ely whispering low--
'_Say_ that it's like 'em--it _may_ be--nobody ever need know.

'Rud.,--would he drive us to Barracks--make of us militant hordes--
Broke to the spit of the pom-pom--trained to the flashing of swords?--
Pooh! It is _these_ that he goes for--Sport is the bubble he pricks--
Doubt not but _we_ are The People--Bricks of an Empire of Bricks!'

What of that maker of verses? Did he not answer the call:
'Loafers and talkers and writers, children or knaves are ye all;
Look at the lines ere ye quote them: read, ere ye cackle as geese!'?
Nay. But he passed from The People--left them to stew in their grease.

* * * * *

But a hyphen-ish growl makes answer: 'Ye that would take from the whole
The one line robbed of the context, nor win to the straight-set Goal,
Is it thus ye will fend the warning--thus ye will move the shame
From the Mob that watch by the thousand, to the dozens that play the
game?
Still will ye pay at the turnstile--thronging the rope-ringed Match,
Where the half-back fumbles the leather, or the deep-field butters
the catch?
Will ye thank your gods (being 'umble) that the fool and the oaf are
found
In the field, at the goal or the wicket, and _not_ in the seats around?
_Not_ in the Saturday Squallers--men of a higher grade--
That lay down a law they know not, of a game that they have not played?
Holding the folly of flannel, still will ye teach the Schools
That Wisdom is dressed in shoddy, and how should the Wise be fools?
Not doubting but ye are The People--ye are the Sons of The Blood?
Loafers and talkers and writers,--_Read ye the Verses of Rud._!'

THE HAPPY ENDING

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION

I am tired of the day with its profitless labours,
And tired of the night with its lack of repose,
I am sick of myself, my surroundings, and neighbours,
Especially Aryan Brothers and crows;
O land of illusory hope for the needy,
O centre of soldiering, thirst, and shikar,
When a broken-down exile begins to get seedy,
What a beast of a country you are!

There are many, I know, that have honestly drawn a
Most moving description of pleasures to win
By the exquisite carnage of such of your fauna
As Nature provides with a 'head' or a 'skin';
I know that a pig is magni