OLYM ECHO 
 
 BY C . D . L O C O C K
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 OLYMPIAN 
 ECHOES 
 
 BY 
 
 C. D. LOCOCK 
 
 LONDON 
 THE ST. CATHERINE PRESS LTD 
 
 8, YORK. BUILDINGS 
 ADELPHI 
 
 1908
 
 E. 
 
 TO 
 
 A. H. C.
 
 ?R 
 
 tr" 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 About one-third of the following pieces have 
 appeared before in various periodicals, the editors 
 of which I have to thank for permission to reprint. 
 But if to these I am grateful, who have thus 
 passively contributed to the length of the volume, 
 what shall I say of those whose friendly criticism 
 has induced me to shorten it, by the omission or 
 curtailment of some of my favourite pieces ? The 
 least I can do is to dedicate the book to them. 
 
 C. D. L. 
 
 ; T
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. LUDI 
 
 PAGES 
 
 OUR LADY OF THE HAZARD 9 
 
 MEREDITHYRAMBICS : 
 
 (1) A Wounding of Earth H 
 
 (2) The Links of Easterho 12 
 
 THE BUNKER OF PAIN 14 
 
 OF GOLF : A Baconian Essay 15 
 
 SMIFFKINS' OVER 19 
 
 BALLADE OF MODERN CRICKET 22 
 
 CRICKET TRAGEDIES : (Triolets.) 24 
 
 HOMER'S HYMN TO A REFEREE 25 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME 27 
 
 A VISION 29 
 
 THE RUBYMALLET OF OMAR KHAYYAM 32 
 
 POETS AT CROQUET 34 
 
 SONG OF TRIUMPH 38 
 
 SOCRATES ON CROQUET 39 
 
 II. LUDIBRIA 
 
 TRAGEDIES OF THE UNDERWORLD : 
 
 (1) The Earth- Worm's Evening Hymn 49 
 
 (2) Lines written for a young Beetle 50 
 
 (3) Love Song for a Vegetable 51 
 
 (4) The Ambitious Seedling 52
 
 PAGES 
 
 THE AWKWARD STYLE 55 
 
 THE DAY OF THE TIGER OF TRIPOLI 67 
 
 COXE'S WALLOW 71 
 
 BALLADE OF DE WET 73 
 
 RUSS-IN-URBE 75 
 
 SONNETS : 
 
 (1) To the fairest Lady MMC 84 
 
 (2) " The Hour is Past " 85 
 
 POEM OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 86 
 
 EVENINGS IN TOWN 89 
 
 THE POET PROTESTS 94 
 
 THE EDITOR'S APPEAL 97 
 
 BALLADE OF RED TAPE 99 
 
 THE CASE OF THE LADY BICYCLIST AND THE POSTAGE- 
 STAMP 101 
 
 THE DOVER EXPRESS 112 
 
 THE FAMILY INCUBATOR 114 
 
 RESPECTFUL ADDRESS TO A CHIMNEY-SWEEP 117 
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE WANTS 119 
 
 ALBUM VERSES : 
 
 (1) Non Vi sed saepe cadendo 124 
 
 (2) To Daisy 125 
 
 TRANSLATIONS : 
 
 (1) From the French 127 
 
 (2) From the Italian 128 
 
 HATS AND HAT WORSHIP ... , 129
 
 PART I 
 LUDI
 
 OUR LADY OF THE HAZARD 
 
 Robed in raiment of ravening briar, 
 
 (Swing slow, swing surf,) on her secret throne, 
 Crowned with crags and a flinty tiar 
 
 There in the Hazard she sits alone. 
 
 No mortal eye hath beheld the place, 
 
 But some have dreamed of a ghastly face, 
 Rayless, pitiless, fashioned in fire 
 
 A frame of iron, a heart of stone. 
 
 Where shall we find her, how shall we greet her, 
 (Slow and sure,) that our ways may thrive ? 
 
 Who shall harry her, who defeat her ? 
 Nay, but no man in the world alive ! 
 For little, in sooth, will avail with her 
 The piteous hands of the golf-player : 
 
 Frenzied he prays, but she deemeth sweeter 
 The baffled driver, the barren drive. 
 
 Night is a vision : his dreams are fire 
 
 (Swing high, swing free,) when the White Ball spins 
 Springing away to a god's desire, 
 
 Out-speeding the swallow, o'erleaping the whins.
 
 Day brings back the vision of night ; 
 Crown the tee for a rapturous flight 
 Rising, towering, higher and higher : 
 
 Then, slowly and surely, the swing begins. 
 
 But the dream in the man is the man's undoing, 
 (Swing high, swing free ,) for a wild surmise 
 
 Tells of a ball that was winged for ruin, 
 Ere the shameful sight has assailed his eyes. 
 Then swift, then sure are the prayers he saith, 
 And the impious caddy catches his breath 
 
 At the words that flicker, the shaft pursuing 
 The turf that follows the head that flies. 
 
 10
 
 MEREDITHYRAMBICS 
 
 (Being Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth adapted 
 to the use of Goffers). 
 
 (l) A WOUNDING OF EARTH 
 
 Into Hell in two. 
 
 How the swung head pivots 
 
 Ringing up the loop ; 
 
 But the instant swoop, 
 
 Ah, 0tu, <piv \ 
 
 Cracks a club, and divots, divots, 
 Divots all the Earth bestrew. 
 
 I was Rooster on the tee, 
 Lord of form to half the green, 
 Swollen crest of bubbly surflets, 
 
 Ere of me 
 
 That shot was seen. 
 [Now must we replace the turflets 
 For that then so foozled we.] 
 
 1 1
 
 (2) THE LINKS OF EASTERHO 
 
 Come to our enchanted green, 
 
 You who dare. 
 Nought of perilous it hath, 
 Not a molehill blocks the path : 
 Bang the pellet straight and hard, 
 Under bough and over gorse, 
 
 Fair you fare. 
 
 But diverge one single yard, 
 But a mousestride from the course, 
 Thousand bogies black the scene, 
 
 Have you by the hair. 
 Come to our enchanted green, 
 
 You who dare. 
 
 II 
 
 Here the yellow-breasted whins 
 Shelter eager minikins, l 
 
 1 A learned critic calls attention to the following description of 
 the little-known " Minikin, " taken from an old Natural History : 
 
 " Is believed to be a small, keen-eyed creature, about the size 
 and complexion of an immature vole : Only found on golf links, 
 
 12
 
 Ghosts of great shots gone astray, 
 Merest Sitters, given away ; 
 Fouled approaches, mangled puts, 
 Ruined drives in gaping ruts ; 
 Glimmering spooks of medals lost, 
 Gibbering goblins, guard the coast ; 
 Devious buntlings on the flap 
 Ominously snipper-snap. 
 Each has business of its own ; 
 But if there your ball has flown, 
 
 Then beware. 
 
 Shudders all the haunted scene, 
 Whish ! the amorous Bogey-Queen 
 
 Holds you in her lair. 
 Come to our enchanted green, 
 
 You who dare. 
 
 and chiefly frequents inland courses. It may often be heard to 
 snap a twig smartly, or make a sound closely resembling 'Ahem ! ' 
 just when a player is at the top of his swing or is in the act of 
 putting, at times with a disconcerting effect. Most golfers 
 will be familiar with these manifestations of the Minikin, though 
 few probably can claim to have seen him so that in some cases 
 his ' tricks ' have been attributed, most unjustly, to the opponent, 
 or to his Caddie. " The same critic adds, " I have at present been 
 unable to find any trace of the still rarer ' bunding;' probably it was 
 some kind of winged rabbit." 
 
 13
 
 THE BUNKER OF PAIN 
 
 " Now I want you all to go out 
 and dig if you will only do it in 
 the right 'way that is, with your 
 whole minds. For I am quite sure 
 that no man who will dig per- 
 sistently, through much tribulation, 
 can ever be entirely bad. " 
 
 RUSKIN " On Hazards. " 
 
 On the grass of the Links, by the edge of the Green, 
 Men planted a bunker the Bunker of Teen. 
 Does it soar to the sky, does it cling to the ground 
 It is there that my tee-shot is sure to be found ! 
 Sheer depths of despair, black horrors of night 
 They are mine when my bunkerdom cometh in sight. 
 
 Ball of my heart ! with my niblick in hand 
 
 1 am digging for thee 'mid the stones and the sand ! 
 
 In my Bunker of Pain, with great rocks overhead, 
 
 I dig me a grave for the ball that is sped : 
 
 While the caddies in dozens stand guard o'er the place, 
 
 Keeping watch on my score as it mounteth apace. 
 
 Do they dig as / dig, when they lie in this hole ? 
 
 Do they swear as / swear from mine innermost soul ? 
 
 O Curse of my Life ! since a quarter-past three 
 
 By the graves in the sand I am digging for thee ! 
 
 14 .
 
 OF GOLF 
 
 A BACONIAN ESSAY 
 
 This is the only Essay containing 
 a tri-literal Cipher, and a direct 
 statement as to the authorship of 
 ' Hamlet. ' 
 
 Rowing maketh a churlish man, Football a violent man, 
 Golf a profane man. Wherefore he that hath an habit of 
 Golf had need have a good Lexicon, wherewith, as they 
 say, to ' address ' the ball. Certainly the four and twenty 
 letters will not suffice. For which cause I hold it not 
 politic for Kings and Princes to occupy themselves much 
 in Golfing, except they be accompanied by their Favour- 
 ites or some Officer of State, to blaspheme in their stead. 
 For vicarious Language is of a certainty one of the fruits 
 of Friendship : it lacketh not consolation. 
 
 For Golf it is expedient to have a good supply of balls. 
 I mind me how, being on a visit to my Lord Cobham 
 a just man, though somewhat over stout he would play 
 with none but Ai balls. "But let us have a care," he 
 said, " that we use them 64 dinner ; for of a truth with 
 
 15
 
 my sack in our bellies it is odds we shall C2 of them. " ' 
 But these be toys. 
 
 Certainly to have a good form is the better half of 
 driving : for the occasion of a really fine shot commonly 
 cometh but on festivals. Therefore it doth much add to 
 a man's repute, and is, as Prince Arthur said, like per- 
 petual letters commendatory, to have the St. Andrews 
 swing. Believe not much them that affect to despise 
 form ; for they despise it that despair of it. 
 
 There is no * lie ' so bad but it may be bettered. Cer- 
 tainly a good lie is of the essence of the stroke : the ways 
 to obtain it are many, and most of them foul. To * tee ' 
 the ball is the simplest, and yet is not innocent of danger. 
 I myself, when Chancellor, was warned off the Sandwich 
 Links for lack of skill in concealing this. Howsoever, 
 the improvement of the soil behind the ball seems the 
 more natural manner of obtaining a clean lie : for so 
 do we reap benefit from our great Mother the Earth. 
 
 I hold it best by all means to take the Honour at the 
 first tee : for otherwise it is odds that you shall not get 
 it at all. 
 
 There be three parts of a Golf swing, the Flourish 
 preliminary, the Slow-back, and the Missing the ball. 
 Of which the former would be short for dispatch : an 
 
 1 The tri-literal Cipher, founded on the important letters ABC, 
 which if placed in their right order, are the first three letters of the 
 word BACON. 
 
 16
 
 unseasonable motion is but beating the air, and by wasting 
 the public doth check with business. 
 
 Aristotle prettily saith that whereas the good golfer 
 doth not hit the ball often, (for it goeth farther for him), 
 the bad golfer doth not hit it at all. So that goodness 
 here, as elsewhere, seems to lie in the mean, and in so 
 striking that we shall not have to strike again. In driving 
 there can be no excess, but error. Excess in approaching 
 commonly lendeth to Hazards, but in driving there is no 
 excess, save of direction or language. 
 
 He that sliceth with the sea to his right giveth hostages 
 to Neptune : howsoever, if he hook to the left he shall 
 slay no fish. 
 
 There be some who ever top their balls, as of set 
 purpose : for they argue that the onward rotation of the 
 ball on its axis must needs increase the run of it : it 
 hath, say they, a natural motion strongest in continuance. 
 Such would as well play with an hoop. 
 
