DRUNKENNESS.
[TO TOR EDITOR Or TIll "BesconTott,"1 SIR,—Lately I came across the enclosed poem by Henry John Bulkeley. It is published in a small volume entitled Poems and Verses, by Father and Son (Routledge), and I cannot but think that it might fitly be learnt by heart by the older children in many of our schools and distributed as a leaflet in munition faotories, &o.; that is, should the writer be inclined to let his words ring out to the world at large—where they are
"DRUNKENNESS.
Comrades, there is a giant in our way,
Our way, and England's. Ho is very strong. Compacted of all selfishness, he may,
Unconquered, hold our being in his sway, And all our faith and valour drag along, Dead, dead, behind his chariot. A throng Of evil sprites he koepeth in his pay To lure us to his aide with traitorous song.
Shall we be weak and yield, or still advance lioldly our mind and soul against the flood Of his foul strength P Go on we will ; our mood Sounds not retreat. Wake, England, from thy trance ; Join us. We bear love's pennon on our lance ; His feet are slipping in his victim's blood.
Fanny JOHN BOLNELEY."
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