All blessèd boons, though coming late,

To those who wait them issue forth,

For skill in sequel works with fate,

And draws the veil from hidden worth.

He comes, great keeper of our tin,

He is no Tory Hurlo-Thrumbo!

A fairy Prince, with triple chin,

And heavy-footed as poor Jumbo!

He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks,

Though he has heard of Sleeping Beauties.

He hath been dreaming many weeks

Of Income Tax, Stamps, and Death Duties.

He'd charmed the party with his talk

Of Graduation; now grey fear

Knocks at his ribs, his cheek's like chalk,

With thoughts of Revenue for the Year.

More close and close his footsteps wind,

The next year's Budget on his heart.

From Stamps and Liquor will he find

Big plums? Will rich taxpayers "part"?

Here's sleeping Trade! "Lor! what a lark!"

He thinks. "To wake her—were a spree!

A kiss may lift those lashes dark;

She can't resist a buss—from Me!"

A touch, a smack! A boxèd ear.

There came the sound of a smart slap.

The Fairy Prince, with cry of fear,

His hand unto his cheek did clap.

The Sleeping Beauty gave a gape,

A wide-mouthed yawn, a long-drawn stretch.

He rubbed his chins. "This is a jape!

I knew my style the girl would fetch!

"In spite of all that Wilson says,*

I trust those Revenue Returns.

She does revive! Be mine the praise!

By Jove, though, how my left ear burns!

I told 'em that I'd do the trick

With my new fakement, the Death Duties.

Come, Miss, wake up! Revive, dear, quick!

You sleepiest of Sleeping Beauties!"

At last sweet slumbering Trade awoke,

And on her couch her form upreared.

The Prince smiled, rubbed his chins, and spoke.

"Ah, Wilson's prophecy is queered.

He swore that you would not revive,

In his Cassandra-like Review,

But don't sit yawning! Look alive!

Or men will swear I've humbugged you!"

"All right!" said sleepy Trade. "But still

My joints feel somewhat stiff or so.

Say, have you passed that Irish Bill

You schemed—how long was it ago?"

The Chancellor subdued a curse,

Which scarce would serve for a reply,

But dallied with his well-filled purse,

And smiling, put the question by.

Oh, the Fatherland, the happy Fatherland,

With fresh happiness will hum,

When their Emperor shall the Order wear

Of the Jap Chry-san-the-mum!

He's "a daisy" now, as the world doth know;

But, oh! won't he be thrice happy,

When he sports the badge of the Golden Flower

Of the cute and grateful Jappy?

If John Chinaman in the little Jap

Has most surely caught a Tartar,

Jap learned to war 'neath the Teuton Star,

So will send him the Jap "Garter."

Bull has given him tips, and has built him ships,

But the Jap don't badge J. B.

No! Peace and War, like most other things,

Are now "made in Ger-ma-ny"!