Freedom’s keystone is Law, yes; that there’s no doubt on,
    It’s sutthin that’s—­wha’ d’ye call it?—­divine,—­
  The brutes who break it hain’t nutthin’ to boast on
    On your side or mine o’ the seethin’ brine. 
  Uncle Sam is free, and he sez, sez he:—­
      “If assassins gang ’em
      I’m game to hang ’em,
  An’ so git rid on ’em soon,” sez he.

  ’Tis well for sleek cits for to lounge on their soffies,
    And chat about “Law and Order,” an’ sich. 
  A formula pleasant for them in office,
    Home-stayin’ idlers, well-guarded rich. 
  Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—­
      “Whar life’s a fight,
      Law, based on right,
  May need the ‘strong arm’ of a Man,” sez he.

  Now don’t go to say I’m the friend of force;
    Best keep all your spare breath for coolin’ your broth;
  And when just Law has a fair clar course,
    All talk of “wild justice” is frenzy and froth. 
  Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—­
      “If he gits within hail
      Of the Glan-na-Gael,
  Or the Mafia either, he shoots,” sez he.

  This ain’t no matter for sauce or swagger—­
    Too summary judgment both scout, I hope;
  Though ef it’s a chice betwixt rope and dagger,
    I can’t help sayin’ I prefer the rope. 
  Uncle SAM is free, and he sez, sez he:—­
      “At a pinch I’ll not flinch
      From a touch of Lynch,—­
  That is—­at a very hard pinch!” sez he.

  But Lynch Law, UMBERTO, or Secret Society,
    Both are bad, though the latter’s wust;
  We’ll soon get shut of either variety,
    You and me, UMBERTO, or so I trust. 
  Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—­
      “Assassination
      Won’t build a nation,
  Nor yet the unlegalised rope,” sez he.

  Withdraw your Ambassador!  Wal, that air summary! 
    Italian irons so soon git hot! 
  Ironclads?  Sure that’s mere militant flummery. 
    Don’t want to rile, but I’ll tell you what: 
  Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—­
      “Let FAVA stay,
      Take the Mafia away,
  And we’ll call it aright square deal!” sez he.

* * * * *

PRESENTED AT COURT.—­Acting upon the suggestions made in these columns a week ago, the Author of The Volcano, and the company of the Court Theatre have effected the most valuable alterations in the play of the evening.  The Second Act now concludes with the interrupted singing of The Wolf, which brings down the Curtain with a roar of laughter, and the Third Act is also generally improved.  Mrs. JOHN WOOD is seen at her best as the interviewing lady-journalist, which is condensing in a sentence a volume of praise.  Mr. ARTHUR CECIL, as the Duke, is equally admirable; and Mr. WEEDON GROSSMITH, although scarcely in his element as a Member of Parliament of noble birth, is distinctly amusing.  Altogether, The Volcano causes explosions of merriment in all parts of the house, and has entirely escaped the once-impending danger of fizzling out like a damp squib.