Old and New.Old and New."Think of the glorious Mottoes," said a Major of the old school. "'Nil Desperandum,' 'Death or Victory,' 'England Expects,' and so forth!" Replied his friend, the modern Captain, "Bother your Mottoes! Give us the 'Maxims'!"
"Think of the glorious Mottoes," said a Major of the old school. "'Nil Desperandum,' 'Death or Victory,' 'England Expects,' and so forth!" Replied his friend, the modern Captain, "Bother your Mottoes! Give us the 'Maxims'!"
The fiend that now urges to—pen flippant novelsIs modernPoor Tom'smodishModo,*The work that in cynical worldliness grovelsWill soon be extinct as the Dodo!*SeeKing Lear.
The fiend that now urges to—pen flippant novelsIs modernPoor Tom'smodishModo,*The work that in cynical worldliness grovelsWill soon be extinct as the Dodo!
The fiend that now urges to—pen flippant novels
Is modernPoor Tom'smodishModo,*
The work that in cynical worldliness grovels
Will soon be extinct as the Dodo!
*SeeKing Lear.
*SeeKing Lear.
There was a general strike. The playing fields were deserted, and trade was at a standstill. Not a cricket-ball or a foot-ball had been made for months, and the lawn-tennis industry was paralyzed. The papers of the day urged the Government to intervene. "After all, it was only a matter of figures. Surely a compromise might be reached. If players would only meet payers, all would be well." So a Cabinet Council was held, and the most popular Member of the Ministry was selected as arbitrator. The name was well-received by both sides, and all seemeden trainfor a satisfactory settlement.
"We must have a proper salary," said a representative of the foot-ball profession: "if we don't, we shall have to give it up, and take to soldiering, doctoring, brief-accepting, and the rest of it."
There was a murmur of disapproval at this suggestion. Was foot-ball to perish because its professors could not get a "living wage"? No, a thousand times no!
Then the Minister suggested that he had better hear the complaints of the men, the women, and the children. So the cricketers, the golfers, the polo-players, and the lovers of lawn-tennis spoke at length.
"And what may you want young lady?" asked the arbitrator, with a smile.
"I must be paid for taking my doll for a walk," replied a small girl of six or seven. "I have to keep the toy perambulator in repair, and when Rose falls on her nose, I have to get her face replaced. How am I to bear these expenses if I receive nothing? It is impossible, unreasonable!"
"And I, too," cried a schoolboy. "How can I trundle my hoop or play at marbles if I am not allowed something for my time?"
And there were other complaints. Everyone wanted a wage, and the cries for salaries waxed louder and louder.
Then the Minister asked for a few minutes' grace, and began writing. After he had finished his despatch, he put it in an envelope, and requested someone to read it when he had taken his departure. Then he went away.
"Dear me!" said the person to whom the despatch had been entrusted. "This is highly unsatisfactory. I find the arbitrator has resigned without making an award, and has left the matter in the hands of LordRosebery."
Then there was a cry of sorrow. For it was known that as LordRoseberyhad had quite enough of conflicts between capital and labour, he would certainly refuse to be dragged into another quarrel.
So the war went on between players and payers, and "Merrie England" became a byword of reproach in the comity of nations.
Popular Idea of the CostumePopular Idea of the Costume of a Member of the Bar on "Grand Day."
Popular Idea of the Costume of a Member of the Bar on "Grand Day."
Maidenslim and fair, with the golden hair,So eager to snare with the knowing glanceOf your eyes so bright, and to waltz all nightWith that step so light in the mazy dance,Years ago, I swear, we once met somewhere;We danced—you take care to forget that ball—And my arm embraced that wasp's whalebone waist,So cruelly laced, so absurdly small!But then I declare you had nut-brown hair,The colour's still there just down at the roots;You are "fancy free," full of girlish glee,But you're forty-three I would bet my boots.Your beauty is rare, but I am awareThat face you prepare, that vile waist you buy,Which corsets to civilised women give,And hairdressers live so that you may dye.
