Oh! youngJ. H. Tayloris a fine young fellow,At whom the Scotsmen may hardly scoff;For though he's Saxon by birth and breeding,He is champion now at the Game of Golf!On St. Andrews' Links when the rain was pouring,He smote the ball with a manly blow;And he distanced St. Andrews'Andrew—Kirkaldy—ThoughTaylorwas trained in far Westward Ho!And he went the four rounds fair and featly,In strokes three hundred, and twenty, and two,WhichSandy Herd, andAndy Kirkaldy,AndDavie Anderson, theycouldnot do.It may seem sheer cheek for "a gowk of a Saxon"To take the cake at the Gaelic Game;But as imitation's the sincerest flattery,Let 'em take a licking in the light o' the same.So here's a health to boldJ. H. Taylor,Lord of the Links, at the tee a toff;Who takes first place for the slighted SouthronAt the Ancient and Royal Game of Golf!
Oh! youngJ. H. Tayloris a fine young fellow,At whom the Scotsmen may hardly scoff;For though he's Saxon by birth and breeding,He is champion now at the Game of Golf!
Oh! youngJ. H. Tayloris a fine young fellow,
At whom the Scotsmen may hardly scoff;
For though he's Saxon by birth and breeding,
He is champion now at the Game of Golf!
On St. Andrews' Links when the rain was pouring,He smote the ball with a manly blow;And he distanced St. Andrews'Andrew—Kirkaldy—ThoughTaylorwas trained in far Westward Ho!
On St. Andrews' Links when the rain was pouring,
He smote the ball with a manly blow;
And he distanced St. Andrews'Andrew—Kirkaldy—
ThoughTaylorwas trained in far Westward Ho!
And he went the four rounds fair and featly,In strokes three hundred, and twenty, and two,WhichSandy Herd, andAndy Kirkaldy,AndDavie Anderson, theycouldnot do.
And he went the four rounds fair and featly,
In strokes three hundred, and twenty, and two,
WhichSandy Herd, andAndy Kirkaldy,
AndDavie Anderson, theycouldnot do.
It may seem sheer cheek for "a gowk of a Saxon"To take the cake at the Gaelic Game;But as imitation's the sincerest flattery,Let 'em take a licking in the light o' the same.
It may seem sheer cheek for "a gowk of a Saxon"
To take the cake at the Gaelic Game;
But as imitation's the sincerest flattery,
Let 'em take a licking in the light o' the same.
So here's a health to boldJ. H. Taylor,Lord of the Links, at the tee a toff;Who takes first place for the slighted SouthronAt the Ancient and Royal Game of Golf!
So here's a health to boldJ. H. Taylor,
Lord of the Links, at the tee a toff;
Who takes first place for the slighted Southron
At the Ancient and Royal Game of Golf!
ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING.ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING.'Arry(on a Northern Tour, with Cockney pronunciation). "Then I'll 'ave a Bottle of Aile."Hostess of the Village Inn."Ile, Sir? We've nane in the hoose, but Castor Ile or Paraffine. Wad ony o' them dae, Sir?"
'Arry(on a Northern Tour, with Cockney pronunciation). "Then I'll 'ave a Bottle of Aile."
Hostess of the Village Inn."Ile, Sir? We've nane in the hoose, but Castor Ile or Paraffine. Wad ony o' them dae, Sir?"
Beneath the spreadingBeerbohm TreeThe Resting Actor stands,And grateful takes the£ s. d.From Active Actors' hands.No more he'll strut upon the stageWhere he has done his best,Nothing he'll need, while active menAre doingall the rest.
Beneath the spreadingBeerbohm TreeThe Resting Actor stands,And grateful takes the£ s. d.From Active Actors' hands.No more he'll strut upon the stageWhere he has done his best,Nothing he'll need, while active menAre doingall the rest.
Beneath the spreadingBeerbohm Tree
The Resting Actor stands,
And grateful takes the£ s. d.
From Active Actors' hands.
No more he'll strut upon the stage
Where he has done his best,
Nothing he'll need, while active men
Are doingall the rest.
