A PARLIAMENTARY PROSPECTBr-ce. B-nn-rm-n. Asq-th.A PARLIAMENTARY PROSPECT.PASSION AND POETRY.Sir W. V. H-rc-rt(on Opposition Bench). "How hot and uncomfortable they must be over there! So crowded!"
Br-ce. B-nn-rm-n. Asq-th.A PARLIAMENTARY PROSPECT.
PASSION AND POETRY.
Sir W. V. H-rc-rt(on Opposition Bench). "How hot and uncomfortable they must be over there! So crowded!"
AN EYE TO EFFECTAN EYE TO EFFECT.Little Dives."Oh, by the way, Belairs—awfully sorry to cut you out, you know—but I've just proposed to Lady Barbara, and she's accepted me, and we're to be married in September. And look here, Old Chappie; I want you to be my Best Man. I want to make a good Show at the Altar, you know!"
AN EYE TO EFFECT.
Little Dives."Oh, by the way, Belairs—awfully sorry to cut you out, you know—but I've just proposed to Lady Barbara, and she's accepted me, and we're to be married in September. And look here, Old Chappie; I want you to be my Best Man. I want to make a good Show at the Altar, you know!"
I was immensely struck, a few days ago, by a passage in a speech recently delivered by the Archbishop ofCanterbury, in which he explained his method of dispelling those passing fits of ill-temper from which, alas! not even Archbishops are wholly free. "At times," so ran the report of His Grace's words, "anger or irritation came upon him, but on the table he kept a book of pleasant poems, of which he would read a few lines, and the irritation would melt away." Immediately I determined to follow this noble example. It was unfortunate that the "book of pleasant poems" was not described more specifically—could it be the verses of Mr.Arthur Christopher Benson?—but I bought a pocket volume ofSelections from the Great Poets, which contained enough variety to suit every case, and then looked out for an opportunity of trying the Archbishop's plan.
I had not long to wait. That very evening I came across my uncleRobertat Clapham Junction, in a furious rage at having just missed the last train to Slowborough, where he lives. At once I produced my volume, and in slow and emphatic accents I read aloud some three or four hundred lines from "Paradise Lost." I was about to add one or two ofWordsworth'ssonnets, when I realised that my uncle had long since disappeared, and that I was surrounded by a jeering crowd, who evidently supposed me to be a member of the Salvation Army.
On the following morning I received a visit fromSnips, my tailor. He was impolite enough to suggest a settlement of what he termed my "small account," a demand, as I politely but plainly assured him, which was altogether absurd. As he showed distinct symptoms of irritation at this juncture, I began to read him a scene fromMeasure for Measure. Strangely enough, this seemed only to irritate him further, and I understand that he intends to take proceedings against me in the County Court. This second unaccountable failure of the Archbishop's remedy greatly surprised and pained me, but I decided to give it another trial.
This morning I was playing golf with my friendMacfoozle. At no time a skilful golfer,Macfoozle'sform to-day was worse than ever; whenever he made a bad stroke—and he seldom made a good one—he indulged in the most violent language. Fortunately my volume of poetry was in my pocket. When he completely missed his drive at the second hole, I read himColeridge'sDejection. When he broke his mashie at the fourth, I treated him with copious selections fromIn Memoriam. Finally, he got badly bunkered while playing to the fourteenth hole. For some ten minutes he smote furiously with his niblick, only raising prodigious clouds of sand as the result of his efforts. This was clearly a golden opportunity for the Archbishop's cure, "anger and irritation" but faintly representedMacfoozle'srage. Seating myself on the edge of the bunker, I began to read aloudThe Ring and the Bookwith the utmost pathos. Over what followed I prefer to draw a veil. It is enough to say that a niblick is a very effective weapon, and that I write these lines in bed.
When I recover, I really must call at Lambeth for fuller directions. The archiepiscopal remedy for angry passions does not seem invariably happy in its results, as far as my experience goes.
The Malt-Liquor-Tippler's Maxim.—"Nihil ale-ienum a me pewter":—"Nothing in the shape of beer comes amiss to me if it's in a pewter."
A Chip to the Champion.
[Mr.Ranjitsinhjiis running Mr.W. G. Gracevery close in the batting averages.]
[Mr.Ranjitsinhjiis running Mr.W. G. Gracevery close in the batting averages.]
To the ancient air of "Cheer up Sam!"
Buck-up, Grace!And don't let your average down!For "Ranjit" seems running you hard for first place,To collar your Cricketing Crown!
Buck-up, Grace!And don't let your average down!For "Ranjit" seems running you hard for first place,To collar your Cricketing Crown!
"Proud o' the Title."—SirHenry Jamesto be "LordJeames." How delightedW. M. Thackeraywould have been!
By a Reasonable Rad.
Whywere we whipped? Rads wrangle round,But tothecause make scant allusion.When all's summed up, it will be found,"Fusion" has won againstCon-fusion!
Whywere we whipped? Rads wrangle round,But tothecause make scant allusion.When all's summed up, it will be found,"Fusion" has won againstCon-fusion!
