From Tom! It's thirty years ago
Or more, since, destined to talk Tamil, he
Set sail for foreign lands. And so
To-day he boasts a wife and family.
Yes, Tom and I were chums at school,
The Matron—how we used to fool her!
We broke the very self-same rule,
We felt the very self-same ruler.
We gladly in those classic groves
Accepted all the Fates provided,
And even in our school-boy loves
We did not care to be divided.
Three years at Cambridge—where we spent
Our money, "linked in friendly tether,"
Three years that all too quickly went,
Then we went down, and went together.
Next year 'twas Tom who went abroad;
He vowed that he'd be married—never!
But I was then engaged to Maude,
To Maude, who swore to love me ever.
Perhaps she kept her plighted word—
But, if she did, she chose as funny
A way as I have ever heard—
She married Some One Else and Money.
Maybe she did not feel inclined
To risk the bread-and-cheese and kisses,
Or else her calculating mind
Preferred "Her Ladyship" to "Mrs."
So I'm unmarried to this day,
And live without the great felicity
Which, as Tom used of old to say,
Can't fail to wait on domesticity.
That joy is his alone, not mine,
Misogynist he liked to call himself,
Whilst I thought every girl divine—
Yet Tom has been the first to fall himself.
I've missed the sweets of married life,
The bills, the coos, and all the rest of it!
I cannot boast, like Tom, a wife,
I wonder, tho', who's got the best of it?
Fair Maude, I willingly allow
I thought my heart for ever riven.
It wasn't so at all, and now
Your Ladyship is quite forgiven.
And Tom, old friend—tried, trusty, true,
Across the seas these lines will carry
All New-Year greetings, Tom, to you
And yours, from Yours, as ever, Harry.
Should there be a hard frost, lady-skaters in Hyde Park will be able to give quite a new turn to the "Serpentine Dance."
The Minuet's cold and modish grace,
Delirium of the Carmagnole,
Fair France has known. How will she pace
This frantic dance, and to what goal?
Beginning in triumphant sport,
She's tremulous now, with terror cold.
The whirl so dizzies, she breathes short;
The serpent spirals seem to fold
Laocöon-like about her limbs.
Tarantula-bitten victims so
Whirl madly. Shrinks her head and swims;
This is not glory's ardent glow,
But fever's hectic, herald sure
Of dread corruption, if unstayed.
Dance on the footing insecure
Of the keen edge of War's red blade,
Rather than this mad dervish spin,
Drunk with that poison-breath;
The music is the devil's din,
The dance—the modern Dance of Death!
Companions of his ardent youth,
Or comrades of his riper years;
The poor who felt his kindly ruth,
And mourn him with unpurchased tears;
Men of the world whose mordant sense
Shorn of all maudlin sentiment
Seemed the sharp touchstone of pretence;
Soft hearts on swift world-bettering bent,
All miss, all mourn the man whom all
Responsive found to each high call.
Old long-dead days of boisterous mirth,
Far dim-seen hours of arduous fight
When gaiety possessed the earth,
When morning felt no fear of night;
School-form, field, footlights, club! Eheu
Fugaces! These, indeed, are fled,
But thoughts of dashing Montagu,
That dauntless soul now lying dead,
After long fight with pitiless pain
Make the old memories live again.
Before the triumphs of the Court,
Before the honours of the Bench,
Wild days there were of toil and sport,
Long ere our brows had learned to blench
At threatenings of the first grey hair.
Ah! cordial comrade, champion stout,
The fierce ordeal you had to bear
Is ended; fortune's final flout
Has fallen, and that gallant breast
Is still at last in well-earned rest.
It was your happy lot to blend
Sound brain and sympathetic heart;
The loyal service of a friend,
With worldly wisdom keen and tart.
Shrewd advocate and councillor keen,
You knew the world, yet pitied it;
Compassion mild, not cynic spleen
Tempered the edge of caustic wit.
Farewell! It dims much pomp and state,
Your title—"Poor Man's Magistrate!"
Come down, O Scribe, from yonder sniffy height;
What pleasure lives in "sniff" (the Councillor sang),
In sniff and scorn, the weakness of the "swells"?