Maidenslim and fair, with the golden hair,So eager to snare with the knowing glanceOf your eyes so bright, and to waltz all nightWith that step so light in the mazy dance,
Maidenslim and fair, with the golden hair,
So eager to snare with the knowing glance
Of your eyes so bright, and to waltz all night
With that step so light in the mazy dance,
Years ago, I swear, we once met somewhere;We danced—you take care to forget that ball—And my arm embraced that wasp's whalebone waist,So cruelly laced, so absurdly small!
Years ago, I swear, we once met somewhere;
We danced—you take care to forget that ball—
And my arm embraced that wasp's whalebone waist,
So cruelly laced, so absurdly small!
But then I declare you had nut-brown hair,The colour's still there just down at the roots;You are "fancy free," full of girlish glee,But you're forty-three I would bet my boots.
But then I declare you had nut-brown hair,
The colour's still there just down at the roots;
You are "fancy free," full of girlish glee,
But you're forty-three I would bet my boots.
Your beauty is rare, but I am awareThat face you prepare, that vile waist you buy,Which corsets to civilised women give,And hairdressers live so that you may dye.
Your beauty is rare, but I am aware
That face you prepare, that vile waist you buy,
Which corsets to civilised women give,
And hairdressers live so that you may dye.
SO POLITE!!SO POLITE!!Slim nervous Gent(pulling up at a regular facer). "Hold hard, you Brute! 'Ladies first!'"
Slim nervous Gent(pulling up at a regular facer). "Hold hard, you Brute! 'Ladies first!'"
I wish I could write romantic rot,Like the beautiful songs they singAt Ballad Concerts; why should I notAttempt such a simple thing?This metre's just right. Here goes!—The moonShone sad o'er the silvered waves,The nightingale trilled 'neath that night of June,Where the river the primrose laves.(That's good, though hazy the sense may seem,No primrose would bloom at the time;The river "laves" it, not it the stream;"Moon" and "June" makes a clumsy rhyme.)Upon the terrace a maiden fairWas gazing the waters o'er,And dreaming of vows of love she ne'erWould hear, as in days of yore.("Days of yore," that's fine.) And her soft, sad eyesLooked up at the starry night,She kissed a fair ruby ring, with sighs,Which shone on her fingers white.(You put the words as it suits you best;The adjective need not beBefore the noun.) On her heaving breastA red, red rose you could see.(That is if you had been there.) She wept;To-night must her lover go.The rose was awake, though the pimpernel slept.(Bagged fromTennyson, don't you know?)The silent stream whispered scarce a sign,Ere it swept past the willows grey.(The sense is vague, though the sound is fine;What it means even I can't say.)Alas! alas! red, red rose, bright ring!Red rose, cherished ring, alas!(Such bosh sounds beautiful when you sing.)A hush lay over the grass.(I'm hanged if I know what a "hush" may be.It's something pathetic, sublime.)The nightingale warbled upon the tree.O rose-scented summertime!He came, and pressed to his manly heartThe maid 'neath the pale moonbeams(Don't mind if accents are wrong); they part!In (excellent rhyme) her dreamsThe joy of that passionate farewell kissTo the silent tomb she bore.(I could easily write you a mile of this,But you probably want no more.)
I wish I could write romantic rot,Like the beautiful songs they singAt Ballad Concerts; why should I notAttempt such a simple thing?This metre's just right. Here goes!—The moonShone sad o'er the silvered waves,The nightingale trilled 'neath that night of June,Where the river the primrose laves.
I wish I could write romantic rot,
Like the beautiful songs they sing
At Ballad Concerts; why should I not
Attempt such a simple thing?
This metre's just right. Here goes!—The moon
Shone sad o'er the silvered waves,
The nightingale trilled 'neath that night of June,
Where the river the primrose laves.
(That's good, though hazy the sense may seem,No primrose would bloom at the time;The river "laves" it, not it the stream;"Moon" and "June" makes a clumsy rhyme.)Upon the terrace a maiden fairWas gazing the waters o'er,And dreaming of vows of love she ne'erWould hear, as in days of yore.
(That's good, though hazy the sense may seem,
No primrose would bloom at the time;
The river "laves" it, not it the stream;
"Moon" and "June" makes a clumsy rhyme.)
Upon the terrace a maiden fair
Was gazing the waters o'er,
And dreaming of vows of love she ne'er
Would hear, as in days of yore.
