Volume 98 — THE ONLY REMEDY.

Pity a poor Home Secretary! Verily His days are hard, his nights can scarce wag merrily; But of all burdens on his mind distracted, Greatest must be that dread responsibility Where sense of justice wars with sensibility. Punch hardly thinks the two have interacted This time with quite ideal force and fitness, And that the Public doubts, let the Press witness! A loathsome story, sordid, brutal, sickening! Dull callousness to smug contrition quickening Under the spur of an ignoble terror, A hope scarce less ignoble—in expression, At least. Yes, calm judicial self-possession Is difficult, most easy trimming error; But compromise with claims conflicting here, Is scarce the course of equity one must fear. The logic of it does not stand forth clearly; The public conscience fidgets, and feels queerly. Yes, to be arbiter, by law's compulsion, In such a case, with issues so immense, Is hard, no doubt; the public common sense Against the arrangement turns with strong revulsion; And the right remedy, as all must feel, Is in a Court of Criminal Appeal!