About his tomb, for, with whatever fault,
He led with valour cool a fierce assault
Upon a frowning fortress, densely manned
With strong outnumbering enemies. He planned
Far-seen campaigns apparently forlorn;
He fronted headlong hate and scourging scorn,
Impassively persistent. But the task
Of coldly keeping up the Stoic mask
O'ertaxed him at the last; it fell, and lo!
Another face was bared to friend and foe.
Scarce to his foes will generous judgment lean--
Foes mean as merciless, and false as mean,
Their poisoned pens, which even softening Death,
Which hate should hush and stifle slander's breath,
May not deprive of venom, prodding still
The unresponsive corse they helped to kill,
Is an ignoble sight. Turn, turn away!
Mean hates pursue the MARMION of our day,
A nobler foe, like DOUGLAS, well may rue
His fall, and sigh, "'Tis pity of him, too!"

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR THE MOMENT.

(_BY A MILITANT RADICAL CANDIDATE._)

Ah! I must trounce the Tory foe,
And love my Toiling neighbour.
The cry with which to fight I go