But cease to move so near the clouds, and cease
To sit a votary of the "Great Pooh-Pooh";
And come, for Labour's in the valley, come,
For Toil dwells in the valley, come thou down
And watch him; by the dim slum threshold, he,
Or hand in hand with poverty in the docks,
Or black with stithy-swartness by the forge,
Or troll-like in the mine; nor cares to walk
With Wealth and Fashion in the parks and squares;
But follow! Come thou down, and let the cold
Cramp-headed cynics yelp alone, and leave
The mugwump scoffers there to shape and sleek
Their thousand paragraphs of acrid joke
That like a squirting fountain waste in air:
So waste thou not; but come; for hunger pale
Awaits thee; haggard pillars of the hearth
Appeal to thee; slum children call, and now
The Crowd's astir, with every man a Vote
To give him voice, and in that voice you'll hear
Myriads of "movements" hurrying into "laws,"
The moan of men at immemorial ills,
And murmuring of innumerable shes.
Calm sea, the mirror of a cloudless sky,
Blue mountains, in the purple distance fading,
Tall, dark-hued pines, through which faint zephyrs sigh,
A garden shading.
A view that might inspire a poet's voice,
Or minstrel's lute to sweetest music waken—
I came to paint this subject of my choice;
My place was taken!
I muttered angry words between my teeth;
I could not see the features of la bella,
I only saw a dress and cloak beneath
A great umbrella.
Perhaps some girl, her hair a touzled mop,
Plain-featured, round in shoulder, unpoetic,
With hygienic boots that flatly flop—
Old style æsthetic.
I came a little closer, just to see.
Ye gods, her looks and form were not alarming!
A graceful, sweet-faced, dainty maiden she,
Completely charming.
The landscape that I loved was what she drew.
I felt my coolness towards her quickly thawing;
I also stayed to sketch that charming view—
Here is my drawing.
The Old Year flits, the New Year comes,
And, through such severance, man contrives
To parcel out in little sums
The little measurements of lives.
We feign the one a different year,
Outworn, by solemn bells outrung—
The other, foundling of our sphere,
As radiant, innocent, and young.
Farewell! we cry, to Ninety-Two,
Its lapses and encompassings,
We bid them all a fond adieu,
And fix our gaze on fresher things;
What has not been we dream will be,
The wounds will heal, the flaws will mend,
And hopes be born of Ninety-Three
That older, cherished hopes transcend.
It is not thus; Time mocks at pause,
In march continual onward goes;
Th' unfailing progress of his laws,
No respite nor effacement knows;
This year is but the force of last,
Not something new to mortal ken;
Heredity's enchainment vast
Enthrals the moments as the men.
Yet welcome still, our childish trust,
Which breathes a truth that Science mars;
Our ladder, based upon the dust,
Mounts ever nearer steadfast stars;
And, though the rungs be still the same,
The glimpses, as we strive to rise,
Are, 'spite our mists of sin and shame,
More closely neighbouring the skies.
First Well-informed Man. Jolly old mess they seem to have got into in Paris over this Panama business. I see they arrested half-a-dozen more of them yesterday.
Second W. I. M. Yes—and they haven't done yet. I knew, months and months ago, the crash must come. That French chap, Lampion told me all about it. He says it'll bust up the Republic before they've done with it.
First W. I. M. And a good thing too. That kind of corruption only flourishes under a Republican form of government. They want a strong man in France, that's what they want.
Average Man. I don't believe much in your strong men. I suppose the last Emperor was a pretty fair specimen; but they seem to have had some high old ramps under him, too. Besides, look at Russia.
First W. I. M. You can't bring Russia forward as an example.
Second W. I. M. Of course not. Russia don't count.
A. M. Why not? I don't suppose you can make a man much stronger than the Czar; but, if we're to believe what we're told, the whole place is honeycombed with corruption. Why—(to First W. I. M.)—you were saying yourself, only the other day, that Russia was corrupt to the core.
First W. I. M. Oh, but I was speaking of something quite different. Russia is a country per se.