A Suggestion.—In latestObserveris a capital article by Mr.Escott, whose text is that "smart" Society transplants to London all Parisian fashions that will bear the process. The title is "British Boulevardism;" but one still more suggestive of the mixture would be "John-Bullvardism." Perhaps Mr.Escottmay adopt this and give us another column.
ROUNDABOUT READINGS.
In a biographical sketch of the late Rev. Dr.Julius Hawley Seelye, formerly President of Amherst College, in America, I read that "Amherst made him President notwithstanding considerable opposition in the faculty. He soon overcame that, and advanced the prosperity of the College in the accessions to its faculty and endowments that he secured. He soon required the students to sign an agreement to be gentlemen. A violation of the pledge resulted in the termination of their careers at Amherst." This sounds strange, for it would appear that if no pledge had been given the students might have behaved as they liked, without terminating their careers. The idea of solemnly pledging yourself to be a gentleman is quite colossal.
untitled
The Independent Labour Party is not dead yet. It is forming clubs, just like any ordinary humdrum party. TheWestern Daily Pressreports that "At a special meeting held atLee'sCoffee Tavern, Bath Bridge, last night, when there were present Mr.W. S. M. Knight, president of the Bristol South Independent Labour Party (in the chair), Messrs.A. Browne,E. B. Hack,C. Vale,C. F. Brocklehurst,T. Pole,C. Parker, andW. Price, it was unanimously decided to open a club for Totterdown and the East Ward of Bedminster in connection with the Independent Labour Party. Officers and a committee were appointed, and suitable headquarters for the club were decided upon." Nothing could be more appropriate. Totterdown suggests decrepitude and failure (in this case at least), and Bedminster hints at repose and peace. I offer the suggestion and the hint gratis to the Independent Labour Windbags.
The Loveday Street Canal Bridge (which is, I fancy, in Birmingham) is evidently a demon bridge with a depraved taste for injuring children. One day last week it threwJohn Chick, aged seven, off and broke one of his legs. About five hours later, resenting an attempt on the part ofThomas Walton, aged twelve, to climb it, it flung him off on to the towing-path and injured his back. A few days before that it had precipitated the sameThomas Waltoninto the water, whence he was rescued with some difficulty. Evidently this is a bridge with an ungovernable temper, and the authorities should guard it efficiently.
The Scotsmaninforms me that "speaking the other day at Haddington, Mr.Balfourglanced scathingly at those politicians of the baser sort who seek to confuse great issues by dragging to the front petty or irrelevant questions, and the breath of whose nostrils is the disturbance of the harmony which should subsist between class and class of the community." On this two questions arise. The first is how Mr.Balfour, an amiable gentleman, managed to glance scathingly. To scath, as I learn from the dictionary, means to hurt, to injure; and, personally, I cannot imagine Mr.Balfourinfusing very much venom into a mere glance of his expressive eye. The second question is how politicians, even of the baser sort, can go on living when their unfortunate lungs are filled with a disturbance of harmony. That they should have sufficient strength left to drag to the front petty or irrelevant questions is nothing short of a marvel, due allowance being made for metaphors.
A golfer is in trouble, and has confided his difficulties toGolf.
Whilst playing on the links at Streetly, on July 16, he drove a ball, which apparently fell clear, but which for some time could not be found. After some little hunting it was discovered under a small tuft of heather in a lark's nest, resting on the back of a young lark, apparently about four days old, together with three lark's eggs, which were quite intact. The golfer was obliged, of course, to lift the ball and place it behind, as it would have been gross cruelty to have played it from the nest. It was match play. Under the exceptional circumstances was he bound to lose the hole? The editor replies that if a player were a stickler for the law and nothing but the law, he, of course, would be entitled to enforce it against his opponent who found the ball in the nest.
Whilst playing on the links at Streetly, on July 16, he drove a ball, which apparently fell clear, but which for some time could not be found. After some little hunting it was discovered under a small tuft of heather in a lark's nest, resting on the back of a young lark, apparently about four days old, together with three lark's eggs, which were quite intact. The golfer was obliged, of course, to lift the ball and place it behind, as it would have been gross cruelty to have played it from the nest. It was match play. Under the exceptional circumstances was he bound to lose the hole? The editor replies that if a player were a stickler for the law and nothing but the law, he, of course, would be entitled to enforce it against his opponent who found the ball in the nest.
A tee for your ball, you may fashion of sand(Which is found in the sugar you use for your tea);Then you spread your legs wide, and you take a firm stand,And away with a whack goes the ball flying free.If it flies like a bird, there's no need to explain;If not, then the ways of that golfer are dark,Who attempts, though the effort is doomed to be vain,To stand, taking tee on the back of a lark.
A tee for your ball, you may fashion of sand(Which is found in the sugar you use for your tea);Then you spread your legs wide, and you take a firm stand,And away with a whack goes the ball flying free.
