Volume 146 — ULSTER FOR SCOTLAND.

When Horace made those sound remarks. Showing—in spite of Jove's decree— How mortals rode in impious arks Transilient o'er the sacred sea, How there was not beneath the sun A task so tough but what he'd back us Somehow to go and see it done (Such was the flair of Flaccus); Little he guessed how wind and tide Should be the sport of human skill; How steel and steam should mock their pride And get the deep reduced to nil; How we should come in course of years, Either by cable or Marconi, To hold across the hemispheres A conversazione. He'd learn with even more surprise That, after working all this while On ways and means to minimise The severance of isle and isle, Erin we find as far away, As rudely severed by a windy sea, As Athens seemed in Horace' day From old Brundusium (Brindisi). Strange, too, in yonder hybrid land This myth about a racial knot Binding the gay Hibernian and The dourly earnest Ulster-Scot— Neighbours whose one and only link (A foil to their profound disparity) Is—thanks to some volcanic kink— A common insularity. Come, let us down this myth in dust; Let statesmen's time no more be spent To fake a "race" from what is just A geologic accident; Let a great brig across the strait, Where Scot to Scot may freely pass, go, And Ulster find her natural mate In consanguineous Glasgow. O. S.