Volume 146 — SMILES AND LAUGHTER.

On days of gloom and sadness, When nothing brings relief, When men are moved to madness And women groan with grief; Though growing daily dafter, I might, as once I did, Have cheered myself with laughter, But laughter is forbid. If I should treat of Carson, His guns and rataplan, It's something worse than arson To smile at such a man; Since chaff would make his pulse stir— And this he cannot brook— The more he talks of Ulster The solemner we look. Then, should I meet a Cecil, (Lord Robert or Lord Hugh), His manifest distress'll Be very sad to view Unless I'm in a proper, A gloomy frame of mind, And put a heavy stopper On mirth of any kind. Next Poutsea brings his quota For giving me delight, Who wants to punish Botha By living in his sight; Or, foiled of such a strife-time, Decides to have a blow And spend a briny lifetime In sailing to and fro. And Seddon, who gave greetings To those deported nine, Invited them to meetings And asked them out to dine, And begged of them and prayed them To be no longer banned, But hardly could persuade them To leave the ship and land. These two, the gloom beguiling, Might make me greatly dare, Might set my face a-smiling And win my soul from care; The fêted and the feeders Might well provoke some chaff; But no—they're Labour Leaders, And so we mustn't laugh. And, last, there's Law, our Bonar, Who in a burst of tact Is minded to dishonour The loathed Insurance Act; With opposites agreeing, He faces North by South, And keeps the Act in being And kills it with his mouth. He too might smooth a wrinkle, Although he's stern and grim, And make my eyes to twinkle By seeing fun in him; Cursed be that cheerful vision, And cursed all sense of fun: It is a foul misprision To smile at anyone.