POETRY.
BEACONSFIELD TO GRANVILLE.
MY dear Granville, 'tis indeed surprising That when you set your simple wits surmising What to my Eastward musings is the clue, You trust in prints which prate as if they knew, And judge from them that with intention fell I Am grimly watching for a casus belli.
Think you that I would set creation laughing To see dull scribblers daily telegraphing My schemes to mobs who fancy that the Asian Mystery's for "the largest circulation ?" That if my appetite for war were whetted, I'd wish to have it in Pall Mall gazetted ? Or if to Moslem prejudice I pandered, I'd have my projects measured by the Standard Set up by "solemn, silly" papers, Which are the party's Tadpoles or their Tapers ? These serve their purpose with the rank and file, But at head-quarters they excite a smile. Not thus the statesman to the wond'ring nation Reveals the issue of his cogitation, But, with a dexterous suddenness, amazes With subtle juggle of bombastic phrases,' Which, most obscure, but of most potent sound, Prove that the Minister is most profound. For to mean nothing, and yet have it thought Your speeches are with hidden meaning fraught. Such, my dear Granville, is the art of ruling, And that, believe me, is the art of fooling.
L. F. A.
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