 It was a high speech of old Thomas Morrice that if 
 an hole be at the distance of a full drive and a putt, it is 
 commonly better not to take the putt first, after the 
 manner of some. For this is right earth. 
 
 Address not the ball before striking, but rather in the 
 act. For so shall you suit the action to the word, the 
 word to the action : as the Prince saith in the play 
 which I wrote for Will Shakspere. 
 
 I hold it best to keep at a distance all Hazards, and as 
 it were steer clear of the rocks : for they taint business
 
 and export honour from a man. Howbeit, to speak in a 
 mean, it is not the ball that passeth over the Bunker that 
 doth the hurt, but the ball that settleth in it and sinketh in. 
 
 I cannot call the Niblick better than the baggage of 
 virtue : it cannot be spared nor left behind, yet it 
 hindereth the march. Nevertheless to call for your driver 
 in a Sand-bunker is but a bravery of the Stoics. 'Tis 
 better to watch the occasion to tee your ball for a cleek- 
 shot ; for the wise man will make more opportunities 
 than he finds. 
 
 To spend too much time in Hazards is not good 
 business. I knew a nobleman in the West of England 
 who lay two hours and a quarter in a Stone-quarry. 
 " And faith, " he said, " And I had not lifted I would 
 ha' been there the noo ! " 
 
 Of Caddies it is best to choose such as can swim, 
 and likewise help with counsel in emergencies of state. 
 Nevertheless be not over-deferent to your Caddy, lest he 
 presume to equality, and the monarchy be divided. The 
 true composition of a Caddy is to take pride in the 
 exploits of his master, rather than to compare them with 
 his own. Certainly the Caddy who boasteth having 
 achieved in three that which hath just taken you seven- 
 teen, is worthy to be clouted. 
 
 Concerning ceremonies and the fitting costume, I hold 
 by the red coat : for by inspiring with awe it lendeth 
 to mysteries, and giveth as it were a passport to impunity. 
 
 18
 
 SMIFFKINS' OVER 
 
 I am the finest Bowler in the world ; 
 Let him that doubts it scan the written page, 
 The Annual harvesting of Lillywhite : 
 For there, among the Bowling Averages 
 That border on the rounded century, 
 Mine stands the highest, none approaches it, 
 Mine average of nearly ninety-eight. 
 
 Yet since the Captain of the village team 
 For which I play grows envious of my fame, 
 Being himself a bowler of a sort 
 Too rarely is the skill of this good arm 
 Shown to a gaping public. Mine, perchance, 
 Just the occasional ' over ' before lunch, 
 That tempts the reckless ' skyer ' to Square Leg, 
 And one more in the Evening, when the light 
 Fails, and the stumps are hardly visible : 
 Such are the opportunities mine Art 
 Has for its manifestation. 
 
 Ay, but once, 
 
 Once only came my chance. It happened that 
 A plague had fallen on the country-side, 
 And all the regular bowlers of the team
 
 Were sick of the Influenza. So at length, 
 When the third hundred showed upon the board, 
 Our Captain, growing weary of the game, 
 (As well he might, seeing that half the runs 
 Came from his bowling), tossed the ball to me, 
 But mocking, saying, like the churl he was, 
 " Take it, and do your worst ! what matters now 
 A score of runs or so ? " I took the Ball. 
 And as in Summer-time the standing wheat 
 Trembles and whispers to the sudden wind, 
 That comes and goes at fitful intervals 
 And makes a rustling murmur through the field, 
 Expectant, eager ; brave men held their breath 
 And hearts beat high with hope, and all the crowd 
 Rose, when the fiercest smiter of all the side 
 Faced my deliveries. But he durst not wait 
 The insidious ceilings of the tortuous globe, 
 But straightway, opening his shoulders, sprang 
 To meet it. Thrice he drave the unerring sphere, 
 That knew its own way to the boundary, 
 For six each time no less. Then two sped high 
 Over the far Pavilion, while the crowd 
 Roared with delight, and all the opposing side 
 Clamoured for one more ' over ' -just one ball, 
 Saying, Keep on your Smiffkins his the man, 
 Not Richardson, nor another ! 
 
 So the tale. 
 And though no more since that immortal day 
 
 20
 
 I am selected for the first Eleven, 
 
 Yet memories of that ' over ' even now 
 
 Continue verdant. While the game shall last 
 
 So long shall live upon the lips of men 
 
 Smiffkins' Over. " 
 
 So did I seal my fame, 
 And am the finest Bowler in the world. 
 
 21
 
 BALLADE OF MODERN CRICKET 
 
 The burden of Tall Scoring : who can say 
 
 Where it shall end ? For no man setteth store 
 By Fifties : nought his labour shall repay 
 
 But harvesting of centuries galore. 
 
 No rest, no respite ! Never morning wore 
 To evening but some " record " mounted higher : 
 
 Till Night comes down and shuts the open door- 
 This is the end of every man's desire ! 
 
 The Burden of Slow Bowling : not a ray 
 Of hope on pitches like a polished floor, 
 
 At wickets where the new-born babe may stay 
 Till some kind umpire gives it " Leg Before : " 
 When Spofforth e'en forgets his demon lore, 
 
 And Emmett loses half his wonted fire ; 
 
 When Mycroft, Crossland, Hill, are tried no more- 
 
 This is the end of every man's desire ! 
 
 1 First printed in 1887 before I had seen M r A. Lang's adapt- 
 ation of the same poem of Swinburne's to the same subject, and in 
 the same metre. 
 
 22
 
 The Burden of Long Fielding : all the day 
 To stand and watch the ever-mounting score, 
 
 Disheartened, hopeless, striving still to pray 
 To Zeus, that all the sultry heav'n may pour : 
 Patiently waiting till the heart be sore 
 
 Some symptom of the never-coming " Skyer ; " 
 Gazing upon the everlasting " Four : " 
 
 This is the end of every man's desire ! 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Princes, and potentates of " Lords, " restore 
 The days of old ! grant that we may aspire 
 
 To play the game our fathers played of yore- 
 Be this the end of every man's desire !
 
 CRICKET TRAGEDIES 
 
 (Triolets) 
 
 (l) FOR A BATSMAN 
 
 Half-volley, I thought, 
 
 But look at my wicket ! 
 O, to trounce her I sought 
 Half-volley, I thought ; 
 Clean Bowled for an " ought ! " 
 
 It's a rotten game Cricket ! 
 Half-volley I thought, 
 
 But look at my wicket ! 
 
 (2) FOR A BOWLER 
 
 My very best ball 
 
 Hoicked for six to the boundary 1 
 Ckan over the wall 
 My very best ball ! 
 Just when hope seemed to call 
 
 " Now those stumps shall be found awry " 
 Goes my very best ball, 
 
 Hoicked for six, to the boundary ! 
 
 24
 
 HOMER'S HYMN TO A REFEREE 
 
 (After Shelley) 
 
 Arbiter of a Nation's destinies, ' 
 
 Sole giver of defeats and victories, 
 
 Great son of Strife and Justice, first to thee 
 
 My new-filled stylo shall devoted be. 
 
 Thou art the god who, when the battle-cry 
 Rings fiercest, like a beacon set on high 
 Above the surge of the world's raging Sea, 
 Dost quell the uproar that tumultuously 
 Bursts from the hydra-headed multitude 
 Thronging the arena ; with thy gentle mood 
 Lulling the tumult, brooding like a dove, 
 Or like the unremembered eye of love, 
 Which grows and ceases not, but ever still 
 Burns unextinguished, inconsumable, 
 Till Earth and Sky grow calm, and all between 
 Is just as though it had not ever been 
 Otherwise, or aught different at all. 
 Thou art the god who, when the aetherial ball, * 
 Urged by swift passes 3 towards the destined goal, 
 
 i I confess I do not understand how a Football match can be 
 regarded as of national importance. " SHELLEY'S NOTE. 
 1 I never wrote anything like this. " HOMER'S NOTE. 
 3 I confess I do not understand this. " SHELLEY'S NOTE.
 
 Rolls on, obedient to the strong controul 
 Of one insensate, foully-garmented, l 
 Who ploughs his path over the heaps of dead 
 Along the living grass, whose dewy stems 
 Flash forth into a thousand starry gems ; 
 Thou makest all his sleights of little worth ; 
 The lightning-footed Terror of the North, 
 Swifter than thought, but palpably off-side, 
 Fears thee : no shade of evil may abide 
 The lightnings of thine awful countenance, 
 That foe -confounding mirror : at thy glance, 
 Even ere thou stay'st him with thy warning call 
 He pauses, shudders, ceases. 
 
 So may all 
 
 Confounded be who sin against the right. 
 But if, ere age has overcome me quite, 
 I, who now chaunt thy praises, even I, 
 The blameless author of this minstrelsy, 
 Forsaking winged words, with winged feet 
 Should tempt again the Olympian strife, and fleet 
 Following hard upon the flying ball 
 Across the fields where thou art Lord of all, 
 Be thou to me propitious ! So by me 
 Nor thine nor other songs shall unremembered be. ! 
 
 i Nor this. SHELLEY'S NOTE. 
 
 J The last 9 lines in the original are now considered spurious. It 
 is evident that a return to the active pursuit of the game could not 
 have been seriously contemplated by the blind Poet. 
 
 26
 
 ANOTHER VERSION 
 
 (For the use of Music Halls) 
 
 To Fulsea ground one afternoon I came on pleasure bent, 
 To see the famous Soccer match a first-class League 
 
 [event. 
 
 * Twas Fulsea v. The trfnenal, and as I reached the ground 
 My eagerly expectant ears were greeted by this sound: 
 
 " Kick Mm, 'ack Mm, lick 'im, whack Mm, black 'is 
 
 [bloomin' eye ; 
 
 Down 'im, gag 'im, skin 'im, scrag 'im don't 'e look a 
 
 [Guy ? 
 
 Pinch 'im, punch 'im, squeeze 'im, scrunch 'im, thinks 
 
 [V knows the gime ! 
 
 Trip Mm, spill Mm, kick Mm, kill '\m"Whew [Whistle] 
 
 "'Arf Time!" 
 
 I'm sure I don't know what he'd done to be maltreated 
 
 [thus 
 
 To me he seemed a quiet and most gentlemanly cuss ; 
 Yet after each decision of that 'armless Referee's 
 They showed him what they thought of him in some 
 
 [such words as these : 
 
 2?
 
 "Oh 
 
 Kick 'im, 'ack im, lick im, whack 'im, jump upon 'is 
 
 'ead; 
 
 Down 'im, gag 'im, skin Mm, scrag 'im, tike 'im 'ome ter 
 
 bed! 
 
 Pinch 'im, punch 'im, squeeze 'im, scrunch 'im, learn 
 
 'im 'ow ter ply, 
 
 Trip 'im, spill 'im, kick 'im, kill 'im"Whnu [Whistle] 
 
 " 'Ooray ! " 
 
 28
 
 A VISION 
 
 My Song, I fear that thou ivilt find but few 
 Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning, 
 Of such hard matter dost thou entertain. 
 SHELLEY (from Dante.) 
 
 Methought I seemed to stand as one entranced 
 Above the universe : the azure night 
 Was odorous with incense of dim mists, 
 Curling aloft to where there faintly burned 
 Six nebulous lamps, each lighting up the path 
 To a dark chasm. 'Mid their perilous jaws 
 Three spheres were spinning silently, one red 
 Like liquid ruby, one a snowy white, 
 The other seeming like it, but its poles 
 Were black as night. Long time I gazed on them, 
 And, as I marvelled, lo, there came two Forms 
 Like mortal men, arrayed in sable hue, 
 And at the breath of their approach the lamps 
 Flared into light. And then began those Fiends, 
 Armed with long goads, to stab the fairy spheres, 
 And make them whirl about, tormenting them 
 With slowly twisting tortures : no escape 
 Seemed open but the jaws of those black gulfs. 
 And when they fell, some spirit-hand unseen 
 Would lift them forth ; nor might they find relief 
 
 29
 
 In swift destruction, but, with frenzy filled, 
 
 Rushed one upon another, till their poles 
 
 Crashed, then fled headlong to the gaping death. 
 