Hal.It was a Greek play at Bradford College.'Arry(to Tom). I told you it was a Greek fake.Tom(to 'Arry). How doyouknow?'Arry(giving Hal as his authority). 'Cos it's'Al-sez-'tis.
Hal.It was a Greek play at Bradford College.'Arry(to Tom). I told you it was a Greek fake.Tom(to 'Arry). How doyouknow?'Arry(giving Hal as his authority). 'Cos it's'Al-sez-'tis.
Hal.It was a Greek play at Bradford College.
'Arry(to Tom). I told you it was a Greek fake.
Tom(to 'Arry). How doyouknow?
'Arry(giving Hal as his authority). 'Cos it's'Al-sez-'tis.
Intelligence from (and at) Hamburg.—"Mr. G." was unable to go to the Zoo at feeding-time. He was conspicuous by his absence, as all the other lions were there.
New and Appropriate Name for the After-dinner Crumb-and-fragment Basket.—"The Morsel-eum."
DearCharlie,—The pypers all tell us the Season is now at its 'ight;Don't mean one o'Thomson's, my pippin.Thatjosser is now out of dyte.When I was a bit of a kiddie, dad 'ad a old brown-covered bookInto wich now and then, on a Sunday, 'e thought it the right thing to look.Suchsloppy saloop, my dearCharlie, "embellished" with rummy old cuts,Drawn stiff and old-fashioned, byStothard. On one on 'em though, I was nuts,Musi—— somethink or other I fancy. But as to the cackle, Great Scott!—"The sun rolling bounteous from Aries," and reams o' such molly slop rot.Now ifJemmy'ad sung ofourSeason, not Nature's old merry-go-round,But London's pertikler, for swells, it 'ud suit me right down to the ground.But asJemmyhas shirked it for tosh on "ethereal mildness," and such,Wy'Arrymust 'ave a cut in, and all London is fly tohistouch.Wot a Summer we're 'aving this Season! All Nature seems trim and in tune;Ripe strorberries picked out o' doors, though we've 'ardly yet dropped into June;The parks jest like bloomin' peraries, the water supply going queer,And a general 'urrying up for stror 'ats, lemon squoshes, and beer.It seems only yesterday,Charlie, the standpipes wos up in our street,And "Areyoufroze off?" wosthequestion of every poor pal you might meet.And now there's a new "water famine" along o' the 'eat, not the cold,And ginger-pop's sellin' as fast as it can be unbottled and sold.Queen's droring-rooms, troopin' the colours, and trotting youngNasrullaround,Is sights your true patriot's nuts on, and I've donemybit, you be bound.I chi-iked to young Ingy-rubber, and give him the haffable nod;And if H. R. H. didn't twig me, and drop me a smile, well, it's odd.Hart's 'aving its innings, as usual, and so is old W. G.,Only more so. My eye and a band-box, a rare bit o' stuffhemust be!As nigh forty-seven as don't matter, as big as a barrel, and yetA-piling 'is centries like pea-shellin'! Sound Double Gloster, you bet!I sor him at Lord's, mate, last Thursday, five 'ours and a arf in the sun,A smiting and running as if, at 'is age, with 'is weight, it was fun!'Ot,Charlie? My collar flopped limp, and I lapped lemon-squoshes—a number;And there wos 'e tottling 'is Thousand, as cool as a bloomin' cowcumber.I wouldn't ha' done it for tuppence; no, not with the cheerings chucked in,Although the Pervilion fair rose at 'im. 'Ow gents of clarss, and with tin,And noneedto it,Charlie, choose Cricket, at ninety degrees in the shyde,When they could lay hidle, fair licks me. But, there, hevery one to 'is tryde!A dust-coat, a white 'at, a field-glass, a landau and lashings o' fizz,At Hascot would suitmefur better. The old sport o' kingsisgood biz,With shekels, and luck, like LordRosebery! Scissors! Ido'ate a Rad.But a sportsman, as pulls off two Derbies, wy 'ang it, 'ecarn'tbe no Cad.If Primrose would only turn Primroser, wot a fair topper he'd be!Wotcanbe 'is little gyme,Charlie, to foller old W. G.?(I don't mean the cricketer this time.) That Liberal lot ain't no clarss,With a lot o' tag-rag they carn't hold, and a lot o' bad Bills they carn't parss.The blot on this Season is Parlyment. Wy don't they 'urry it up,And scoot to country, the cripples? St. Paul's to my tarrier pup,They'd git a 'ot 'iding this journey. LetRoseberycut the thing short,Chuck'Arcourtand pal on with GentlemanJoe,likea gent, and a Sport!Then'Arrywill talk to 'im,Charlie! Ah, well, I ain't got no more room,Though I ain't done the Season arf justice. The last pale laburnum's in bloom,But it ain't bin washed brimstone with rain-bursts. OurSarahis hover from Parry,SirOrgustusis fair on the toot, so 'Ooray for the Season! Yours,'Arry.
