Punch: Punch (97.1889)

ft

1

THE HIDDEN HAND.”

He little heeds them ; yet those dismal dens
Plump many a total his fat hnger pens,

And that is not illusive.

Let them live on, so in the shade they work,
Sordidly sin, or wearyingly work,

Slaves, though no solid fetters
Shackle their limbs. What matters it how
sad

Those grovelling serfs, so that the brutes,
though bad,

Bring good unto their “ betters ? ’

A human wolf, but one who need not scour
The snowy steppes, lean-flanked, long hour on
hour

In search of some stray quarry.

His food is folded safe in pen and stye, _
Where she-things sin, and sweaters’ victims
The spectacle is sorry ! [die.

“Nay, friend; Necessity all Nature
rules,”

My'guide replied. “ Sentiment only pules
At Nature’s law benignant.

The ‘ wise indifference of the wise ’ assume.
Fools only at the stern decrees of doom
Rail, fruitlessly indignant.

‘ ‘ How he, our full-fed wolf, would laugh,
elate,

At dreams of Law avowed lamb’s-advocate !

Scarce in the form of fable
Would such a quaint conceit escape the scorn
Of that wide world of shearers and the shorn,
The shearers deem so stable! ”

{To be continued.)