at your dilemma dared to scoff.

SIR WINDBAG:
But Riggs! he hath in beaten trail proclaimed
What the old regimen hath always mouthed.
While I the "Era New" did bold announce,
And now my head is crowned with pricking thorns.

COUNT LUIE, (_reflectively_):
Thine adversaries, though at vantage now,
Should be subdued by strategy and guile.
I from sore strait triumphant did emerge
Through trenchant pen of a compatriot.
This noble scion of Democracy
Did wield a telling blow in my behalf
And thrust the adversary 'neath the rib,
Laying him low in controversial dust.

SIR WINDBAG, (_eagerly_):
His name? his name? that I may quick engage
This champion to bolster up my cause.

COUNT LUIE, (_whispers mysteriously_):
He is but small in stature, but, ye goods,
His valor fits his name, which is, La Mutt.

[Illustration]

AN IMAGINARY OFFICIAL CONSULTATION

Dramatis Personae

_Francos:_ . . . . . _High Cockalorum._
_Sir Higgs:_ . . . . _First High Councillor._
_Sir Henmart:_ . . . _Second Councillor._
_Sir Windbag:_ . . . _Third Councillor._

_Scene: Official Residence._

FRANCOS:
I greet thee, gentlemen, to conclave sweet.
Wisdom hath whispered in mine willing ear
That we uncumbered by the darker tint
Of those who meet us at official board
Could better sound the depths of special woes
Which daily do beset us as we toil
With earnest hearts to boost the public weal
By filling vacant posts with Democrats!

SIR WINDBAG:
But, Francos, list; a more disturbing mob,
Whose crop is filled with discord and contempt,
On which they daily feed, I ne'er have sized.
'Twere well to laws enact to hold in curb
These brainless cubs who wield a pricking quill
And words indite with vitriol for an ink,
Which burns the meaning into quiv'ring brain
And leaveth scars which time can ne'er efface.
A son of Erin in official place
Did eulogize my effort at the club;
And I, elated, loaned it to the press
For publication if the writer willed;
But scruples seemed to fill his vacuous mind,