POETRY.

'EX PARTE " PORTRAITS.

[" Pictures like these, dear Madam! to design Asks no firm hand and no unerring line ;

Some wand'ring touches, some reflected light, Some flying stroke, alone can hit 'em right : For how should equal colours do the knack ?

Chameleons who can paint in white and black?"

—POPE.] NO. 1.—MR. LLOYD GEORGE.

MAGNETIC mortal, in whose veins, Commingling with the stolid British, There flow remote exotic strains Quicksilverish and skittish ;

Though you are dowered with wit and charm, And, in equivocal positions, Have often managed to disarm Conservative suspicions ; Though you displayed a heart of bronze, A courage equal to St. George's, When, faced by frantic Amazons, You quelled their awful orgies ; Yet must we marvel at the fate

That lifts a humble Welsh attorney To be a ruler of our State

While midway on life's journey.

Valour you have ; your bitterest foe Cannot deny you its possession : Would that you oftener could show Its better part—discretion.

Now rising to a lofty plane,

Now unrestrainedly hubristic ; By turns impassioned and inane,

Half mountebank, half mystic; Almost a statesman—out of Wales: When down to Cambria you canter, You generally quit the rails And play the common ranter.

And as the Cambrians gather round, Applauding you in frenzied fashion, The voice of sober sense is drowned In shrieks of party passion.

Sobered by office, for a while You laboured to avert disasters, And bravely strove to reconcile The claims of men and masters, Till staid officials, nursed on fact, Who thought you feckless, feather-wilted, Your diplomatic skill, your tact, Reluctantly admitted.

0 surely 'twas a fate malign That, shifting you to the Exchequer, Made you a peaceful rile resign For that of credit-wrecker.

0 furtive Taffy, fiscal vc,

Are you a genuine Free-trader Whose heresies good Harold vex-- Self-styled a hen-roost raider P Where are you tending to, what goal P Do you expect, by preaching plunder, The Liberal Party to control, Or rend its ranks asunder P I cannot say, but time alone Will tell, and soon, for as I judge it, Your hand must finally be shown When you bring in your Budget. C. L. G.