 And one stood by, a strange mysterious seer, 
 
 Who ever and anon would utter forth 
 
 Unmeaning numbers, seeming to direct 
 
 Those others, as Pythagoras of old 
 
 Gave mystic symbols for the guides of life. 
 
 To him I turned and spake with trembling lips : 
 
 " Spirit, if such thou art, expound to me 
 
 The meaning of my Vision. " With cold eyes 
 
 He pointed motionless to one who held 
 
 A sceptre mounted with a golden cross, 
 
 Ministering to the needs of that fell pair. 
 
 To him I spake, and thus he answered me ; 
 
 " Thou see'st the mystery of thine own soul. 
 
 The White Globe is thy Reason, and the one 
 
 With Spots is thy Desire : alternately 
 
 They rule with rival sway : the fiery Red 
 
 Is Wrath, and serves whichever of the twain 
 
 Doth grasp its sceptre of dominion. " 
 
 **.*.*.* 
 
 And when I looked again, behold, one came, 
 And, taking in his hand the Ball of fire, 
 He joined unto it twice seven sister spheres, 
 And builded them with skill and loving care 
 Into a wondrous shape : like those vast tombs 
 Which gaze eternal in the glassy stream 
 
 30
 
 Of Egypt's mighty river. Then one Fiend 
 
 Let loose his wrath in one great bursting crash 
 
 On that frail structure : but the Builder stood 
 
 Silent apart, as one who heeded not, 
 
 Or, heeding, durst not show his soul's great grief. 
 
 And, as a tower, struck by a scathing shaft 
 
 Launched from the throne of Jove omnipotent, 
 
 Falls riven into ruin : not a stone 
 
 Is left to tell the story of its might ; 
 
 So fell the bolt from that unerring hand 
 
 Upon those liquid spheres, and scattered them 
 
 One from another. Two bright orbs fell down 
 
 Into the dark abyss, whence no man now 
 
 Might rescue them. And then that other came, 
 
 And drove them one by one into the gulfs, 
 
 Till none remained, ceasing amidst a sound 
 
 As of applauding demons. Then, at length, 
 
 Shrieking, I woke ; and even as I woke 
 
 I heard a Voice cry, " Gentlemen, Mr. Cook 
 
 Has taken the first game by thirteen balls 
 
 To two : I beg to announce an interval 
 
 Of twenty minutes for refreshments. " Then 
 
 I fled, nor know I if the dream be true.
 
 THE RUBYMALLET OF OMAR KHAYYAM 
 
 You know, my Friends, with what a brave carouse 
 I made a Second Marriage in my house ; 
 
 Divorced old barren Tennis from my Lawn, 
 And took a brand new Mallet for my Spouse. 
 
 Lo, we have entered for a Tournament, 
 And as we pass to the Pavilion Tent, 
 
 One tells us we are drawn in the First Round 
 With some Dark Fiend, for our Destruction sent. 
 
 And as the Clay lies in the Potter's Hands, 
 So do we sit and wait on his commands, 
 
 Until it pleases Him to pass the Break, 
 Leaving a Long Shot, wired, from Distant Lands. 
 
 We are no other than a driven row 
 
 Of Phantom Spheres that wander to and fro 
 
 Round with the Magic-handled Mallet held 
 Serenely by the Master of the Show :
 
 But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays, 
 Wherewith he makes his Hoops in various ways ; 
 
 Hither and thither drives, and cuts, and slays, 
 And in the Wires, to make an ending lays. 
 
 The Ball no notice takes of all our blows, 
 But Here or There, as strikes its Fancy, goes ; 
 
 But He that hits us right across the Field 
 He knows about it all He knows ! He knows ! 
 
 The Dreadful Wizard strikes ; and having hit, 
 Moves on : nor all our Learning nor our Wit 
 
 Availeth now to yield us half a point : 
 We just sit still and make the best of It. 
 
 Yon Winning Peg that points the Goal so plain- 
 How oft hereafter will it mock our pain ; 
 
 How oft hereafter pointing look for us 
 And this same Demon and for one in vain ! 
 
 Ah, Friend ! if you and I could but conspire 
 This Awful Demon in his turn to wire, 
 
 Would not we hammer him to bits and then 
 Remould him nearer to the Heart's Desire ! 
 
 33
 
 POETS AT CROQUET 
 
 (Shelley explains why he played with the wrong ball) 
 
 " And as a metaphor about one star, 
 
 Or moonlight visitations of dim mists, 
 
 Or dew-globes, or aught dull yet beautiful, 
 
 May fold itself round even the simplest verse 
 
 Clothing the words in meanings not their own 
 
 And wrap them in such dim obscurity 
 
 As drowns the sense : so from that Yellow Globe, 
 
 Which lay enf olden in the glorious light 
 
 Of its own brightness, then 1 was radiated 
 
 A Shadow, as of Night an atmosphere 
 
 Which wrapt it in such soul-confusing power 
 
 That it became his sphere, and his grew mine ; 
 
 And both the orbs seemed interpenetrated 
 
 And mingled into one divinest shape 
 
 Of liquid harmony ; and all my being 
 
 Like one bit by a dipsomaniac 
 
 Whose keen fangs burn like points of frozen lead* 
 
 Veil'd in the light of that aerial form 
 
 1 So in the MS., but " there " in all editions. 
 * Mr. F-rm-n says " points of frozen lead " is nonsense, and 
 proposes to read "pints of molten lead. " 
 
 34.
 
 Became congealed and poisoned 1 in its cells, 
 And Error, and Confusion, and the birth 
 Of Strife arose, and Discord followed it. " 
 
 THE REFEREE : 
 
 " Quite so ! A very lucid explanation. 
 
 Now, Mr. Browning, your account of the matter ! " 
 
 BROWNING : 
 
 " Ah, there you have me ! just precisely there 
 Peeps forth, creeps in, steps on, pops up, blurts out 
 The crux o' the blooming question : the very pith 
 Of the issue, job, biz, matter now in hand ! 
 
 How to begin ! [What price exordium ? 
 Eh, Chinchinchino ?] Try the Classics first. 
 Of Man's first disobedience Tut, tut ! 
 No actual disobedience in the case ; 
 Sheer ignorantia legum pardonable, 
 
 Mr. R-ss-tt- conjectures "prisoned" for "poisoned," as being 
 more suitable to the " cells. " 
 
 35
 
 Tho' punishable, mark you ! Try the next. 
 Arms and the man I sing otototoi ! 
 Achilles' wrath to Greece the direful rats ! 
 No balm i' the classics. [Chinchininculo 
 Has got his tupto, middle voice, quite pat, 
 And starts to-morrow on the Odyssey.] 
 
 You like my style ? Prettily chaste, I think, 
 
 Yet simple enough too, once you have got the trick of it. 
 
 [Must dock a syllable or two at home.] 
 
 Ah, now I have it ! here's the proper turn ! 
 
 Let this old woe step on the stage again. 
 Once more let shine in beams of brightest verse, 
 Illumining the darkness and the doubt, 
 This quaestio vex 'at a , this offence 
 
 Of playing the wrong ball ! First, what says Law F 1 
 * * * * 
 
 You follow me ? Precisely ! Very well, 
 So far, so good. Now for the application. 
 This Shelley fellow possibly you know 
 A little thing I printed, ages gone, 
 Called Memorabilia ? that's the very man ! 
 [I fancy, too, Pauline refers to him : 
 
 1 We reluctantly omit about 200 lines on the subject of Law 19. 
 ED.
 
 Will look it up directly I get home.] 
 Well, as I said before, this Shelley here, 
 This pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift 
 A self-conferred description, you'll believe !- 
 Admits he played there's no deniging o' 't- 
 'PHa non propria, with improper ball. 
 Not merely alia, be it observed, 
 Nor pi la altera, his other pill, 
 [You're listening, my little nipperkin ?] 
 But aliena pi/a there's the crime ! 
 Another's pill to wit, the adversary's ! 
 
 Now comes consideration : what to do ? 
 Put case offence was accidental-like, 
 Ma/itia non propensa ; take that first " 
 
 THE REFEREE 
 
 " Quite so ! a very lucid explanation. 
 
 Considering the lateness of the hour, 
 
 You really leave me no alternative. 
 
 There's nothing for it but to scratch you both. " 
 
 (Exit : The poets are left discussing the point.) 
 
 37
 
 SONG OF TRIUMPH 
 
 FOR A CROQUET PLAYER 
 
 Christina Rossftti) 
 
 My heart is like an aeronaut, 
 
 Whose nest is in a parachute : 
 My heart is like an Eiffel Tower, 
 
 Whose walls are crowned with lemon-fruit. 
 My heart is like a rover-ball, 
 
 That roquets all the other three ; * 
 My heart is gladder than all these, 
 
 Because my Cup is come to me ! 
 
 Choose me the most atrocious lawn ; 
 
 Plant it with weeds in wild designs ; 
 Mark it with bat and bowling crease, 
 
 And tennis with its hundred lines ; 
 Dot it about with little champions 
 
 From Wimbledon to Shrewsburee ; 
 My heart's afraid of none of these, 
 
 Because my Cup is come to me ! 
 
 ' Simultaneously, we presume ; a very rare occurrence. ED. 
 38
 
 SOCRATES ON CROQUET 
 
 PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE : 
 
 SOCRATES (who is also the narrator.) 
 
 GLAUCON. 
 
 THRASYMACHUS. 
 
 I was walking one afternoon on the banks of the 
 Ilissus, just outside the city, engaged in my usual search 
 after some man wiser than myself, in order that I might 
 so falsify the oracle of the Delphian Priestess. For she 
 had once declared me to be the wisest of men, because, 
 whereas other men knew nothing, but thought that they 
 knew something, I alone both knew nothing and knew 
 that I knew it ; in this respect plainly excelling all other 
 men. 
 
 And after accosting people of all kinds, such as legis- 
 lators, guardians of the peace, bargees, and the like, and 
 finding that, so far from knowing more than I did, they 
 merely lost their tempers, thereby showing that they did 
 not even know how to keep the spirited element under 
 control, I suddenly caught sight of Glaucon, who was 
 walking with Thrasymachus in the direction of the fields 
 beyond the river, not very far from Pytn. And as soon 
 as I approached him he called out, " Well met, Socrates, 
 for we are on our way to witness the great Kroch 
 
 39
 
 Games in the fields yonder, and you must certainly come 
 with us ; for the Ten are playing, and it is expected that 
 great things will be done, both by the nine men and 
 especially by the one woman, who they say is the equal 
 of any of them. And if, as you will probably say, you 
 know nothing of Kroch6, then here is an excellent chance 
 for you to learn ! " 
 
 " But tell me, " I said, " who are the Ten ? For 
 indeed I have heard of the Eleven of Athens, and the 
 Eleven Lords of the M.C.C., but these Ten are some- 
 thing new to me ; unless, perhaps, they be the Ten 
 gods, or rather, I suppose, the Nine gods and a goddess. " 
 
 " By no means, " he said ; " though indeed some have 
 called them the Tin gods. But, as a matter of fact, 
 they are not even demigods, or even heroes, except 
 among their own people, but just ordinary mortals like 
 you and me, save only for their great skill at the Game, 
 at which in truth they are daemons. " 
 
 " And have they knowledge of this Game, " I said, 
 " or only opinion ? " 
 
 " Certainly they must have knowledge, " he replied ; 
 for how else could they perform at it so wonderfully ? " 
 
 " In that case, " I said, " I will certainly come with 
 you ; for it seems to me that the Delphian Priestess will 
 run a great risk of being proved to be a manifest liar, as 
 soon as I shall have found no less than Ten who have 
 knowledge of something of which, as you know, I know 
 nothing whatever. But come now, O Giaucon and 
 
 40
 
 Thrasymachus, as we are walking thither, will you allow 
 me to ask you a few questions concerning this Game ; 
 so that when we meet the Ten I may not seem to them 
 altogether ignorant and unable to appreciate their mar- 
 vellous achievements ? " 
 
