AH!—­WELL, I’D TRY WHAT YOU COULD DO WITH SOME CARTRIDGES IN IT, IF I WAS YOU, SIR!”]

* * * * *

RIGHT-DOING ON THE RIALTO;

OR, THE MODERN SHYLOCK.

(A SHORT SHAKESPEARIAN SEQUEL.)

    Enter the MODERN SHYLOCK and BARINGO BROTHERS.

Shylock.  Five Millions sterling for three months?  And this
  You say, they will advance, if you can show
  Sufficient guarantee?

Baringo.  Indeed ’tis so.

Shy. Well, well!  But how comes it about that you
  Whose honoured name has so long held the sway
  Of all safe dealing, that men only asked,
  “If a BARINGO backed it,” to take up
  Unquestioning the newest stock,—­should thus
  With sudden flash flare up and set in blaze
  The whole commercial world?

Bar. Oh! press me not,
  Nor question me too closely! “Argentines!”
  That fatal word sums up the evil spell
  That in these latter luckless days has fallen
  Upon our swaying House.

Shy. I see your case! 
  A cry for gold finds you all unprepared,
  Your capital locked up beyond the seas. 
  You cannot realise.

Bar. Alas! too true! 
  That is the situation!