DearCharlie,—The pypers all tell us the Season is now at its 'ight;Don't mean one o'Thomson's, my pippin.Thatjosser is now out of dyte.When I was a bit of a kiddie, dad 'ad a old brown-covered bookInto wich now and then, on a Sunday, 'e thought it the right thing to look.
DearCharlie,—The pypers all tell us the Season is now at its 'ight;
Don't mean one o'Thomson's, my pippin.Thatjosser is now out of dyte.
When I was a bit of a kiddie, dad 'ad a old brown-covered book
Into wich now and then, on a Sunday, 'e thought it the right thing to look.
Suchsloppy saloop, my dearCharlie, "embellished" with rummy old cuts,Drawn stiff and old-fashioned, byStothard. On one on 'em though, I was nuts,Musi—— somethink or other I fancy. But as to the cackle, Great Scott!—"The sun rolling bounteous from Aries," and reams o' such molly slop rot.
Suchsloppy saloop, my dearCharlie, "embellished" with rummy old cuts,
Drawn stiff and old-fashioned, byStothard. On one on 'em though, I was nuts,
Musi—— somethink or other I fancy. But as to the cackle, Great Scott!—
"The sun rolling bounteous from Aries," and reams o' such molly slop rot.
Now ifJemmy'ad sung ofourSeason, not Nature's old merry-go-round,But London's pertikler, for swells, it 'ud suit me right down to the ground.But asJemmyhas shirked it for tosh on "ethereal mildness," and such,Wy'Arrymust 'ave a cut in, and all London is fly tohistouch.
Now ifJemmy'ad sung ofourSeason, not Nature's old merry-go-round,
But London's pertikler, for swells, it 'ud suit me right down to the ground.
But asJemmyhas shirked it for tosh on "ethereal mildness," and such,
Wy'Arrymust 'ave a cut in, and all London is fly tohistouch.
Wot a Summer we're 'aving this Season! All Nature seems trim and in tune;Ripe strorberries picked out o' doors, though we've 'ardly yet dropped into June;The parks jest like bloomin' peraries, the water supply going queer,And a general 'urrying up for stror 'ats, lemon squoshes, and beer.
Wot a Summer we're 'aving this Season! All Nature seems trim and in tune;
Ripe strorberries picked out o' doors, though we've 'ardly yet dropped into June;
The parks jest like bloomin' peraries, the water supply going queer,
And a general 'urrying up for stror 'ats, lemon squoshes, and beer.
It seems only yesterday,Charlie, the standpipes wos up in our street,And "Areyoufroze off?" wosthequestion of every poor pal you might meet.And now there's a new "water famine" along o' the 'eat, not the cold,And ginger-pop's sellin' as fast as it can be unbottled and sold.
It seems only yesterday,Charlie, the standpipes wos up in our street,
And "Areyoufroze off?" wosthequestion of every poor pal you might meet.
And now there's a new "water famine" along o' the 'eat, not the cold,
And ginger-pop's sellin' as fast as it can be unbottled and sold.
Queen's droring-rooms, troopin' the colours, and trotting youngNasrullaround,Is sights your true patriot's nuts on, and I've donemybit, you be bound.I chi-iked to young Ingy-rubber, and give him the haffable nod;And if H. R. H. didn't twig me, and drop me a smile, well, it's odd.
Queen's droring-rooms, troopin' the colours, and trotting youngNasrullaround,
Is sights your true patriot's nuts on, and I've donemybit, you be bound.