Inquirer. I thought Russia was an Autocracy.
First W. I. M. It's the same thing.
Second W. I. M. (after a pause). Well, anyhow, we in England haven't done anything of the kind. You can't deny that.
A. M. No, we haven't done anything quite on the same scale lately, I admit that. But we've done our best with worthless mines, and bogus Companies of all kinds, and financial papers, and Building Societies. Seems to me we've no right to chuck stones at poor old Lesseps.
Inquirer. Is that the same old chap who did something in Egypt some years ago?
Second W. I. M. (smiling, and superior). Yes, the very same. He made the Suez Canal.
Inquirer. Of course—so he did. That was what we went to the Soudan for, wasn't it?
Second W. I. M. (dubiously). Well, it had something to do with it, of course. As we'd got four million pounds' worth of shares in the Canal, we couldn't afford to see it upset. And then (brightening) there was the Dual Control. That was really at the bottom of the whole business.
Inquirer. The Dual Control? I don't remember what that was.
Second W. I. M. Why, don't you remember Arabi setting himself up against the Khedive? Well, naturally, we couldn't stand the two of them playing their games there; so we just had to nip in, and smash old Arabi.
Inquirer. Of course, I remember the whole business now; Khartoum, and the Mahdi, and all the rest of it. [A pause.
Inquirer (returning to the charge). I wonder why they called it the Panama Canal?
First W. I. M. Why shouldn't they? It happens to be its name.
Inquirer. Yes, I know that's its name now. But why call it after a straw hat?
First W. I. M. (amazed). After a what?
Inquirer. After a straw hat.
First W. I. M. (calmly, but firmly). It isn't called after a straw hat. The straw hat's called after it. That's all.
Inquirer (dogged, and unconvinced). Well, anyhow, I know I bought a Panama hat last summer—and deuced expensive it was, too.
First W. I. M. My dear boy, it was made in Panama. Panama's a place.
Inquirer. Well, I'm dashed! I never knew that. But what on earth do they want a Canal there for?
First W. I. M. Oh, well, I'm bound to admit it would be a convenience. Just think how it would shorten the sea-route. Instead of having to go all the way round Cape What's-his-name—what is that blessed Cape's name?
Second W. I. M. (tentatively). Cape of Good Hope?
First W. I. M. No, no—they're building the Nicaragua Canal for that. Cape—Cape—why, dash it, I shall be forgetting my own name next!
Inquirer (brilliantly). Capricorn.
First W. I. M. Yes, that's it! Well, instead of having to go all round Cape Ricorn, all we've got to do is to sail to Panama, and—(impotently concluding)—there we are!
Second W. I. M. Ah, but I don't think they'll ever finish it.
First W. I. M. I'm not so sure about that; but, of course, the French couldn't do it.
Second W. I. M. Of course not.
Q.C. "Yes; I like the Army as a Profession. I mean to put my Son into it."
Little Snooks (who was Gazetted the week before last). "Ah, you take the advice of a Man who knows all about it—and don't!"
Judge. Prisoner in the dock, or I should say, my good friend—for are we not all liable to err?—I have no wish to increase the natural embarrassment of your position. I am here, as you know, to dispense judgment. This I tell you judicially. I am, when I make this statement, merely the mouthpiece of the Law. In my private capacity, I am deeply sorry for you.
Prisoner (much affected). Thank you kindly, Sir.
Judge. My dear friend, I feel for your misfortunes. I make every allowance for them. By the Statute under whose provisions both of us are here, I notice that I have the power to sentence you to seven years' penal servitude.
Prisoner (startled). Seven years! But you ain't going to do it?
Judge. My dear friend, I will do nothing that is unjust.
Prisoner (angrily). You'd better not, or you'll 'ear of it again!
Judge. I hope, I do hope that is not intended as a threat! My object is to treat you courteously, and even considerately, but, as I have already remarked, the Law is, in fact, the Law. Although I represent the London County Council to a very large extent, still I am a Member of the Bar, and, by virtue of my office, a gentleman. Under these circumstances, I shall only be doing my duty—painful as its performance may be—when I sentence you to be kept in penal servitude for seven years.
