Volume 147 — THE IMPERIAL INFANTICIDE.
Reading edition
It was a mighty Emperor Of ancient pedigree Who said, "The future of our race Lies on the rolling sea!" And straightway laboured to fulfil His royal guarantee. And when the Day had dawned, for which He long had toiled and planned, Unto his Grand High Admiral He issued his command: "Go forth, and smite the enemy Upon his native strand." Sailing by night and veiled in mist, His swiftest ships of war Rained death on two defenceless towns For half an hour or more, Till they had slain and wounded babes And women by the score. The Fatherland was filled with joy By this heroic deed; It gloated o'er the slaughtered babes Of Albion's hated breed; And Iron Crosses fell in showers On those who'd made them bleed. But honest neutrals everywhere Were sickened and dismayed; The Turk, not squeamish as a rule, No special glee betrayed; And even Mr. Bernard Shaw Failed to defend the raid! Then more in sorrow than in wrath The Emperor made moan: "Though martyred and misunderstood I tread my way alone, At least I have the sympathy Of God on His high throne." Then from the pillar and the cloud Came accents clear and plain: "The Massacre of Innocents Passes the guilt of Cain; And those who sin with Herod earn His everlasting stain."
Two announcements at Hereford:—
"Cathedral Service, Sunday, Dec. 13th. Preacher: Rev. H. M. Spooner. Baptist Chapel. Lecture: 'Slips of Speech and Trips in Type.'"
"Yes," said the President of New College on his way to the Cathedral, "I know something about slips of speech, but what are tips in tripe?"