 " Certainly, O Socrates, " replied Thrasymachus ; 
 " ask as much as you like ; though I know well enough 
 that you will be merely up to your old tricks again 
 trying to catch us in traps all the while. So, as I had a 
 good dose of you yesterday, when you induced me to 
 admit that a thing must both be and not be at the same 
 time, perhaps you will kindly practise on Glaucon first, 
 and I will see fair play. " 
 
 " Be it so, " I said. " And first of all, tell me, O 
 Glaucon, with what this game you call Kroch is played ; 
 whether with dice, or with a ball, or with cards, or what ? " 
 
 " With wooden balls, " he said, " of different colours, 
 each player having two. " 
 
 " And do they throw them to one another and catch 
 them, after the manner shown in the painting by Leitonios, 
 late President of the Academ ? " 
 
 " No ; they drive them along the ground by means of 
 great wooden clubs shaped like hammers. " 
 
 " And he who drives them furthest, I suppose, wins 
 the game ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, Socrates ; for the player who has 
 continually to make the longest shots is generally the loser. 
 But the winner is he who is best able to play many easy 
 
 41 D
 
 strokes in succession, or to ' make breaks ' as it is called. " 
 
 " Of a truth then, O Glaucon, " I said, " these Ten 
 must be great Geometricians, as well as wonderful 
 makers of balls. " 
 
 " There you are wrong for once, Socrates ; for, to 
 tell the truth, I know nothing as to their being Geo- 
 metricians or not ; but as to their being makers of balls, 
 why, I do not suppose that more than one of them has 
 actually made a ball in his life, or would in the least 
 know how to set about it even though he be a share- 
 holder in a ball-making Company. " 
 
 " Your pardon, " I said, " if I have made a mistake. 
 But I think nevertheless that I shall be able to convince 
 you, and perhaps even Thrasymachus, that all the Ten 
 must be not only great Geometricians, but also the most 
 skilful ball-makers. And first of all answer me on this 
 point ; do they use the balls merely as balls, or in relation 
 to something ? " 
 
 " I do not think I quite understand, " he said. 
 
 " I will try to make myself clearer. The ball, you 
 say, is of a certain material and colour. Now, do they 
 show their skill in relation to the material ? For in- 
 stance, if a player excels with wooden balls, would he 
 not equally excel with balls of another material, but in 
 other respects similar ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly, " he said. 
 
 " And would he not play as well with a Red ball as 
 with a Blue ? "
 
 " Probably. " 
 
 " And with a Yellow ball as with a Black ? " 
 
 " I think so. " 
 
 " Tell me, then, " I said, " in relation to what quality 
 of a ball does the player show his skill since it is in 
 relation neither to the material nor to the colour ? " 
 
 " Evidently in relation to its roundness. " 
 
 " So that a player who was given square or triangular 
 balls to play with would not exhibit all his usual skill ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ; indeed he would probably refuse to 
 play at all unless the balls were perfectly round, and 
 of even weight, as the saying is ; for that indeed is the 
 Law. " 
 
 " And now, " I said, " let us ask the argument to 
 wait a little, while we make shift to look at it from 
 another point of view. You will admit, I suppose, that 
 the best maker of anything is also the best at taking it to 
 pieces. For instance, is not the shoemaker both the 
 best maker of shoes and also the best at taking them to 
 pieces ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. " 
 
 " Since he will best know their weak points ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " And the shipbuilder, in the same way, is the best at 
 breaking up a ship ? " 
 
 Yes. " 
 
 " And the best maker of records, at running and other 
 sports, is also the best breaker of records ? " 
 
 43
 
 He agreed. 
 
 " Again, the makers of laws will also be the best 
 breakers of them, since they will know their weak points 
 and how best to take advantage of them ? " 
 
 " It would seem so. " 
 
 " So that in all cases the best makers and the best 
 breakers would be the same persons ? " 
 
 " That is evidently so. " 
 
 " Then see, O Glaucon, to what the argument has 
 led us. Is it not manifest that the best makers of balls 
 must also be those who are best able to break the balls, 
 or make breaks with them, and consequently will be the 
 most skilful players ? " 
 
 Glaucon was on the point of assenting, when Thrasy- 
 machus, who had hitherto most kindly refrained from 
 interrupting us, suddenly broke out into uproarious mirth, 
 and shouted out at the top of his voice, " My dear 
 Socrates, pray do not make yourself so supremely ridi- 
 culous ! Why, at Kroch one does not break the balls 
 at all ; you must be thinking of another game, played on 
 the Board of Green Cloth. " 
 
 Now for several minutes I was quite dumfounded at 
 this outburst, and thrown into the greatest confusion at 
 having been so foolish. And not knowing what to reply, 
 I asked Glaucon to allow me to examine the Short 
 Treatise on the Game, which he always carried in his 
 cloak-pocket ; and after I had perused it attentively, 
 though without much understanding, 
 
 44
 
 " Evidently, my friend, " I said, " I must have fallen 
 into a very ridiculous error. Nevertheless, if you will 
 only be patient, there is perhaps just a slight chance that 
 I may accidentally be right after all. For tell me ; if some- 
 thing be continually taken from a thing, does it not become 
 smaller, and consequently weaker and more fragile ? " 
 
 " Of course. " 
 
 " Then, since tbe Kroch-player is continually taking 
 off from balls, and taking Kroch from them (so that I 
 suppose they are no longer Kroch^-balls), and also cutting 
 them, and splitting them in all directions, it is evident 
 that the balls will speedily be broken, which is manifestly 
 the reason why a succession of such strokes is called a 
 break. So that our former argument seems, after all, to 
 hold good, and the players who can make the best breaks, 
 and so win the games, will be the best makers of balls. 
 And they will make them so perfectly round that even 
 their breaks will be all-round, and each ball will thus be 
 split up into two or more perfect balls which is a feat 
 that even our friend Euclid of Megara has never yet 
 succeeded in accomplishing. And that is why I say that 
 the best players must not only be excellent makers of 
 balls, but also marvellous Geometricians. 
 
 " And so, Glaucon, when we arrive at the field of 
 play, and the Ten come up to us and ask us to marvel at 
 their exhibition, we will say to them that we are quite 
 ready to fall down and worship them, and offer them 
 sacrifices, as to Tin gods, and even to feast them daily 
 
 45
 
 in the Prytaneum at the public expense ; but as to 
 watching them play frankly, we would rather be ex- 
 cused. For, seeing that they are neither Geometricians 
 nor makers of balls, they cannot be acquainted with even 
 the elements of the game, or have the slightest real 
 knowledge concerning it, but, at the most, only opinion. 
 And further, we will say that, since we know that we 
 know nothing about Kroch, whereas they think that 
 they know something, all the while in reality knowing 
 nothing, we have more wisdom concerning the game 
 than they, and consequently are more worthy of the chief 
 prize. Shall we not tell them all this, Glaucon ? " 
 
 He agreed that we should. 
 
 " And so, " I continued, " having hired a chariot, we 
 will drive off with the Cup, after making a libation to 
 the Nine gods and the goddess. And we will inscribe 
 on it, " Socrates^ the Champion Kroche-player, carried off 
 this Cup from all comers, without playing a stroke , " and 
 having first insured it against theft, we will deposit it in 
 the Temple of Delphi, for all men to see. On the 
 whole, then, since the Cup is of refined silver, shall we 
 not have done a good day's work ? " 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "our visit will not have been in vain." 
 
 " And yet, " I said, " in one thing I am still dis- 
 appointed I mean about the oracle of the Priestess. 
 For I really begin to think that she must, by some 
 accident, have spoken the truth, and that Socrates is, 
 after all, the wisest of men. " 
 
 46 .
 
 PART II 
 LUDIBRIA
 
 TRAGEDIES OF THE UNDERWORLD 
 
 (i) THE EARTH-WORM'S EVENING HYMN 
 
 I rise with old Sol in the morning, 
 
 I sink with his setting at night ; 
 When Aurora her face is adorning 
 
 And Earth blushes pink at the sight 
 I rise, as I said when beginning : 
 
 But O Mother, when daylight has fled 
 And Night her dim garment is spinning, 
 
 Tuck me up in my little brown bed ! 
 
 All night I lie peacefully sleeping, 
 
 Or if peradventure I wake 
 When stars through their curtains are peeping, 
 
 I am lulled with the music they make ; 
 But when Daylight, already referred to, 
 
 ' Gins rim the horizon with red, 
 O, I can't lie below it's absurd to ! 
 
 Take me out of my little brown bed ! 
 
 [Enter a Thrush. l 
 
 1 A friendly critic objects : " Are you right as to the natural 
 history of worms ? I always understood that night was their busy 
 time, and sunrise more or less their bed-time, and that it was the 
 
 49
 
 (2) LINES WRITTEN FOR A YOUNG BEETLE 
 
 Ere this frail form I strengthen 
 
 With gifts of godlike fare, 
 Now, while the shadows lengthen, 
 
 Great Mother, hear my prayer ! 
 As wide they grow and wider 
 
 Lo, hear thy Child appeal 
 To Earth, the All-provider, 
 
 To bless my evening meal. 
 
 Come, Sister, come nay, fear not 
 
 The banquet rich and rare ; 
 We see it not we hear not 
 
 We only know 'tis there : 
 Though Greymouse dreads to taste it, 
 
 Bolder are we that feel 
 The pity o't, to waste it 
 
 This gorgeous evening meal. 
 
 [" And knew not eating death. " 
 
 " strayed reveller " or worm -working over-time that fell as a tradi- 
 tional prize to the early bird. To this I would reply that my 
 worm is supposed to be acting contrary to its nature, in revolt 
 against the authority of its mother the Earth. Hence the Nemesis 
 which overtook it.
 
 LOVE SONG FOR 
 
 * Be true ! ' What need to say * Be true ' ? 
 
 Thou knowest me for thine ! 
 Lowliest of all the garden crew 
 
 Here gathered at thy shrine ; 
 Have I not heard those words of bliss 
 
 Thy hope that I shall be 
 Absorbed, in one devouring kiss, 
 
 To form a part of thee ? 
 
 And so I sing with all my breath 
 That song for ever new : 
 
 * Be true to me, and even in death 
 I will be true to you ! ' 
 
 Thine were the hands that rescued me 
 
 From out the chilly ground 
 Where, housed with worms for company, 
 
 My days passed slumber-bound. 
 Ah, joy to feel the erst stagnant blood, 
 
 Warmed by thy sacred Fire, 
 Streaming again in crimson flood 
 
 Towards the Heart's desire 1
 
 So till I draw my latest breath, 
 This song I sing anew 
 
 ' Be true to me, and even in death 
 I will be **e to you ! ' 
 
 [He begins to boil. 
 
 (4) THE AMBITIOUS SEEDLING 
 
 Tired of sleeping 
 
 Underneath the Earth ; 
 Upwards creeping 
 
 Striving up to birth. 
 Lo, the sods asunder parting over me : 
 How it makes me wonder what on earth I'm going to be ! 
 
 Tell me, Sister, 
 
 Tell me true : 
 Shall I be a Bluebell 
 
 Just like you ? 
 
 Shall I be a columbine, spreading more and more, 
 Or a ducky little daisy like the girl next door ? 
 
 52
 
 II 
 
 Vain my questions 
 Belle curls her lip : 
 [Indigestion's 
 
 Given her the pip.] 
 
 Let me ask another ask him what O joy, 
 What if we are brothers only think if I'm a boy ! 
 
 Brother-boy, tell me, 
 
 Please tell me true : 
 Shall I be a dog-rose, 
 
 Just like you ? 
 
 Shall I be a hollyhock, towering more and more, 
 Or a potty little poppy like the boy next door ? 
 
 m 
 
 Vain all my luring, 
 
 [Poor old Jim ! 
 Too much manuring 
 
 That's what's done for him.] 
 
 What shape is that behind me ? Ah, my Gardener-boy ! 
 Hastening here to find me, to welcome me with joy. 
 
 53
 
 Gardener, my Gardener, 
 
 Answer, do : 
 Shall I be a May-tree, 
 Shall I be a Yew ? 
 