("Days of yore," that's fine.) And her soft, sad eyesLooked up at the starry night,She kissed a fair ruby ring, with sighs,Which shone on her fingers white.(You put the words as it suits you best;The adjective need not beBefore the noun.) On her heaving breastA red, red rose you could see.
("Days of yore," that's fine.) And her soft, sad eyes
Looked up at the starry night,
She kissed a fair ruby ring, with sighs,
Which shone on her fingers white.
(You put the words as it suits you best;
The adjective need not be
Before the noun.) On her heaving breast
A red, red rose you could see.
(That is if you had been there.) She wept;To-night must her lover go.The rose was awake, though the pimpernel slept.(Bagged fromTennyson, don't you know?)The silent stream whispered scarce a sign,Ere it swept past the willows grey.(The sense is vague, though the sound is fine;What it means even I can't say.)
(That is if you had been there.) She wept;
To-night must her lover go.
The rose was awake, though the pimpernel slept.
(Bagged fromTennyson, don't you know?)
The silent stream whispered scarce a sign,
Ere it swept past the willows grey.
(The sense is vague, though the sound is fine;
What it means even I can't say.)
Alas! alas! red, red rose, bright ring!Red rose, cherished ring, alas!(Such bosh sounds beautiful when you sing.)A hush lay over the grass.(I'm hanged if I know what a "hush" may be.It's something pathetic, sublime.)The nightingale warbled upon the tree.O rose-scented summertime!
Alas! alas! red, red rose, bright ring!
Red rose, cherished ring, alas!
(Such bosh sounds beautiful when you sing.)
A hush lay over the grass.
(I'm hanged if I know what a "hush" may be.
It's something pathetic, sublime.)
The nightingale warbled upon the tree.
O rose-scented summertime!
He came, and pressed to his manly heartThe maid 'neath the pale moonbeams(Don't mind if accents are wrong); they part!In (excellent rhyme) her dreamsThe joy of that passionate farewell kissTo the silent tomb she bore.(I could easily write you a mile of this,But you probably want no more.)
He came, and pressed to his manly heart
The maid 'neath the pale moonbeams
(Don't mind if accents are wrong); they part!
In (excellent rhyme) her dreams
The joy of that passionate farewell kiss
To the silent tomb she bore.
(I could easily write you a mile of this,
But you probably want no more.)
"La Fin du Sea-Aigle(!!)."—TheStandardinforms us that—
"A specimen of the white-tailed, or sea eagle, has just been shot at Bude Haven, Cornwall. The bird weighed nearly eight pounds, and the extended wings measure between seven and eight feet from tip to tip."
"A specimen of the white-tailed, or sea eagle, has just been shot at Bude Haven, Cornwall. The bird weighed nearly eight pounds, and the extended wings measure between seven and eight feet from tip to tip."
Now, "next please," and let us have the "Very last of the Sea Serpent!"
Johnson of Ballykilbeg escorting the Duke of York.Johnson of Ballykilbeg escorting the Duke of York.
Johnson of Ballykilbeg escorting the Duke of York.
House of Commons, Monday Night, November 20.—Rumour current to-night that Ballykilbeg is in the market. Ballykilbeg is the manorial seat of one of the most ancient and honourable Irish families, long settled in County Down. TheO'Hnstonswere in the train ofBorrhoimiwhen he first essayed, and succeeded in, the difficult task of forming a United Ireland.Jake O'Hnstonis a name that lingers lovingly in tradition of Youngest Ireland. Gradually, being always on the people's lips, it began to take a new form.J. O'Hnstonnaturally becameJohnston; but Ballykilbeg was always there. To-day House of Commons contains no more esteemed Member than he who is known asJohnstonof Ballykilbeg. A man of war breathing battle, ever ready to take his place amongst the corpses in the last ditch,Johnstonof Ballykilbeg off the platform in Ulster, or off his legs in House of Commons, is the mildest-mannered man that ever proposed to broil a brother for conscience' sake.