I chi-iked to young Ingy-rubber, and give him the haffable nod;
And if H. R. H. didn't twig me, and drop me a smile, well, it's odd.
Hart's 'aving its innings, as usual, and so is old W. G.,Only more so. My eye and a band-box, a rare bit o' stuffhemust be!As nigh forty-seven as don't matter, as big as a barrel, and yetA-piling 'is centries like pea-shellin'! Sound Double Gloster, you bet!
Hart's 'aving its innings, as usual, and so is old W. G.,
Only more so. My eye and a band-box, a rare bit o' stuffhemust be!
As nigh forty-seven as don't matter, as big as a barrel, and yet
A-piling 'is centries like pea-shellin'! Sound Double Gloster, you bet!
I sor him at Lord's, mate, last Thursday, five 'ours and a arf in the sun,A smiting and running as if, at 'is age, with 'is weight, it was fun!'Ot,Charlie? My collar flopped limp, and I lapped lemon-squoshes—a number;And there wos 'e tottling 'is Thousand, as cool as a bloomin' cowcumber.
I sor him at Lord's, mate, last Thursday, five 'ours and a arf in the sun,
A smiting and running as if, at 'is age, with 'is weight, it was fun!
'Ot,Charlie? My collar flopped limp, and I lapped lemon-squoshes—a number;
And there wos 'e tottling 'is Thousand, as cool as a bloomin' cowcumber.
I wouldn't ha' done it for tuppence; no, not with the cheerings chucked in,Although the Pervilion fair rose at 'im. 'Ow gents of clarss, and with tin,And noneedto it,Charlie, choose Cricket, at ninety degrees in the shyde,When they could lay hidle, fair licks me. But, there, hevery one to 'is tryde!
I wouldn't ha' done it for tuppence; no, not with the cheerings chucked in,
Although the Pervilion fair rose at 'im. 'Ow gents of clarss, and with tin,
And noneedto it,Charlie, choose Cricket, at ninety degrees in the shyde,
When they could lay hidle, fair licks me. But, there, hevery one to 'is tryde!
A dust-coat, a white 'at, a field-glass, a landau and lashings o' fizz,At Hascot would suitmefur better. The old sport o' kingsisgood biz,With shekels, and luck, like LordRosebery! Scissors! Ido'ate a Rad.But a sportsman, as pulls off two Derbies, wy 'ang it, 'ecarn'tbe no Cad.
A dust-coat, a white 'at, a field-glass, a landau and lashings o' fizz,
At Hascot would suitmefur better. The old sport o' kingsisgood biz,
With shekels, and luck, like LordRosebery! Scissors! Ido'ate a Rad.
But a sportsman, as pulls off two Derbies, wy 'ang it, 'ecarn'tbe no Cad.
If Primrose would only turn Primroser, wot a fair topper he'd be!Wotcanbe 'is little gyme,Charlie, to foller old W. G.?(I don't mean the cricketer this time.) That Liberal lot ain't no clarss,With a lot o' tag-rag they carn't hold, and a lot o' bad Bills they carn't parss.
If Primrose would only turn Primroser, wot a fair topper he'd be!
Wotcanbe 'is little gyme,Charlie, to foller old W. G.?
(I don't mean the cricketer this time.) That Liberal lot ain't no clarss,
With a lot o' tag-rag they carn't hold, and a lot o' bad Bills they carn't parss.
The blot on this Season is Parlyment. Wy don't they 'urry it up,And scoot to country, the cripples? St. Paul's to my tarrier pup,They'd git a 'ot 'iding this journey. LetRoseberycut the thing short,Chuck'Arcourtand pal on with GentlemanJoe,likea gent, and a Sport!
The blot on this Season is Parlyment. Wy don't they 'urry it up,
And scoot to country, the cripples? St. Paul's to my tarrier pup,
They'd git a 'ot 'iding this journey. LetRoseberycut the thing short,
Chuck'Arcourtand pal on with GentlemanJoe,likea gent, and a Sport!
Then'Arrywill talk to 'im,Charlie! Ah, well, I ain't got no more room,Though I ain't done the Season arf justice. The last pale laburnum's in bloom,But it ain't bin washed brimstone with rain-bursts. OurSarahis hover from Parry,SirOrgustusis fair on the toot, so 'Ooray for the Season! Yours,'Arry.
