Volume 101 — ΘΗ ΠΡΩΤΕΚΤΕΔ ΦΗΜΑΛΕ.

Protected Greek! Protected Greek! BALFOUR may doubt, the Times demur, And chattering "correspondents" seek Against the goddess strife to stir, But while the Senate rules, you bet, The Goths shan't smash the Grecians yet. When Don meets Don injurious fray Then comes in sooth the tug of war; And on this memorable day They gather in from near and far, To whelm the unnatural ones who'd seek To set the "Grace" against the Greek. SWETE looks on JEBB and JEBB on BROWNE, And BATESON looks on ROBERTSON SMITH. They cry, "Of WELLDON 'tis ill-done!" But THOMSON is a man of pith, And GRIMTHORPE, that scalp-hunting "Brave" Will tomahawk the "Modern" slave. The Proctors sat with serious brow, Within the swarming Senate House, Voters in hundreds swarmed below, Fellows of scholarship and nous. They counted votes, and, when 'twas done, Non-placets had it, three to one! And where are they, Granta's fell foes, The champions of the Modern side? Five twenty-five emphatic "Noes" Have squelched their schemes, and dashed their pride. Hurroo! for those so prompt to vindicate Compulsory Greek against the Syndicate!

Thus sang, or would, or could, or should have sung, The modern Greek, in imitative verse; Meanwhile the Goddess, grave, though ever young, Stood, Psyche-like, untempted to rehearse The ragings—angrier ink was seldom slung— Uttered by BYRON in Minerva's Curse. She simply stood, as stately-proud as Pallas, Looking so calm, some might have deemed her callous. Amusing sight this game! Don versus Don Mixed in a sort of classic Donny brook. A lethal weapon is a Lexicon When rivals make a bludgeon of the book. By her unaided charms the Goddess won Her way. This is the language of her look. (The Laureate's) "Judge thou me by what I am, "So shalt thou find me, fairest"—sans Compulsory Cram!