 Let me be an Oak-tree, spreading evermore, 
 Not a rotten rhododendron like the boy next door ! 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 Speak, Gardener! Card. Well, I never ! Blowed if it 
 aint a bloomin Plan-ting, a-trying to rear 'is ugly 'ead 
 in my best border ! Kim hoop ! I tell yer ! 
 
 Chorale. 
 
 Slowly to the funeral pyre 
 
 Bear the corpse with streaming eyes 
 Let the spirit, purged in fire, 
 
 Heavenward now in smoke arise. 
 
 54
 
 THE AWKWARD STYLE 
 
 BY JAMES THE GREAT 
 
 SCENE. One House or the Other. 
 TIME. Quite Lunch-time. 
 
 The butler was emphatic with the luncheon gong ; 
 but the summons seemed to miss of its effect on the two 
 men who, on the sofa, were preparing, as it seemed, to 
 make an afternoon of it. They had selected the piece 
 after consideration and, in the end, rejection of the other 
 surrounding amenities as, on the whole, the best available 
 for the proposed extension. The air of being newly 
 arrived which, in the elder of the two, seemed sufficiently 
 manifest suggested, to the other, the imperative need 
 of opening the ball. " We may as well smoke, " he 
 threw out. Then, on reflection, " They all do it, you 
 know. " 
 
 Mr. Donlock accepted the cigarette that his companion 
 had taken from a concealed drawer in the secretary. 
 " Oh, you young men you young men ! " His sense 
 of coming back to it all, of becoming, as the phrase is, 
 after so many years a gay young dog again, was really too 
 delightful. Then, with one of his sudden little jumps, 
 " I suppose lunch, now it wouldn't quite eh ? " 
 
 55
 
 His fellow visitor had a hesitation. " You don't think 
 we ought to ? " 
 
 He looked at it. " You mean for the others ? " 
 
 " Yes, you know they might, " 
 
 " Be offended if we don't ? " He tried to ease him off. 
 
 " Might hurry up a bit, don't you think ? You see it's 
 really getting on. " 
 
 Mr. Donlock harked back. " There are others then ? " 
 Then, as if ashamed of his detachment, " but of course 
 there would be. " Sandibank, on this, made, in a pause, 
 a nearer approach to taking visibly his measure. "Well 
 of course there's our host. You don't know him then ? " 
 
 " No, you see I've only just dropped in. " His sense 
 of detachment was really getting too tremendous for 
 anything. " In fact, will you believe me ? I don't, in 
 the least, know where we are ! " 
 
 " I see, I see. " He was prompt with his information. 
 " Well, as long as it isn't the Other House ? But he, 
 old Brooky, he's distinctly bloated, you know ; but then 
 of a nonentity ! " 
 
 " Of a nonentity ?" Mr. Donlock really wanted to know. 
 
 " Of a nonentity. " Sandibank insisted on the full 
 value of the phrase. " But she, Mrs. Brooky oh, she's 
 wonderful we all think so ; especially for wives. " 
 
 This again was a remark of a sweep that there appeared 
 to be nothing in Mr. Donlock's mind to match. " For 
 wives ? he despairingly echoed. Would he ever be in the 
 know ? " You mean in discussing ? " 
 
 56
 
 " Yes, and everything. You see she's so tremendously 
 down on us all. " 
 
 " Down on you ? " Mr. Donlock had another sharp 
 surprise. 
 
 " Oh, to a degree ! But then of a charm, a distinc- 
 tion ! Only, on the other hand, so terribly, so awfully 
 young! " He fairly dashed at the chance of giving her away. 
 "You see it's all the child little Ganda she's nineteen!" 
 
 Mr. Donlock had at this a small light of confusion. 
 " You mean her mother says she's only twenty-nine ? 
 And the child ? little Ganda as you call her ? " He 
 could keep the ball rolling. 
 
 " Ah, the child ! that is precisely the horrible, the quite 
 too dreadful part of it. You see she's more than seven ; 
 just, in fact, at the Awkward Age. And she knows 
 she knows " 
 
 Mr. Donlock's clear eyes were searching. " What 
 she shouldn't ? " He saw in this too many deep things 
 not to follow them up. 
 
 " Oh, so much too much so much too much 1 It's 
 too frightful. " Then, in an access, " Why she knows 
 everything ! " 
 
 Mr. Donlock fairly glowed with the intensity of his 
 pursuit. " Everything ? " He was persistent enough now. 
 Then, proceeding to track it further and further, " You 
 mean really everything ? " 
 
 " How you do put one through ! Yes, everything, and 
 more. In fact she knows she knows " he was in for 
 
 57
 
 it now " well, precisely what Maisie knew. And 
 the worst of it is she's down now ; she's beginning 
 to 'sit.'" 
 
 " Beginning to sit ? " Mr. Donlock received one of 
 his greatest shocks. It sounded so of a grossness. 
 
 " Yes, downstairs you know. She just bundles in and 
 gets wonderfully dropped on by Mrs. Brook. Oh, it's 
 terrific ! But what will you have ? She's l warranted ' 
 you see, as long as Mitchy runs her : mainly perhaps 
 indeed because Mitchy does run her. " 
 
 " Runs her ? " His air had become that of having been 
 in search of new side-lights for his obtusity, but he had, 
 nevertheless, always his courage. " I see I see ! you 
 needn't make phrases ; I follow you with a sympathy, " 
 he came to the scratch with. 
 
 Sandibank had another of his pauses. He wanted to 
 let his friend down gently. " Yes, Mitchy runs her 
 tremendously well, " he finally came out at. " You see 
 he rather goes in for that sort of thing. Oh, Mitchy's 
 immense for daughters ! " 
 
 Mr. Donlock looked a little of a loss, but he still, as 
 the phrase is, came up smiling. " I see, I see, " he mur- 
 mured for all answer, with a complete unconsciousness 
 of making for irritation. 
 
 Sandibank fixed him, on this, with a deeper attention. 
 Evidently his friend was of a bravery ! Was there ever 
 a man so wonderfully getting into it, so bringing them 
 down in short on every side ? 
 
 58.
 
 " Oh, come don't rush it you know ! " Then coming 
 up in another place, " What are you, in thunder, up to ? " 
 he produced. 
 
 Mr. Donlock turned it over. " Ah, when you talk 
 about thunder ! Then, giving him no chance to take 
 him up on this, he made a quick transition. " I'm get- 
 ting as hungry as a cat. " 
 
 He was so far justified as that Sandibank appeared with 
 difficulty further to engage him. " Take another ciga- 
 rette " was all he could throw off. Evidently he too had 
 his jumps. 
 
 Mr. Donlock, still on the sofa, meditatively accepted a 
 light. His air of sitting tight was wonderfully in accord 
 with their by this time evident intention of making an 
 afternoon of it. 
 
 " I never, at home, smoke so much," he finally brought 
 out. " These cigarettes, now, I suppose they come rather 
 high, eh ? " Then as if overcome by his new sense of 
 dissipation, " We do go it, you know, don't we ? " He 
 was absolutely immense now. " And I, I'm fairly in 
 it, at last, am I ? I mean it does show, doesn't it the 
 fact that I can talk like this the tremendous change 
 that has taken place in my style ! " 
 
 " In it ? I should just think you are ! Why you're 
 grand you're beautiful ! " Sandibank positively glowed 
 with the candour of his admiration. Mr. Donlock still 
 pressed him. " Wonderful for wives ! " he quite natur- 
 ally chucked it at him. " And we'll see it through, eh ? " 
 
 59
 
 he swept him on, with the sense of being at last quite 
 one of them. 
 
 Sandibank appeared to look at the idea and then meet 
 it. " See it through ? I should rather think we will ! 
 Unless indeed " 
 
 Mr. Donlock wonderfully took him up. " You think 
 we might get some lunch at the, what do you call it ? 
 The Other House r " 
 
 Sandibank acquiesced. 
 
 II 
 
 Half an hour later, in the Hall of the Other House, the 
 butler was becoming positively insistent with the lunch- 
 eon bell. He arrived with, in the end, for its solitary 
 occupant, a purely personal summons : Luncheon was 
 getting quite hot. 
 
 " Getting hot ? " Toby turned it over. 
 
 " Quite hot, Sir ! " the butler maintained the full value 
 of the phrase. Toby Brill had a vacancy. Clearly he 
 was in one of his states. " We shan't be long we 
 shan't be long, " he came out at. Then, with an air of 
 becoming sensible of his detachment, " What is there, on 
 earth, for lunch ? " he produced. 
 
 The butler mentioned iced cream as on so warm a day 
 the only comestible of which he could, on the spot, 
 embrace the conception. There was, for Tobias Brill, 
 
 60
 
 an air of insincerity in the tone with which he subse- 
 quently somewhat austerely dropped, " Will you wait for 
 the young lady, Sir ? " 
 
 Toby looked at it. But, before he could take him up, 
 the young lady herself became visible in the doorway. 
 " Miss Pinster ! " the butler announced her in his most 
 uncompromising manner. Mr. Brill stopped with the 
 sharp surprise of the sight of his visitor. His attitude 
 had become instinctively that of departure, for which 
 nevertheless the blocked doorway held out no immediate 
 prospect. Rose floated in, on this, with the determination, 
 sufficiently visible, of having it out. To her air of being 
 all there was added a sense of the necessity of making 
 this time a sure thing of it in the tone with which she 
 promptly proceeded to demand of her host the privacy of 
 five minutes' conversation. 
 
 Toby, on the spot, expressed the liveliest desire to 
 oblige her. But would not Miss Pinster take some lunch 
 first. The queen-mother had been laid up with the 
 malaria, but was expecting to be " down " in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 His visitor was only confirmed in her resolution of 
 wasting no time. Evidently the man was of a profund- 
 ity ! " Oh yes, " Pinster " is my wonderful my 
 quite too awful name ! but I'm game to change it, you 
 know, " she threw out. 
 
 There was for Tobias, in this, with a slight uncert- 
 ainty, an effect of drollery resulting from his inability to 
 
 61
 
 get at her point of view. " You can't change it you 
 can't change it, " he cautiously produced. 
 
 Miss Pinster showed, on this, though not an irritation, 
 a slight flicker of austerity. " Oh won't I though just 
 try me ! " she put to him. 
 
 Through his sense of her sense of him gleamed 
 instantaneously the urgent need for alertness. " May I 
 smoke?" he asked. Then, with an effort for disengage- 
 ment, " How you do go for one ! " 
 
 She blazed at him. " Go for you, my good man ? 
 Oh, Toby, you are lovely. Do you really think I'm 
 enamoured of a prize pig ? " His sense of the unex- 
 pectedness of her new point of view of him fairly 
 overcame his detachment. What now stuck out for him 
 was the desire that she should understand that on such 
 ground as that he was always glad to meet her. " Pigs 
 might charmingly fly, " he quite wonderfully sounded. 
 
 She caught at it. u To-morrow, then, at the very 
 earliest. " He gaped at her. " You do put things 
 through ! But why not to-day ?" 
 
 " Because I have a previous engagement. I marry 
 Paul to-day. " She threw up triumphant little hands. 
 " Oh, Toby, you are wonderful ; there's not one of us 
 can touch you ! No wonder we all love you so ! " 
 
 " Oh, too much oh, too much!" he cried, as he lighted 
 his cigarette and went off to lunch at the Other House. 
 
 62
 
 Ill 
 
 The butler seemed unusually persistent with the dinner 
 gong, and as we hastened down the broad staircase we 
 learnt, to our surprise, that dinner had been served for 
 some minutes. The Croquet party in the afternoon had 
 seemed almost interminable, and the relief of half an 
 hour's talk in the smoking-room before dinner had been 
 a temptation impossible to resist. " We dine at an easy 
 eight " the Duchess had said as she passed us in the Hall 
 on her way upstairs to dress, and being unwilling to 
 leave our so interesting talk we had no doubt stretched 
 the phrase to its fullest extent. The subject of our con- 
 versation had been the cause dttbre commencing in the 
 Courts that same afternoon a most extraordinary case 
 of theft from the household of an exalted Personage. 
 Some sensational evidence was expected at the outset, 
 and we had lingered longer than usual over our cigarettes 
 on the off chance that Blizzard, who was serving on the 
 special jury, would be " down " in time to communicate 
 the news before we went up to dress. 
 
