a quarrel. By means of this Association there may be a sort of representation in Parliament, as well as at the Colonial Office; and, on the other hand, the colonial public will have at command the guidance of such English friends as it most esteems. The great increase of emigration to those colonies which must take place while the United States are engaged in civil war, may be directed to better purpose than ever before by the Society, which will be eagerly applied to by employers and candidates for employment or for land. Such is the general prospect just opened. When the Working Committee has composed its programme, we shall know what end they will take hold of first. Meantime, we may be certain that no event that they can bring about can be more important and interesting than the fact of their appointment.
LADY BARBARA.
Are dancing La Tarantula,
For just beyond the dahlia bed
I saw my Lady Barbara.
And all my veins are filled with flame,
And all my comrades say the same.
In a bower of buhl and jewellery,
Rose curtains shield her from the day,
And she sits and broiders her broidery.
And looks at her purple flowers which die
In her silver vases deliciously.
Like ripples which a fountain makes,
Woof of gold and warp of brown,
Like the colour of Indian watersnakes.
And she moves it quick as a swallow’s wing,
Or the wings of a bee that is murmuring.
Her heart is made of chameleon-skin,
Covered over with portraits small
Of the lovers she has taken in.
And I think I can hear her silvery laugh,
As she looks at each poor little photograph.”
Afloat on seas of silver light,
Trimming and veering her sail so well
At every breath of air in the night.
And as quick to its nest as a harvest-mouse,
Pflan! at a sound it’s safe in its house.
A foolish calf at her altar sighs,
She smiles—forgets you—and why repine?
Gods dont care much for one sacrifice
Does Juggernaut care for his victims’ moans,
Or is he to blame for their broken bones?
Shining with nothing at all to do,
She expects to be worshipp’d by every one,
But she does not much care for me or for you.
“She’s a flirt and a humbug—Halte-là!
Don’t speak ill of my Lady Barbara.
C. Elton.
