Volume 101 — UPON A GLOVE.

Oh, limp and leathery type of Social Sham, And Legislative Flam! Which cunning CUNNINGHAME and MATTHEWS cool (Both prompt to play the fool, In free-lance fashion or official form) Prattled of, 'midst a storm Of crackling laughter, and ironic cheers, And sniggering, "Hear, hears!"— Thou summest well the humbug of our lives. The fistic "bunch of fives" Is not like JULIA's jewelled "palm of milk" Shrouded in kid or silk, But JULIA was a sensuous little "sell," And SMITH and PRITCHARD—well, One would not like a clump upon the head From the teak-noddled "TED," Or e'en a straight sockdollager from "JEM;" But somehow "bhoys" like them, Who mill three rounds to an uproarious "house," And only nap "a mouse," Though one before the end of the third bout Is clean "knocked out,"— Such burly, brawny buffetters for hire, Who in ten minutes tire, And clutch the ropes, and turn a Titan back To shun the impending thwack,— Such "Champions" smack as much of trick and pelf As venal JULIA's self. GRAHAM may be a "specialist," no doubt, And "What is a knock-out?" May mystify ingenuous MATTHEWS much; But Truth's Ithuriel touch Applied to pulpy "JEM" and steely "TED," (Of "slightly swollen" head) As well as unsophisticated COBB, (If Truth were "on the job,") Might find False Show and Pharisaic "Stodge," And Law-evading dodge, Dissimulating "Innocence," sham bravery, Blind Justice, lynx-eyed knavery, All the material the Satirist loves, In those same "four-ounce gloves"!