When Premiers try to joke
(As they will like other folk)
They should really have a care
That their meaning be quite plain
E'en to Brummagem's slow brain,
Or it really isn't fair.
For you see a Goodman Dull
The jest's flower may not cull,
And he'll send a queer epistle
To the _Times_ which shows him crunching
Gentle irony, and munching
Like a donkey at a thistle.
The ironical's a trap
For your solid sort of chap,
_Au grand serieux_ he'll take it,
Your elusive little joke,
And, like terrier or moke,
Dig his teeth in it and shake it.
Men will then look on and mock,
And the spectacle's a shock
To our Commonwealth's stability,
For it shows how little wit
Goes to governing us and it.
E'en in "statesmen of ability."
It's so dangerous to be funny!
Men may make hardware, and money,
Aye, and even a career,
Who yet cannot make--or take--
A good joke. They're wide awake,
Save to wit, though in a peer.
Therefore, PRIMROSE, do not jest!
It comes badly, at the best,
From a man at the State's tiller.
The ironical reject
Above all, and recollect
Every JOE is not a MILLER!
***
SEASONABLE REFLECTION.--To look at _Holly Leaves_--at its glowing red
appearance--is "quite a little holly-day!" The inside quite up to the
out.
[Illustration: CARTE BLANCHE!
"YOU WON'T MIND MY PUTTING YOU INTO MY NEW NOVEL, O'FLAHERTY?"
"ME DEAR FELLOW, YE'RE WELCOME TO PUT ANYTHING ABOUT ME YE
LOIKE--_PROVOIDIN' IT ISN'T THRUE!_"]
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