Then'Arrywill talk to 'im,Charlie! Ah, well, I ain't got no more room,
Though I ain't done the Season arf justice. The last pale laburnum's in bloom,
But it ain't bin washed brimstone with rain-bursts. OurSarahis hover from Parry,
SirOrgustusis fair on the toot, so 'Ooray for the Season! Yours,'Arry.
New Book and Query.—"Women's Tragedies.ByH. D. Lowry." Is the tragic history ofThat Lass of Lowrie'sincluded? "But that is another story."
This is how the Guardians of the Midleton Union (County Cork) transact business:—
"Mr. Morrison(to the Chairman). You promised to write to the Local Government Board, and do it now. (Noise and interruptions.)"Mr. Murphy(warmly). I say the whole thing is all humbug, and based upon humbug."(At this stage there was great noise and confusion, several gentlemen speaking at the same time.)"Chairman(very warmly, and hitting the table). I say I am not a humbug, and I was never a humbug, and I hope I'll never have to be displaced from any public position because I was a humbug or a proved humbug."
"Mr. Morrison(to the Chairman). You promised to write to the Local Government Board, and do it now. (Noise and interruptions.)
"Mr. Murphy(warmly). I say the whole thing is all humbug, and based upon humbug.
"(At this stage there was great noise and confusion, several gentlemen speaking at the same time.)
"Chairman(very warmly, and hitting the table). I say I am not a humbug, and I was never a humbug, and I hope I'll never have to be displaced from any public position because I was a humbug or a proved humbug."
Why did not the table turn upon the chair, and hit it back? This would have been a real case of table-turning. To parodyEdward Lear'sdelightfulNonsense Songs,
Said the Table to the Chair,"You can hardly be awareHow it feels when you come downWith your fist upon my crown."
Said the Table to the Chair,"You can hardly be awareHow it feels when you come downWith your fist upon my crown."
Said the Table to the Chair,
"You can hardly be aware
How it feels when you come down
With your fist upon my crown."
"Menus Plaisirs."—One of the bestmenusof the season provided by the Lyceum House of Entertainment included, or rather did include, during last week past, such choice dishes, so much to the taste of everyone, asThe Ris d'Ellen Terry à la Nance OldfieldandTête de Mathias à la Henri premier. Appropriately, of course, did the orchestra, which plays before each performance, give the old familiar airs of "I would I were with Nancy!" and "The Bells are ringing for"—Mathias—not for "Sara."
A STRAIGHT REPLY.A STRAIGHT REPLY.Daughter of a Hundred Earls(who is about to marry for love). "Now I am going to have a House of my own, Mrs. Rustle, I shall get you to give me a Hint or two."The Maternal Housekeeper."Well, Lady Clara, I'm afraid I can't help you much. I know very little about the Contrivances of People with Small Means."
Daughter of a Hundred Earls(who is about to marry for love). "Now I am going to have a House of my own, Mrs. Rustle, I shall get you to give me a Hint or two."
The Maternal Housekeeper."Well, Lady Clara, I'm afraid I can't help you much. I know very little about the Contrivances of People with Small Means."
[Mr.Anthony Hope's"reply on behalf of the ladies was witty and felicitous, and only disappointed" those who had hoped that at least one "new woman" would have justified the claim of her sex to equality with the male by replying. "The only sign of novelty we detected about the ladies present was that a few condescended to puff cigarettes, to the evident scandal of some less advanced ladies."—The "Literary World" upon the late meeting of the "New Vagabond Club."]
[Mr.Anthony Hope's"reply on behalf of the ladies was witty and felicitous, and only disappointed" those who had hoped that at least one "new woman" would have justified the claim of her sex to equality with the male by replying. "The only sign of novelty we detected about the ladies present was that a few condescended to puff cigarettes, to the evident scandal of some less advanced ladies."—The "Literary World" upon the late meeting of the "New Vagabond Club."]
