p. 8MIDNIGHT, JANUARY 25, 1886.

p. 8MIDNIGHT, JANUARY 25, 1886.

To-morrow is a year since Gordon died!
   A year ago to-night, the Desert still
   Crouched on the spring, and panted for its fill
Of lust and blood.  Their old art statesmen plied,
And paltered, and evaded, and denied;
   Guiltless as yet, except for feeble will,
   And craven heart, and calculated skill
In long delays, of their great homicide.

A year ago to-night ’twas not too late.
   The thought comes through our mirth, again, again;
Methinks I hear the halting foot of Fate
   Approaching and approaching us; and then
Comes cackle of the House, and the Debate!
   Enough; he is forgotten amongst men.