Quite a sensation at prospect of disseveringJohnstonfrom Ballykilbeg. Glad to hear there's nothing, or little, in it. Arises out of circumstance thatJohnstonhas approached Mr. G. with suggestion that Treasury shall purchase an estate in Ireland, and there plant out the Duke ofYork. If the Duke, making a survey of Ireland, should find no more attractive place than Ballykilbeg, the descendant of theO'Hnstonsis not the man to allow personal predilections or old associations to stand in the way of gratification of Royal desire. It might come to pass that the Crowned Heads of Europe would welcome at their courtsYorkof Ballykilbeg, whilst the last of theO'Hnstonswould be content to house his loyal head under alien roof. That, however, not a prospect in view when he moved in the matter. There is surely room between the seas that circle Ireland for the Duke ofYorkandJohnstonstill at Ballykilbeg.
Business done.—Clause I. added to Parish Councils Bill.
LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 5. HUNTING.LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 5. HUNTING.
Tuesday.—Parish Councils on again. That was order of day, but human ingenuity dragged in other matters. First Woman's Suffrage, on which there was livelier debate than has yet arisen in Committee on this Bill. Last ThursdayWalter M'Larenraised question in form of an Instruction. Government resisting were beaten, the Opposition coalescing with revolting Radicals. Now, asSquire of Malwoodputs it, the Government, kissing the rod, accept injunction; undertake to embodyM'Laren'sAmendment in Bill. Pretty to see air of doubt and hesitation that hereupon comes over ingenuous faces on Opposition benches. IfHenry Fowlerhad put his back up, declared that Woman delighted him not, norWalter M'Lareneither, Opposition would again have joined forces with Radicals, and Government would once more have suffered defeat. Since they resolved to obey Instruction carried by majority last Thursday,Prince Arthurshakes his head;Edward Stanhopeshows this is quite another pair of sleeves; whilstJoseph, back bronzed from breezy Bahamas, bluntly says he will oppose new ClauseHenry Fowlerhas promised to bring in.
"It is the duty of an Opposition to oppose," saysPrince Arthur; "and I did not for several Sessions sit at feet ofOld Moralitywithout being impressed with imperative sense of duty."
Mr. Courtney explains the Puzzle.Mr. Courtney explains the Puzzle.
Mr. Courtney explains the Puzzle.
Later, when this difficulty temporarily out of way and it seemed progress with Clause might be made. Proportional Representation was dragged in neck and crop.Courtneytook charge of the puzzle business, and tried to explain it. No prizes offered, and attention a little slack.Squire of Malwooddefined the theory in admirable phrase. "It is," he said, "an ingenious system by which a man is to vote for a person he does not prefer in order to secure a majority for some purpose he does not understand." Can't better that; leaves nothing else to say. Nevertheless, much was said; talked by the hour; finally a division, in which Government majority, rarely falling below three score and ten, stood at 72.
Business done.—Something of the debating society order.
Thursday night.—Things coming to a pretty pass ifTomlinsonis not to offer a few observations on third reading of Employers' Liability Bill without an arrogant Minister moving the Closure. Apart from consideration of individual liberty and freedom of speech, House would have suffered special disappointment ifSpeakerhad acceptedAsquith'ssuggestion and submitted question of Closure. FindingTomlinsonon his feet at this juncture it naturally thought he had, in interval, discovered what his amendments moved last week in Committee on Bill meant, and was seizing this opportunity of explaining them. He didn't; but that was allAsquith'sfault. Enough to cow any man rising at ten minutes to twelve and having pistol held to his head in shape of motion for the Closure.
Just at the time whenTomlinsonwas coming to his explanation, hand of clock touched five minutes to twelve. He might still have used up at least four minutes; being flurried, he sat down; and now we shall never know what his amendments were designed to accomplish. Happily there was time left forMatthewsto soundly rateAsquithfor his attempt to ClosureTomlinson. Right hon. gentleman could scarcely control his tongue in the emotion under which he laboured, in contemplation of the attempted outrage. It would have been bad enough with an ordinary member. That the weighty and sententious speech of so eminent a statesman as the Member for Preston should have been broken in upon by a motion for the Closure only showed, in the ex-Home Secretary's opinion, how bad was the case of the Government, how reckless the tactics to which desperation drove them. A beautiful speech; almost, asTomlinsonsays, worth being snubbed byAsquithin order to elicit this eloquent testimony to modest merit.