 We looked sufficiently contrite as we took our places 
 at the table, and our hostess, for once, decided to let us 
 down gently. " Oh, you men you men ! " was all her 
 reproach. " I positively had to have the soup taken 
 away : if you will go up so late, you know ! " 
 
 Our luncheon at the Other House had not been a 
 success, and Griffin, at this, had a vacancy. " Your Chef 
 
 63
 
 does soup tremendously well, " he produced : " it is 
 always, in the evening, of a beauty ! And we hoped 
 that, even if it was cleared away, you know, we hoped 
 that it perhaps would " 
 
 " Would charmingly come up again ? I see I see. " 
 The Duchess had her lights. " But you would never, 
 tonight, have looked at it ; the old fault, you know, in 
 the flavouring : so much too much ! So bad for your 
 morals ! " The Duchess' standard was of a height ! 
 
 The conversation, with the fish, soon floated back to 
 the immediately previous : could no one tell us any news 
 of the Trial ? It transpired that the Footman, commiss- 
 ioned to call for, at the Station, the Evening papers, had 
 returned, in the end, empty-handed. " He had waited " 
 so ran his report " on and off, for hours and hours, 
 but had been unable, somehow, in so many people, to get 
 at them. The crowd was really too tremendous for 
 anything : never was such an impasse ! " Clearly there 
 was nothing, on the spot, to be done but to wait for 
 Blizzard. He had arranged, we happily remembered, to 
 dress in the train, so that no time would be lost on his 
 arrival. 
 
 Presently we were startled by the sharp sound of the 
 doorbell, and Blizzard staggered into the room with a 
 face the colour of his shirt-front. We sprang to our 
 feet : what was y in Heaven's name, the matter ? 
 
 He gulped down a tumbler of Champagne. " Oh, 
 don't ask me ! " he jerked out a sick protest with a sense 
 
 64
 
 of the dominant unspeakable. "It is too ghastly too 
 revolting ! They were sentenced sentenced to death ! " 
 
 We gaped at him. " Sentenced to death ! What, the 
 Prisoner, for theft ? impossible ! " 
 
 " Yes, and all the witnesses ! You see, it was high 
 treason, and some old statute that had never been 
 repealed they all had to be held accessories after the 
 fact. Oh, the horror the awful, awful horror of it 
 all ! " He shivered again with the agonized intensity of 
 his recollection. 
 
 The sacred terror of his obsession began after a time 
 to yield gradually to the fervour of our efforts towards 
 evocation, giving him in the end what one might call his 
 second wind. As soon as he was again afloat sidelights 
 began to illumine for us the so monstrous intelligence ; 
 an extraordinary account of a packed jury : of a Judge 
 continually pressing for an immediate verdict : of his 
 intolerably overbearing treatment of the witnesses. One 
 remark, especially, which Blizzard, probing further and 
 further the recesses of his memory, ultimately almost 
 casually let drop had, for the Duchess, a significance 
 almost verging on the explanatory. " The chief witness," 
 he said, " admitted at once that she knew nothing about 
 the case absolutely nothing whatever. And the Judge, 
 on that, said that was of an importance ! " 
 
 " Of an importance ? " we chorussed : was the man 
 pulling our legs ? "But of an Mwimportance, surely 1 " 
 
 " He really didn't somehow at the time seem in the 
 
 65
 
 least to be able to make up his mind as to which of the 
 two he really did mean. " 
 
 Then the Duchess understood. " I see I see : you 
 needn't gas so ! And little Alice ? " This heightened 
 again the tension ; we had forgotten that little Alice was 
 to have been there. 
 
 "Yes, she was in Court. She was unfortunately all there. 
 Poor child they wanted to turn her out: they said " 
 We had at this an embarrassment. " Said the case was 
 a bit too ' high ' for her ? " Griffin tentatively threw out. 
 
 " Said she was too high for it ! Oh, miles too high ! " 
 Blizzard again had a drop to extravagance. " In fact, in 
 the end, well she couldn't sit. " 
 
 " Couldn't sit ? " once more we bewilderingly gasped. 
 Here was a new complication ! 
 
 " No. She had to lie down flat : there really wasn't, 
 you know, room for her. You see, she grew she 
 grew " 
 
 The Duchess remarkably took him up. " You mean 
 like she did when they sent you down the chimney, 
 Mr. Bill-Lizard. And the moral of that is " 
 
 Then we all understood. 
 
 66
 
 THE DAY OF THE TIGER OF TRIPOLI 1 
 
 (After Grg- M-r-d-th.) 
 
 I 
 
 He that has deemed of my verse 
 Merely as flint for the brain ; 
 Who pines for the lore of his nurse, 
 And the soft pap simple and plain, 
 Unto him shall this old world tale * 
 With a lilt more enchantingly come 
 Than to shipwrecked skipper a sail 
 With a cargo of rum. 
 
 II 
 
 Now the maid footed fair to the South, 
 Rag tired, and just wasting to ride, 3 
 For the hot thirst furrowed her mouth ; 
 So she looked all about and she spied 
 Between the sand and the sea 
 The precise thing built to her weight, 
 
 1 The metre goes like this : Diddle -dum, diddle-dum, diddle- 
 dum, except when it comes easier to vary it. 
 * " There was a young lady of Niger " etc. 
 J My friend H-nry J-m-s waves me this elegant transatlantic rose. 
 
 6?
 
 Which, this between you and me, 
 Verged nigh upon twelve stone eight. 
 And 'ware of the type from the Zoo 
 She spotted the thing at a glance, 
 The stripes of marvellous hue, 
 The eye like a sunborn lance ; 
 Yet she hailed him in accents light, 
 As one who took no dread, 
 Not, Tyger burning bright, 
 As some so placed would have said, 
 But, You seem a fair beauty you do, 
 And the tongue from the blind mouth darts 
 As he answered : The same to you, 
 As men did in those parts. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Then the fair maid fitted the rein 
 And mounted as best she could, 
 And Southward they fared, the twain, 
 Through the dells of Westermain Wood ; 
 And much of the Joy of Earth 
 She dreamed as they lumped along, 
 For her heart was a well of mirth, 
 And her lips broke forth into song 
 Which the Master of song had taught 
 Of the kinship of all that crawls, 
 
 68.
 
 And if we behave as we ought, 
 How nothing on Earth appals. 
 Nor aught of the fated feast 
 As yet did her high heart bode ; 
 So she tickled the ribs of the beast, 
 And smiled as she rode. 
 
 IV 
 
 Now the Master was standing by, 
 Even he that had schooled her to sing, 
 And the lid just covered the eye 
 As he noted the thing. 
 
 Eve fell and daylight died. 
 Wan stars peeped out from the blue 
 On the twain returned from the Ride, 
 With only the Tiger in view. 
 Slowly pacing he moans ; 
 Lead-heeled the limping gait 
 Of him who had made no bones 
 Of a trifle of twelve stone eight.. 
 The red lips quivered awhile 
 Ere mute on Earth he fell, 
 
 69
 
 But the silence about his smile 
 Said more than tongue could tell :- 
 The bliss of the unshared food, 
 The unlocked for grace of meat, 
 The first real vision of Good, 
 The fresh young sense of Sweet ; 
 But slack were the thews of steel, 
 The lance eyes dulled of flame, 
 As of one full-gorged of his meal, 
 And digesting the same.
 
 COXE'S WALLOW 
 
 BY ONE WHO KNEW HIM 
 
 (For Wykehamists only) 
 
 O Wykehamists weary and solemn, 
 
 Bowed down with the burden of years, 
 
 Will ye grant me the half of a column ? 
 
 Will ye lend me the loan of your ears ? 
 
 If I lead ye awhile, will ye follow, 
 
 As the fleet hounds follow the fox, 
 
 While I sing that historical Wallow 
 The Wallow of Coxe ? 
 
 Sometimes must be made in the crush room 
 For " notions " new-ground in the mill 
 
 [I take it the shadow of " Mushroom " 
 Abideth in Chambercourt still ?] 
 
 But soft ! on the tongue of the poet 
 Treads hard the proverbial ox ! 
 
 Do you latter-day juniors know it 
 The Wallow of Coxe ?
 
 What Daemon of old designed it ? 
 
 Time may that secret yield ; 
 But Coxe was the first to find it 
 
 A feasible football-field : 
 Where he and his comrades together, 
 
 With the black mud glued to their socks, 
 Might haunt, in the filthiest weather, 
 The Wallow of Coxe. 
 
 Though Time, that takes all, has bereft us 
 Of those rapid days of delight, 
 
 Though nought but grey Shadows be left us, 
 Is there help in the healing of night ? 
 
 For men liken me now to no chicken, 
 
 Yet in dreamland the phantom that mocks 
 
 Comes back to me, hopeless to kick in 
 The Wallow of Coxe. 
 
 Years wane with their deeds and desires, 
 
 And Coxe is in Allahabad ; 
 Yet dreams of that frolic of flyers 
 
 Even now make the heart of him glad ; 
 For the lips of his lords have defamed it, 
 
 And the meanest Commoner mocks, 
 But I know he is proud that you've named it 
 The Wallow of Coxe. 
 
 72
 
 BALLADE OF DE WET 
 
 [" First catch your hare; then 
 you will be ready for your Kit- 
 chener. " Cookery Book . new 
 edition for use in time of 
 
 There's a hero unknown to romances, 
 
 A patrician ignored by Debrett ; 
 But we know him and, somehow, one fancies 
 
 We shall not very quickly forget ! 
 
 For his name it is Christian De Wet ; 
 Though his manners leave much to be mended, 
 
 Still, it's clear to the youngest cadet, 
 Till we catch him the war won't be ended. 
 
 O'er the southernmost endless expanses 
 
 Of that realm where the sun cannot set, 
 He hops and he skips and he prances 
 
 This man whom we never have met ! 
 
 Comes news of a captured vedette, 
 Of a post that " could not be defended, " 
 
 And " the war won't be over just yet " : 
 Till we catch him the war won't be ended. 
 
 73
 
 With our guns and our swords and our lances 
 
 We are dying to settle the debt ; 
 He mocks at our fruitless advances 
 
 To give him as good as we get ; 
 
 In vain are the snares that we set 
 The impossible kopjes ascended ; 
 
 For we haven't got him in our net : 
 Till we catch him the war won't be ended. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Mars ! manifold hazards beset 
 (Since Grecian with Grecian contended) 
 
 Thy worshippers : vainly we sweat 
 Till we catch him the war won't be ended. 
 
 74
 
 RUSS-iN-URBE 
 
 OR 
 CIGARETTES & POLITICS 
 
 Silently, remorselessly, the snow was falling. 
 
 From the steppes of a little riverside Caft two men 
 were watching it as it whirled in a fine powder along the 
 trackless road. 
 
 Both were disguised as travellers ; but whereas one of 
 them, known to all men as ce ban Vaseline, concealed his 
 features by means of a mask-like smile, Monsieur le Baron 
 de Chaudfroid, attache to a well-known maison de com- 
 merce, was made up as usual in imitation of the lynx in 
 the Smoking Room of the Diplomatic Club. 
 
 " Sixty degrees below zero ! " exclaimed the Baron. 
 " It is a cold night, even for Holy Russia ! " 
 
 They strained their ears in vain for the sound of pass- 
 ing sleigh-bells. Vaseline was the first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " Allons ! " he said, " we must take a Kabak then, 
 ' 'est-ce-pas ? It would be too bourgeois to walk on such a 
 night ! " 
 
 They hailed a passing vodka, and, shaking the snow- 
 flakes from the folds of their ample Samovars, sprang in 
 and gave their directions to the driver. 
 
 " The Diplomatic, " said the Baron. 
 