Prisoner (indignantly). What, seven years! Why, you——
Several Reports have appeared in the Papers about the Printing of the New Home-Rule Bill by an Old Experienced Hand working in secret.
First Passenger. "They say they've put on Detectives 'ere, to catch Coves as travels without Tickets."
Second Passenger. "'Ave they? Well, all I can say is, I can Travel as often as I like from Cannon Street to Victoria, and not pay a'Apenny!"
Detective. "See Here Mate; I'll give you Half-a-Crown if you tell me how you do it."
Second Passenger (after pocketing the Half-Crown). "Well,—when I wants to git from Cannon Street to Victoria without payin'—I walks!"
Problem.—- At the stranding-of-the-Howe trial there appeared a Witness, whose official position, it appears, is "Hydrographer of the Navy." What is a hydrographer? clearly, by derivation, "a drawer of water." But a ship also "draws water." Therefore, logically, a Hydrographer is a ship. But a ship is never put into a witness-box, where it would be quite at sea, but in the dock, where it could be quite at home. "Truly," writes our Puzzled Correspondent, "there is a muddle somewhere." Q. E. D.
Someone will write about the extraordinary characteristic of the Season, whether it be warm or cold.
There will be a Political Crisis in Paris on the average of once in every six weeks.
The German Emperor will continue his tours, to the great inconvenience of the Crowned Heads he favours with a visit.
Mr. Gladstone will lecture, write articles to the Magazines, fell trees, and govern the country, as per usual.
Someone will get a trifle tired of Home Rule, the Channel Tunnel, and General Booth.
A few persons will leave Europe for America, to see the Chicago Exhibition.
A crowd (more or less) will attend the Oxford and Cambridge Boat-race, the Derby, and the Private View at the Royal Academy.
Mrs. Smith (after having been presented by My Lady Brown) will present Miss Smith, Miss Elfrida Smith, and Miss Victoria Alexandra Smith, at Her Majesty's Drawing-Room.
Mr. and Mrs. Portland Snooks will give a dinner-party, which will be reported in the Society papers.
The First Nights at the Lyceum will be amongst the features of the Season.
There will be several failures at the Theatres, and also a success or two.
There will be half a dozen full-dress debates in the House of Commons, and as many important divisions.
The "Popular Budget" is sure, with some people, to be exceedingly unpopular.
The London County Council and the School Board will be censured by the Press.
There will be any number of railway "accidents," and avoidable "deaths by misadventure."
It will be discovered that the British Army is a myth, and that the British Navy is a snare and a delusion.
Parliament will be up in time for the partridges, even if a little late for the grouse.
Everyone will praise the United Kingdom as the land of the tourist, and promptly go abroad.
A subject of deep domestic importance will be discussed in the columns devoted to correspondence in the daily papers during the Silly Season.
A new Author will be discovered, and spring into great popularity with the Publishers, if not with the Public.
Out of every hundred novels, ten per cent. will be absorbed by the London Libraries, and the remainder carted off to the "Circulating Book Emporiums" at the seaside.
Someone will write his experiences, and expect someone else to read them.
A new Magazine will be started, to supply a want hitherto unsuspected.
The children (periodically) will return to school after the holidays, and "men" will go to Oxford and Cambridge, as occasion requires.
Calls to the Bar by the Benchers of the Inns of Court will add materially to the numbers of the Unemployed.
Several social failures will go to the Colonies, and (like a bad shilling) return again.
Professor Jones will call black white, while Professor Robinson that it is grey.
There will be bags on the moors, and sales at the poulterers'.
The Christmas Numbers will be prepared in May and published in October.
The Divorce Court will be open for the Season, and the Season will amply avail itself of the opportunity.
The year will pass in less than no time, and the Yule-tide greetings will be heard, as it were, shortly after Easter.
Subject for Fancy Picture.—Fined five shillings for swearing. A bench of Magisterial Salmon from the River Tees, after considerable consultation, deciding that they cannot pass over the Dinsdale Dam, but admitted that it was quite allowable for a ladylike Salmon to say to the river, "O you Tees!"
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.