Of novelties—and novel ties—in chase,Advances the New Woman, destined winnerOf true first-fiddledom and pride of place!Already she's "advanced" to a club dinnerAt the New Vagabonds! How EleusinianIt sounds, how almost desperately daring!Clubdom was once Man's absolute dominion,Which now New Womanhood with him seems sharing."She made no speeches," though;— thoughFrankfort MooreCracked jokes, andHopetold tales! With mild regretOne hears that, 'midst the after-dinner "roar"Her share was—proxies and a cigarette!Canit be her revolt against Man's yokeShall end, as here, in silence and in smoke!
Of novelties—and novel ties—in chase,Advances the New Woman, destined winnerOf true first-fiddledom and pride of place!Already she's "advanced" to a club dinnerAt the New Vagabonds! How EleusinianIt sounds, how almost desperately daring!Clubdom was once Man's absolute dominion,Which now New Womanhood with him seems sharing."She made no speeches," though;— thoughFrankfort MooreCracked jokes, andHopetold tales! With mild regretOne hears that, 'midst the after-dinner "roar"Her share was—proxies and a cigarette!Canit be her revolt against Man's yokeShall end, as here, in silence and in smoke!
Of novelties—and novel ties—in chase,
Advances the New Woman, destined winner
Of true first-fiddledom and pride of place!
Already she's "advanced" to a club dinner
At the New Vagabonds! How Eleusinian
It sounds, how almost desperately daring!
Clubdom was once Man's absolute dominion,
Which now New Womanhood with him seems sharing.
"She made no speeches," though;— thoughFrankfort Moore
Cracked jokes, andHopetold tales! With mild regret
One hears that, 'midst the after-dinner "roar"
Her share was—proxies and a cigarette!
Canit be her revolt against Man's yoke
Shall end, as here, in silence and in smoke!
Damp Italian Drama.—The EveningDews, eh?
[A paper on "The Amplitude of Rolling on a Non-synchronous Wave" was read before the Congress of Naval Architects in Paris.]
Last week, the papers tell us, the talented and zealousDesigners who construct our ships their best attention gaveToM. Bertin'swriting on what sounds to us exciting—The amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.How often, crossing over those distressing Straits of Dover,Where flighty folks grow flabby and where giddy ones grow grave,We have meditated sadly that we don't encounter gladlyThe amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.The amplitude—we'd bear it, and would probably not care, itSeems but to be an adjunct which perhaps we might not crave.For that execrable rolling we require much more consoling,That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.Yet the rolling might be ended if the waves could be amendedTo synchronously swell, all want of symmetry to save,But we can't beCanutes, can we? He could no more stop it than we—That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.So LordDufferinentreated all the experts, round him seated,To build a ship where passengers could comfortably shave,Even where a billiard-table would be absolutely stable,No amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.Naval Architects, then, hasten to diminish woes which chastenThe happiness of hundreds, be they timorous or brave;Make a ship, like dry land seeming, where we should not think of dreamingOf amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.
Last week, the papers tell us, the talented and zealousDesigners who construct our ships their best attention gaveToM. Bertin'swriting on what sounds to us exciting—The amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
Last week, the papers tell us, the talented and zealous
Designers who construct our ships their best attention gave
ToM. Bertin'swriting on what sounds to us exciting—
The amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
How often, crossing over those distressing Straits of Dover,Where flighty folks grow flabby and where giddy ones grow grave,We have meditated sadly that we don't encounter gladlyThe amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
How often, crossing over those distressing Straits of Dover,
Where flighty folks grow flabby and where giddy ones grow grave,
We have meditated sadly that we don't encounter gladly
The amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
The amplitude—we'd bear it, and would probably not care, itSeems but to be an adjunct which perhaps we might not crave.For that execrable rolling we require much more consoling,That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
The amplitude—we'd bear it, and would probably not care, it
Seems but to be an adjunct which perhaps we might not crave.
For that execrable rolling we require much more consoling,
That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
Yet the rolling might be ended if the waves could be amendedTo synchronously swell, all want of symmetry to save,But we can't beCanutes, can we? He could no more stop it than we—That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
Yet the rolling might be ended if the waves could be amended
To synchronously swell, all want of symmetry to save,
But we can't beCanutes, can we? He could no more stop it than we—
That amplitude of rolling when non-synchronous the wave.