 75
 
 " But where ? " 
 
 " The Diplomatic Club, Petersburg Place, Moskow 
 Road. " 
 
 " Yes, Excellency ! " 
 
 The Baron smiled. The ambition of a life-time was 
 at length realized. His companion also smiled behind his 
 mask-like face : he knew that the Baron would pay the 
 fare. He was somewhat chary of his kopeks, ce Vaseline. 
 
 In less than half an hour the kabak drew up with a 
 jerk at the steps of the Diplomatic Club. "Nous 1>oi/a! " 
 cried the two men simultaneously, as muffling their faces 
 closely they went round to the side entrance of the pied 
 a terre and tapped gently at the door. The Starosta 
 admitted them cautiously, and hastily closed the door 
 behind them. " A la bonne heure ! " he said ; " I thought 
 you were never coming ! " The travellers looked pleased : 
 it had taken weeks to train the man to this. 
 
 The Diplomatic Club is well known as the nightly 
 rendezvous of all that is most distinguished in the quasi- 
 diplomatic world ; all, c 1 est-a-dire^ that is worth knowing 
 among the elite of the suburban beau monde. Though for 
 the most part a sufficiently unpretentious building, it 
 possesses one feature which distinguishes it from the 
 majority of our other leading Clubs. In the door of the 
 combined Dining, Smoking and Reading-Room which 
 constitutes the Club premises, and at the height of five 
 feet from the ground, the visitor who is fortunate enough 
 to have the entree will notice a small and carefully curt- 
 
 76
 
 ained peep-hole, by means of which any member entering 
 the Club is enabled to ascertain at a glance whether the 
 occupants of the room are those whose society he desires, 
 or has any reason to avoid. 
 
 Vaseline slipped cautiously behind the curtain and 
 pressed his face to the glass. Within an inch of his 
 own was the face of a man a face with gold-rimmed 
 spectacles and broad nose flattened against the other side 
 of the glass. For a few seconds the two men remained 
 as they were, gazing steadily into each other's eyes; then 
 Vaseline quietly withdrew. 
 
 " Karl Steinberger is within, " he whispered to his 
 companion. " Remain here with the Starosta, man cher 
 Baron, while I go in and face the moujik." He entered 
 the room and saw, as he expected, the stout figure of 
 Steinberger, apparently fast asleep on the fauteil, and 
 snoring loudly. Upside down in his hand was a copy 
 of the London Charivari, heavily scored, in accordance 
 with the custom of the Club, with the thick block marks 
 of the official Censor. Vaseline went up to the German 
 and tapped him suddenly on the shoulder. The other 
 started violently. 
 
 " Aha ! ce ban Vaseline ! " he cried. 
 
 " Aha ! ce cher Steinberger ! " returned Vaseline. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear friend, my very dear friend, so you are 
 in town I mean Petersburg ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " As usual for your health ? " 
 
 77
 
 " Yes, as usual. " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Vaseline waited passivity was one of his strong points. 
 It had served him well before now. He had always an 
 infinite capacity for holding his cards, ce Vaseline. After 
 a minute he resumed : 
 
 " But, I am afraid I interrupted your little nap, my 
 good Karl ! a very, very little nap, was it not, man ami f 
 D'ailleurS) you were reading too, I observe ; might one 
 be permitted to enquire ? " 
 
 " The Polizei Newski. " 
 
 " Yes ? and is there anything in it this evening ? " 
 
 " Only your portrait. " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Once more Vaseline decided to wait. He got up and 
 rang the bell, bowing elaborately as the waitress entered. 
 " Madame la Comtesse " / he murmured, with his hand 
 on his heart. It was an established etiquette with the 
 members of the Cercle to accord her any courtesy-title 
 that might occur to them. 
 
 " Your orders, Excellency ? " 
 
 " With your permission I dine here this evening. Be 
 so good as to bring me a boiled yemschick, a sjambok, and 
 a few delicatessen. " 
 
 The German peered at him from beneath his gold- 
 rimmed spectacles. " So that is your little game, mein 
 lieber ! " he said to himself. " Ko-lossa-a-1 ! " 
 
 " And to drink, Excellency ? " 
 
 78
 
 " A droski and tseltzer. Volla tout ! Figure to your- 
 self, Princesse : I have not dined for a week. Tant mieux y 
 I shall" 
 
 Steinberger was standing behind him. " Pardon^ 
 Fraulein ! " he said quickly, " but you have forgotten 
 my tsigar ? Excuse me, my good friend, but the Comtesse 
 is a little what you call distraite this evening, eh ? It is 
 perhaps the Nihilist scare ; but that is a mere bagatelle. 
 Of course we know there are no Nihilists in our cercle. " 
 
 The suspicion of a smile hovered for a minute beneath 
 Vaseline's heavy moustache. " I wonder, man ami" he said 
 to himself, " how much you know ! " Then, suddenly, 
 aloud : " The Baron de Chaudfroid is in Petersburg ! " 
 
 Karl Steinberger did not move a muscle : " de Chaud- 
 froid ? I seem to have heard the name : and yet " 
 
 " In connection, possibly, with the Charity League ? " 
 
 Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 The Baron entered the room. " Permit me, my 
 good Karl, " said Vaseline, " to introduce the Baron de 
 Chaudfroid, one of the most distinguished members of 
 our corps diplomatique. " 
 
 " Pleasure, " said Steinberger, shaking hands. 
 
 " It is mine, " answered the Baron. 
 
 The German shrugged his shoulders. " Not at all, " 
 he said. 
 
 " Do not mention it, " returned the other, with a 
 deprecating gesture. 
 
 79
 
 Then Steinberger decided to play his card. " Peters- 
 burg is en fete to-night, " he remarked. "In ten minutes, 
 ^Monsieur le Baron, we shall be able to pay our devoirs 
 to Prince Pavlo. "' 
 
 He watched, as he said it, for the slightest vestige of a 
 tremor on de Chaudfroid's lynx-like face. But the Baron 
 was unmoved. " I shall be quite desolated, " he said, as 
 he walked towards the bell. " It is a thousand pities, but 
 I have a most pressing engagement in Paris to night, 
 an affaire du caeur, bien entendu. Never was so unfort- 
 unate a contretemps ! Ah, Princesse ! " 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur le Baron ! So you have come in at 
 last ! " 
 
 De Chaudfroid hesitated. " Yes, I came in to look 
 out my train. " 
 
 " And ? " 
 
 The Baron looked at her. He had not met many 
 women of solid intellect. Evidently she was of an esprit! 
 
 " And ? " repeated the Countess. 
 
 " But to see you, Mademoiselle. " 
 
 Steinberger was standing at his elbow. " Pardon me, 
 my very good friend, " he said quietly, " but I cannot 
 permit this. It is verboten you comprehend, mein 
 lieber?" 
 
 De Chaudfroid was visibly disconcerted. Was Stein- 
 berger aroused at last ? Steinberger aroused was an 
 unknown quantity to Claud de Chaudfroid. Another 
 instant and he had decided to play his trump card. 
 
 80
 
 " She is my wife, " he said quickly, and watched for the 
 effect. 
 
 " Ach y but a thousand congratulations, mem lieber ! 
 And the good Frau, she will accompany you to Paris? 
 That little affaire du cceur, you know ? " 
 
 The Baron lighted a cigarette, with an exaggerated 
 interest in the match. " But yes ! Cela va sans dire. 
 Certainly she accompanies me. Que voulez-vous ? they 
 are always with us, ces dames. But you are not smoking, 
 my good Karl ! Try one of these ; you will find them 
 excellent. " 
 
 The German took the proffered case and noted its 
 contents precisely two cigarettes ; one prominently 
 exposed and projecting from the case, while the other 
 was almost concealed beneath the interior flap. This 
 latter, keeping his eye on de Chaudfroid, he abstracted 
 with a deft movement of the fingers, at the same time 
 pushing back the other into the interior of the case. The 
 Baron lighted the only remaining cigarette, and for a 
 few moments the two smoked in silence. 
 
 Then Steinberger spoke. " They seem of an especial 
 flavour, my dear Baron, these cigarettes. Might one 
 enquire the brand ? " 
 
 " Stepanovitch's best : I have them made especially 
 for me. " 
 
 " And the price ? " 
 
 " Two roubles a hundred ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 81
 
 Steinberger took another puff. " But surely, mein 
 lieber, you are mistaken. You meant, perhaps, two 
 roubles the thousand. " 
 
 " Of course, I meant two roubles the thousand. " 
 " Ach, ko-lossa-a-1 ! It is a great price ! " 
 Each kept a watchful eye on the other's half-smoked 
 cigarette. Suddenly de Chaudfroid went hastily to the 
 door. " Au revoir, man cher Karl ! " he cried, as he 
 disappeared into the passage. Scarcely was he out of 
 sight when there was heard the sound of a tremendous 
 explosion, followed by a dull, sickening thud, and then 
 silence. 
 
 Steinberger looked at Vaseline. " I much fear, " he 
 said, " that our so good friend is what you call ' hoist 
 with his own petar. ' The explosive in that tsigarette 
 was intended for me. Well " He stopped suddenly 
 at the sight of a tall figure clad in a long brown samovar 
 reaching to his heels. It was Pavlo, disguised as the 
 Moskow Doctor. " Man Prince ! " began Karl, but 
 Pavlo lifted his hand with a solemn gesture. " Hush ! " 
 he said ; " there has been an accident. ' He passed 
 again through the doorway, returning in a few moments 
 with all that was left of Claud de Chaudfroid : all, 
 c'est a dire, except his moustache, which was burnt almost 
 to a cinder. Hastily procuring some warm water, and 
 drawing from his coat-pocket a case of steel instruments, 
 the Moskow doctor, with almost womanly tenderness, did 
 all that could be done in the circumstances. When he 
 
 82
 
 had finished, the Baron put out his hand to seize the 
 instrument marked * Wednesday, ' but Pavlo laid his 
 hand upon his shoulder. " Too soon, my friend ! " he 
 said sternly. " No * Edged Tools ' for the present ! 
 Remember, we are only ' The Sowers. '
 
 TO THE FAIREST LADY MMC 
 THIS SONNET: 
 
 (After the manner of the ingenious Mr. WM SHAKESPEARE.) 
 
 If Truth that bides not for a makeless vision 
 
 Bring no renewal of the after-time, 
 
 And wasteful slate, false mistress of derision, 
 
 Do counterfeit th' indemnities of rime ; 
 
 Since all that might confound posterity 
 
 Upon the stamp and title of my love 
 
 Doth but attaint its own inconstancy 
 
 And feature pyramids for age to move : 
 
 Lo, in this spring-time of thy flourished seeming 
 
 Here fold I up the tenure of my woes, 
 
 Lest thine abundance, check'd of his misdeeming 
 
 Do still the salve that most resembles thote. 
 
 So, if thou understandest, let me be 
 
 Single in both, for thy duplicity. 
 
 i. makeless] wakeless Tyler : weightless (i.e. " empty") Malone. 
 3. Wasteful slate Quarto . wakeful state Do<vuden. mistress of derision 
 Q : witness of decision Wyndham . mystery of derision Gildon. 4. 
 indemnities of rime Q : of crime Dcmden : eternities of rhyme Tyrr- 
 nvbitt. 5. might confound posterity] write " confound posterity !" 
 Wyndham. 10. tenure Q : tenour Malone. Wyndham compares 
 Lucrece 1310. The phraseology throughout is legal, n. thine 
 abundant cheek, Wyndham. 1 2. Do still Q: Distil Warburton. The 
 
 84
 
 SONNET 
 
 The hour is past : Night with her shroud of stars, 
 And ways ungarlanded of mortal hand, 
 Thronging in silence to the moon's command 
 
 Awaits her secret messenger from Mars. 
 
 Why do I linger ? Lo, the ethereal cars, 
 The divine presences that ever stand 
 Flame-robed for passage to the Evening Land, 
 
 Gleam through dim ruins of terrestrial bars. 
 