Business done.—Employers' Liability Bill read a third time.
Friday Night.—Great advantage of habit of foreign travel ingrained with Members of Commons is that when erudite question comes up sure to be someone present who can illustrate its bearings from experience gained in more or less remote portions of the planet. Just nowHenry Fowlermoved provision in Parish Councils Bill, making it possible for Lovely Woman, whether married or single, to stoop to folly of being elected on Parish Council Board. Up jumpsHorace Plunkettwith some charming reminiscences brightly told of residence in the State of Wyoming. In that happy land women enjoy equal political and municipal privileges with their brother men.
"I was," saidPlunkett, "well acquainted with a female Justice of the Peace. She discharged her duties, and, when necessary, a revolver."
Another ofPlunkett'slady friends in far-off Wyoming had her domestic duties broken in upon by summons to attend a jury. Case proved protracted; husband had to stay at home and mind the baby, whilst she was locked up all-night with eleven good men and true.
After hearing this, Committee unanimously, without division being challenged, agreed toFowler'sAmendment.
Business done.—On Clause III. Parish Council Bill.
Buyno more, Ladies; buy no more;Shops were deceivers ever:One price in season, one before,And reasonable never.Then buy not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny,Converting "Robes, modes, et manteaux"Into—"Pas, si je connais!"Bring no more bargains—sales are low,And bills are dull and heavy;(The shopmen drew their longest bowFor Summer's rout andlevée.)Then buy not so,But let them "show"And be you shrewd and bonny,Converting all their "Tout ce qu'il faut"Into—"Pas, si je connais!"
Buyno more, Ladies; buy no more;Shops were deceivers ever:One price in season, one before,And reasonable never.Then buy not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny,Converting "Robes, modes, et manteaux"Into—"Pas, si je connais!"
Buyno more, Ladies; buy no more;
Shops were deceivers ever:
One price in season, one before,
And reasonable never.
Then buy not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting "Robes, modes, et manteaux"
Into—"Pas, si je connais!"
Bring no more bargains—sales are low,And bills are dull and heavy;(The shopmen drew their longest bowFor Summer's rout andlevée.)Then buy not so,But let them "show"And be you shrewd and bonny,Converting all their "Tout ce qu'il faut"Into—"Pas, si je connais!"
Bring no more bargains—sales are low,
And bills are dull and heavy;
(The shopmen drew their longest bow
For Summer's rout andlevée.)
Then buy not so,
But let them "show"
And be you shrewd and bonny,
Converting all their "Tout ce qu'il faut"
Into—"Pas, si je connais!"
Punch'spicture, "When the Cat's Away!"Seems to have effect! The brutal "play"Of young ruffians, in at least two cases,Whipping has rewarded. What long facesTrotterpulls! With his mild creed it clashes.Sentiment's eyes are wet—about thelashes!Howling brutes make mollycoddles snivel.Let the ruffians rail, their champions drivel.Brutalising to chastise brutality?'Tis the merest blind sentimentality.Feeble men and helpless women saveFrom the roughs, and let the weepers rave!
Punch'spicture, "When the Cat's Away!"Seems to have effect! The brutal "play"Of young ruffians, in at least two cases,Whipping has rewarded. What long facesTrotterpulls! With his mild creed it clashes.Sentiment's eyes are wet—about thelashes!Howling brutes make mollycoddles snivel.Let the ruffians rail, their champions drivel.Brutalising to chastise brutality?'Tis the merest blind sentimentality.Feeble men and helpless women saveFrom the roughs, and let the weepers rave!
Punch'spicture, "When the Cat's Away!"
Seems to have effect! The brutal "play"
Of young ruffians, in at least two cases,
Whipping has rewarded. What long faces
Trotterpulls! With his mild creed it clashes.
Sentiment's eyes are wet—about thelashes!
Howling brutes make mollycoddles snivel.
Let the ruffians rail, their champions drivel.
Brutalising to chastise brutality?
'Tis the merest blind sentimentality.
Feeble men and helpless women save
From the roughs, and let the weepers rave!