So LordDufferinentreated all the experts, round him seated,To build a ship where passengers could comfortably shave,Even where a billiard-table would be absolutely stable,No amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.
So LordDufferinentreated all the experts, round him seated,
To build a ship where passengers could comfortably shave,
Even where a billiard-table would be absolutely stable,
No amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.
Naval Architects, then, hasten to diminish woes which chastenThe happiness of hundreds, be they timorous or brave;Make a ship, like dry land seeming, where we should not think of dreamingOf amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.
Naval Architects, then, hasten to diminish woes which chasten
The happiness of hundreds, be they timorous or brave;
Make a ship, like dry land seeming, where we should not think of dreaming
Of amplitude of rolling, though non-synchronous the wave.
"Cromwell," wrote theDaily NewsonArthur Balfour'sspeech, "was the only man of his time who understood the principles of religious freedom." Ahem!
"Papa," saidPolly Eccles, referring to certain charges brought against her revered father, "Papa may have his faults, but he's averyclever man." So theD. N.as to the ProtectorCromwell. "Oliver," says theD. N.in effect, "being human, may have had his faults, as had other men of his time, but he thoroughly understood religious freedom." Did he? In Ireland for example? With him "religious freedom" was like the verb in grammar, either "expressed" or "understood." It might have been "understood," but it certainly was not "expressed" in action. IfCromwellwas such a model of "religious freedom," then it will be as well to reconsider history underNero,Diocletian,& Co., not to mention the amiable NinthCharlesof France, the genialHarry the Eighthof England, the gentlePeter, Czar of all the Russia, and a few other kindly-disposed rulers, who were, probably, the only men of their time thoroughly understanding the principles of religious freedom. As the song says, "They wouldn't ha' 'urt a biby, They were men as you could trust!" And forOliverhimself, "He was all right when you knew him,But—you had to know him fust!" Rather; and then you had to accommodate yourself to his little ways, or else so much the worse for one of the two, and that one wouldn't have beenOliver Cromwell. But, of course, between principles and practise there is a "Great Divide."
The Shahzada, weary of London life and English enjoyment, will at last exclaim with the canny Scot, "For pleasure gie me Peebles!" (The original remark was made by the author ofPeebles whom I have met.)
Note, Saturday, June 15.—Piece running last the week in Theatre Royal Law Courts—"Bébé." For Monday's lunch SirHenry Hawkinsordered a Capon.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, June 10.—School reopened after Whitsun Holidays. Occasion marked by lamentable episode. Attendance, as usual on Black Monday, very small.Speakertook Chair at three o'clock. No private business on hand; nothing to be done till half-past three. Meanwhile,Speakerand Members sit with hands folded.
Everyone knows the temptation of such opportunity for a nameless Personage.Tommy'sidle hands instinctively clutched after mischief. Suppose he were to move to have House counted? Evidently not forty present; nothing very serious would follow.Speakerwould count. If not forty on hand, would leave Chair, sit at table, and wait till they came. Or he would go off, come back any time before four when message brought in that a quorum was in sight. Still, it would be a lark; would startle the House, frighten Ministers, possibly postpone commencement of business by half an hour.
Cap'en just rising with intent to observe that there are not forty Members present, when happier thought struck him. Why not get some landsman to do the trick? The more venerable and venerated the agent the better.Tommyknows himself to be a wicked old salt. House not shocked now at anything he does. Half the fun gone if he played this prank himself. Shifting his quid and scanning horizon, noted in his place SirRichard Temple, Bart., G.C.S.I., late Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, once Governor of Bombay, sometime Chief Commissioner of Central Provinces of India.
The very man for the job. Buttonholing him with his hook, Cap'enTommyopened his little plot.Templeaghast at first. Never known such a thing done, and the like.Tommyjawed away, twistingTempleround the tip of his hook like a marlingspike on a flying jibboom. Convinced him that public duty called for sacrifice of private prejudices. Having squaredTemple,Tommygot men near him to walk out before House was counted, so as to reduce chances of quorum.
Bell rang; Members rushed in; Ministers huddled on Treasury Bench like flock of frightened sheep.Tommy, looking down from shrouds in Strangers' Gallery, carefully counted.