If it flies like a bird, there's no need to explain;If not, then the ways of that golfer are dark,Who attempts, though the effort is doomed to be vain,To stand, taking tee on the back of a lark.
There has been some excitement at Weston-super-Mare. The "Conservative party organized a reception for the Hon.G. H. Jolliffeon his first appearance in the town since his election for the Wells division. Arrangements were made for those intending to take part in the procession to meet the hon. gentleman at the Potteries on his return from Banwell Horse Show at 7 p.m., but he arrived in the town a quarter of an hour too early, and scores of enthusiasts were disappointed. Those, however, who happened to be early enough followed the hon. gentleman, some on foot and others in cabs, to the Royal Hotel, the Town Band heading the procession. Mr.Jollifferode on a coach drawn by four horses, and was supported by several of the leaders of the party in the town. Subsequently he addressed those assembled." But if Mr.Jollifferode on a coach, why was it necessary to support him? Moreover, seeing that it was a four-horse affair, it seems unjust that the leaders should be talked of and that no mention at all should be made of the wheelers.
Nana Sahibhas died once more.
A Mr.William Brown, who was formerly an officer in the East India Company's service, and is now residing at San Francisco, gives the following particulars regarding the fate ofNana Sahib. Mr.Brownsays that he was commodore of the Ganges Fleet in the Indian Mutiny, and was attacked by Sepoys underNana Sahibhimself, who was shot in the fighting, and afterwards died on board Mr.Brown'sship.Nana Sahib'sbody was then cremated, and the ashes were committed to the river.
A Mr.William Brown, who was formerly an officer in the East India Company's service, and is now residing at San Francisco, gives the following particulars regarding the fate ofNana Sahib. Mr.Brownsays that he was commodore of the Ganges Fleet in the Indian Mutiny, and was attacked by Sepoys underNana Sahibhimself, who was shot in the fighting, and afterwards died on board Mr.Brown'sship.Nana Sahib'sbody was then cremated, and the ashes were committed to the river.
Why, oh why, has Mr.Brown, whom I heartily congratulate on clearing up the mystery, kept silence for nearly forty years? And, by the way, which Mr.William Brownis he? There must be a good manyWilliam Brown'seven in San Francisco. Before concluding that the matter is definitely settled, I should like to hear Mr.Henry Smith, Mr.Richard Robinson, and Mr.John Joneson the subject.
WHERE NOT TO GO.
(Hints by our Pessimist Passenger.)
Amsterdam.—Too much sea before you get there.Boulogne.—Not particularly pleasant at low tide.Cologne.—The reverse of fragrant at all times.Dieppe.—The trap of the tripper.Etretat.—No longer what it was.Frankfort.—Only good for a change of money.Geneva.—Dull and dear.Heidelberg.—Too much hill, and too little castle.Interlaken.—The 'appy 'ome of'Arry.Jura Pass.—Sure find forBrown,Jones, andRobinson.Karlsbad.—Kill or cure.Lyons.—Apotheosis of silk monotonous.Marseilles.—Good place for musquitoes, bad for all else.Nice.—Too near to Monte Carlo.Ouchy.—Hotel good, but surroundings superfluous.Paris.—Too hot. Theatres closed and wideawakes seen on the boulevards.Quebec.—Dangerous rival to Bath, Coventry, and Jericho.Rotterdam.—Worthy of its name.Suez.—Not comparable to Cairo.Trouville.—Requires antedating a quarter of a century.Uig.—Skyed and out of reach.Venice.—Vulgarised by the steam launches.Wiesbaden.—Has not yet recovered the loss of its table.Xerez.—Long journey for a glass of sherry.Yokohama.—Not a patch upon Pekin.Zurich.—Alliterative attraction for zomebody.
A BONNE BOUCHE.
Mr. Wagstaff.Ah! I have lived many years in the bush.
Mrs. Leo Hunter.How interesting! I suppose you must have become almost savage!
Mr. W. Frequently, when I couldn't get a 'bus or a cab.
Mrs. L. H.(utterly astonished). A 'bus or a cab! in the bush!!
Mr. W.(pleasantly). Ah, yes; I was talking of "Shepherd's Bush." Good morning.
[Exit chuckling.
⁂Note by the Bird in the Bush.—In future this little jest ofWaggy'swill be impossible, as it is proposed to re-name Shepherd's Bush, and call it Pastoral Park, or All-Askew Park, or something of the sort.]
⁂Note by the Bird in the Bush.—In future this little jest ofWaggy'swill be impossible, as it is proposed to re-name Shepherd's Bush, and call it Pastoral Park, or All-Askew Park, or something of the sort.]
"Sortes Shaksperianæ."—On the new Postmaster-General:—
"Friend post the Duke ofNorfolk."Richard the Third, Act iv., Scene 4.
"Friend post the Duke ofNorfolk."Richard the Third, Act iv., Scene 4.
And we hope his Grace will be "Friend post," and benefit us all.
A volume of Reminiscences byHenry Russellis promised. Evidently this ought to be a "Cheery, Boys, Cheery" sort of book.