"Only thirty two," he said. "Done it!"
ButSpeakercan count as well. "One-two—four—fourteen—twenty-seven—thirty-nine, forty," said he, with tone of conviction that precluded contradiction.
"Blow me tight!" saidTommy, coming out of the shrouds, a deathly pallor shining through his tan. That was not his exact expression; but it was equivalent to his remark.
Business done.—Quite a lot.
Vantage in (Sir E. Gr-y and Sir E. Ashm-d-B-rtl-tt.)Vantage in (Sir E. Gr-y and Sir E. Ashm-d-B-rtl-tt.)
Vantage in (Sir E. Gr-y and Sir E. Ashm-d-B-rtl-tt.)
Tuesday.—Edward Greyis a hard nut for Irresponsible Verbosity to crack.Silomio, his jaws aching with attempts at crunchingSydney Buxton, sometimes turns to him, and goes away sorrowing.Tommyhas a tuck in at him occasionally, but makes nothing of the job. To nightAmbrose, Q.C., took him in hand. Drew up stupendous question on subject of Great Britain's relations with the Porte in respect of Armenia.
"That'll fetch him," he said, as he ogled the paper on which the question was set forth in bold type. Is there a treaty obligation, he wanted to know, as distinguished from mere discretionary right, authorising Great Britain to interfere in the affairs of Armenia, or make war upon the Porte? If so, specify the treaty and the particular article or articles creating such obligation.
This a bare summary of question, the drafting of which had costAmbrose, Q.C., some sleepless nights.Silomiohad looked over it;Tommyhad touched it up;Bartleyhad beamed over it;Hanburyhad hugged it.Grey'slast hour (of course in Parliamentary sense) had evidently come. He had wriggled out of some earlier man traps set for him. This would settle him.
And this is whatGreysaid in reply:—"The article of the Treaty of Berlin relative to the point raised by the hon. member is the sixty-first."
Only that, and nothing more. The raven on the pallid bust ofPallaswas scarcely more disappointingly laconic. There was a shocked pause; then allied forces swooped down onUnder Secretary, crying, in chorus. Did the clause mean this? Did it mean that?
"The hon. member," saidGrey, not even smiling, "must place his own interpretation on the clause."
Evidently nothing to be done with a person of this temperament.Silomio, with a wild shriek, learned in Swaziland, dashed in with fresh questions; was neatly tripped up bySpeaker; lay sprawling on ground with dishevelled hair. Before he could get up,Snapewas askingHome Secretaryif the police might not be supplied with lighter clothing in summer months.
Don Currie, Lord High Admiral.Don Currie, Lord High Admiral.
Don Currie, Lord High Admiral.
Business done.—Crofters Bill read second time.
Wednesday. Off Tilbury.—Yes, I'm off Tilbury, and shall be off to the Baltic at four bells, whatever time that may be. Mr. G. is responsible for it. Tired of doing nothing; pondering perilously over growing temptation to run up to town, plunge into Parliamentary work; address meeting at Blackheath on Armenian question. In nick of time comes letter fromDon Currie, proposing a trip to Kiel for opening of Baltic Canal.
"The very thing!" said Mr. G., vaulting over the library table at Hawarden, where he was sitting when letter arrived. "ButToby, M.P., must come with us."
Objections urged in vain. What would Constituents in Berks say, me running away from work? Who was to write the only authentic matter-of-fact record of Parliamentary doings for future historians? Mr. G., with all the impetuosity of youth, would listen to nothing. So here I am, onboard the R.M.S.Tantallon Castle. Here, also, is quite a quorum of members. Curious to see how they all trooped in just now when luncheon-bell rang. Said they thought it was a division; being in saloon, might as well stay.
That's all very well. By-and-by we'll be on the North Sea, where the stormy winds do blow, do blow. Shall seethenwhether we can keep a House through the dinner hour.
Business done.—Anchor weighed. Mr. G. taking the helm till we're out in the open, when anyone can steer. Looks more than usually knowing in a sou'wester. Wind N.S.E. Barometer falling.
Startling News! All's Well that Ends Well.—Gracecaught!!Wrightat last.