 So mused Aconstantrieda. Blind with tears 
 The night-wind echoed, radiantly bright : 
 
 Then, raising eyes that strove 'twixt hopes and fears, 
 Looked up to where, clean beyond earthly sight, 
 'Mid flooding splendours of the gathering light 
 
 Night loomed upon the margin of the spheres. 
 
 emendation is tempting, but in such a sonnet none is safe, salve 
 underlined in Q, possibly to indicate a play upon the word in 
 Shakespeare's manner. There seems no possibility of tracing the 
 allusions in the words " his " and " those. " resembles] dissemble 
 Smell. 14. Single in both] Simple in truth Q. i4"for"=on 
 account of Tyler ;=in spite of M alone ,-=in return for Cambridge. 
 
 85
 
 POEM OF SENTIMENT 
 AND REFLECTION 
 
 (Showing how the Child may teach the Man something in 
 the Art and Practice of Lying.) 
 
 I met a little beggar boy 
 
 Upon the windy moor ; 
 I spoke to him, for 'tis my joy 
 
 To commune with the poor. 
 
 " Come now, my little man, " I said, 
 
 " Answer and tell me true : 
 Is it your father that is dead, 
 
 Or is your mother too ? " 
 
 " Father and mother, both are gone, 
 
 They was my only joy ; 
 And I am left all, all alone, 
 
 I am an Orphan Boy ! 
 
 " Mother she was the first to go, 
 
 She took the hooping-cough ; 
 And Father caught the croup, and so 
 
 That is what took him off. 
 
 86
 
 " And now I'm sent to look about 
 For coppers, as you see ; 
 
 And if I show my face without, 
 Dad he do wallop me ! 
 
 " And he would teach this little fist 
 The wisdom of the Thief. " 
 
 (Strange ! at that moment I first missed 
 My pocket-handkerchief.) 
 
 " But mother she does all she can 
 To keep me good and straight, 
 
 And I would be an honest man 
 If it were not too late I " 
 
 He paused awhile ; then, giving way 
 
 To uncontrolled grief, 
 He wiped his eyes with (strange to say) 
 
 My pocket-handkerchief ! 
 
 Long time I gazed upon the child,- 
 I loved his blooming cheek ; 
 
 And then I spoke in accents mild, 
 As is my wont to speak : 
 
 8?
 
 " O dearest, dearest Boy ! my heart 
 To pity you would yearn, 
 
 Could I believe the hundredth part 
 Of what from you I learn ! " 
 
 88
 
 EVENINGS IN TOWN 
 
 [A series of Short Lectures to 
 Young Men. By the Author of 
 Politics of the Dirt, Seven Cand- 
 les for Sixpence, Bessemer and 
 Sillies, Lives of Watts and Step- 
 henson, S-f.j 
 
 I want in these short Lectures to show you young 
 men how to spend a Happy Evening. It is a vulgar 
 phrase enough, but becomes as it were sanctified by the 
 passage of my lips, so that in future you may use it 
 fearlessly and without reproach from me. 
 
 Now, I have come all the way from my beautiful 
 home among the lakes, in order to see whether there is 
 anything new in the Art of London, fitted for your 
 amusement. And being a stranger in this Metropolis of 
 yours, I naturally asked one of your Constables to show 
 me quite the best places of harmless recreation that you 
 have. So I have been this week to all your Music-halls, 
 and seen all the Art that is in them, and now I am going 
 to take you also for a sort of personally conducted tour 
 round these Halls, and show you all the good in them, 
 and also why it is good and the only true Art that you 
 have, except the works of myself and Turner.
 
 THE GOLDEN TIVOLI 
 
 Wait, then, for an entirely fine evening ; rise with the 
 sunset, and go to the Tivoli with a good opera-glass in 
 your pocket. Go straight in and stand twelve paces, 
 carefully measured, from that monstrous picture of a 
 curtain which, with its eleven tasselled excrescences, 
 makes such an ignoble display in front of us. Now very 
 likely you may think that a painting of a Curtain is the 
 most fitting decoration for this Hall, just as Advertise- 
 ments of Soaps and Cocoas are the only fit ornaments for 
 Railway Stations. But I tell you that this Curtain before 
 us is a Lie from top to bottom ; and for this reason 
 that it pretends to be a curtain and is not. And first of 
 all I must tell you that every work of Art of any kind or 
 sort whatever is either absolutely good or absolutely bad, 
 no half-way state being at all possible. Farther, I must 
 ask you to believe more than that if you can : this 
 namely, that all the works of every artist or workman of 
 any kind are either absolutely good or absolutely bad. 
 For example, every single work of Giotto, or Turner, or 
 myself is absolutely and entirely good, just as every 
 single work of Rembrandt, or Sir E. W-tk-n, or the 
 painter of this Tivoli Curtain is, and always must be, 
 absolutely and entirely bad. 
 
 90
 
 And now perhaps you would like to know the reason 
 why this Curtain Scene is bad. Well then, I will tell 
 you : it is simply because I say so, and for no other 
 reason. And surely I, if any one, ought to be able to 
 know and to say what is right in these matters. So now 
 we will go on to our next ' turn ' as the people say in 
 these places. ' 
 
 II 
 
 THE STARRY PAVILION 
 
 I have brought you, on this the last and crowning 
 night of our Tour, to Leicester Square for us quite the 
 most important place in London as far as Art is concerned; 
 just as in my map of the District Railway the Earls Court 
 Exhibition is clearly the most important place. And 
 though here, at this Pavilion, with its accursed modern 
 windows, it is plain enough that the restorer has been at 
 work, we may yet be thankful that the marvellous ceiling 
 still remains just as Michaelangelo left it. So now I want 
 you all to stand, in a compact body, quite in the middle 
 of the central gangway, regardless of any ill-mannered 
 
 1 Just as we were leaving I saw the Curtain going up, so it must 
 have been a real Curtain after all. But it certainly looked like a 
 painting, and in any case it must have been bad to deceive me 
 like this. 
 
 9 1
 
 jostling from the crowd of vulgar sightseers who may 
 desire to pass, and examine through your opera-glasses for 
 at least six or seven minutes this wonderful blue dome. 
 And first of all, amid much that is mere goldsmith's 
 work, you will not fail to see that the entire vault is 
 divided evenly into fifty-two panels. I think you will 
 find that my numbering is right : I had the scaffolding 
 put up this morning and counted them very carefully at 
 least eight times, the average of my attempts coming, as 
 nearly as possible,to fifty-two the very number, as a friend 
 tells me, of the weeks in the year ! Farther, you are to 
 observe that in the middle of every panel is painted a 
 golden star, the stars varying in magnitude from the first 
 to the fifth, as you may tell by the numbers of their petals. 
 For instance, to a star of the first magnitude Michael has 
 given sixteen petals, and so on down to the fifth magni- 
 tude to which he gives five petals and no more. And 
 here again you are to note that, in spite of all your mod- 
 ern sciences and telescopes, which after all, are merely 
 overgrown opera-glasses, Michael has painted the number 
 of his petals exactly as we find them in the sky outside. 
 It may take you much earnest struggling to believe that 
 entirely, but I tell you that unless you can believe you 
 may as well become Railway Directors at once. At the 
 same time do not let it be supposed that I imagine 
 Michael and the other Pavilion workmen to have had 
 these principles in their minds as they built or painted. 
 I believe that they worked entirely from feeling, and 
 
 92
 
 that it is because they did so that there is this marvellous 
 scientific accuracy running through their every arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 And now, as I daresay, after all this talking, some of 
 us may be a little 
 
 [Cetera deiunt}. 
 
 93
 
 THE POET PROTESTS MILDLY. 
 
 [0 hearing that the Evenings, 
 formerly devoted to the study of his 
 Works by the Lady-Students of King's 
 College, are now divided between a 
 Debating Society and a Society for 
 the Study of General Modern Poetry. ~\ 
 
 Regenades, heretics, traitors ! 
 
 What have ye done to me ? 
 Worshippers turned to debaters 
 
 Faithful not one to me ! 
 Turncoats (or is it turn-blouses ?), 
 
 Tory and Liberal, 
 Speakers and Leaders of Houses, 
 
 Jabber and gibber all. 
 Worse yet remains your Society 
 
 Most miscellaneous 
 Adds, for the sake of variety, 
 
 Scribblers extraneous ; 
 Here, where / once was a fixture, 
 
 Any outsider 
 Joins your ridiculous mixture, 
 
 (Olla podrida !). 
 Here, in your throng petticoated, 
 
 Veriest petty boss 
 Picks at the fragments devoted 
 
 Once to my Setebos. 
 
 94
 
 Each his own separate Thursday 
 
 (Listen to Daniel !) 
 Each little cur his own cur's day, 
 
 Pug-dog and spaniel. 
 Lo, in the stall of our Pegasus 
 
 Jostles the cob-tail, 
 Sniffs at our manger and beggars us 
 
 Tag-rag and bob-tail. 
 Room for the cob and the cob's son, 
 
 Drayhorse and stallion : 
 Watson and Potson and Dobson, 
 
 Even Le G*** ! 
 Welcome the blare of their trumpets, 
 
 Ass-bray and horse-din : 
 Room for that rummest of rum pets 
 
 Laureate A*** ! 
 
 Gone is (the Editor tells us) 
 
 Vanished the vista, 
 Hopes of the gay Paracelsus, 
 
 Dreams of Ferishtah, 
 Dreams of Sordello^ for lo 1 it's 
 
 Evermore sealed to you : 
 Even my Croisickese Poets 
 
 " Scarcely appealed to you : ' 
 Fifine you take as a nightcap 
 
 Merely to win to rest 
 
 95
 
 Parleying!, " stiff", (what's the right cap ?) 
 
 " Lacking in interest ! " 
 So my Return of the Druses 
 
 Seems to you dry fare ; 
 Each her own tittle-bit chooses 
 
 Any but my fare. 
 Stay ! there is one who has tested it, 
 
 Dined on and sup't on, 
 Possibly even digested it 
 
 (Thank you, Miss !) 
 
 96
 
 THE EDITORS' APPEAL 
 
 TO THE READERS OF A CERTAIN MAGAZINE 
 
 When you're finished knitting Night-caps for your country and your Queen, 
 When you've satisfied the Tambourine that begs, 
 
 Will you kindly pay your sixpence to the College Magazine, 
 To help it to continue on its legs ? 
 
 Lo, from the Wine-press once again we send 
 A Cask of Vintage of the choicest blend. 
 
 Would'st thou again behold that living Fruit 
 In future seasons prithee buy it, Friend ! 
 
 What is the reason that you do not buy ? 
 Is it the Price that seems to you too high ? 
 
 One thing is certain you may stake your Boots 
 Without your Cash the Magazine must die. 
 
 And if the annual Cost, the Eighteen pence, 
 Seems to you all a fortune so immense, 
 
 And if you really can't pay One-and-Six 
 What can you, in the name of Common Sense ? 
 
 97
 
 For if the Magazine is One-and-Six, 
 
 How can we, strawless, possibly make bricks ? 
 
 And if you draw the Line at Eighteen-pence, 
 Do you expect to get the thing for Nix ? 
 
 Why, if the One-and-Six were Six-and-One, 
 You might perhaps so large an Order shun ; 
 
 But when it means three Half-pence once a month, 
 To cavil at it oh, it takes the Bun ! 
 
 Then as, at every Tavern by the way, 
 With tinkling Tambourine and " Pay, Pay, Pay, 
 Do Pay, " some Nightingale calls to the rows 
 Of auditors to think of Table Bay : 
 
 So do you likewise, blowing the Expense, 
 And putting off the Garment of Pretence, 
 
 Unloose the silken tassel of your purse 
 And pay your One-and-Six (or Eighteen-pence). 
 
 98.
 
 BALLADE OF RED TAPE 
 
 The Wykehamist whose soul retains 
 
 Dim memories of his boyhood's days 
 Keeps, somewhere backward of his brains, 
 
 The " Pempe-book " that ancient " haze ; 
 
 That surest of all lawful ways 
 
 To gull the simple safe to score on 
 
 Firm-built upon the classic phrase 
 
 Of irifJLTTf. TTpOTfpOV TOV fJ.it) pOV. ' 
 
 And still amid the stress and strains 
 
 Of later life it flings its rays ; 
 The Star of Pempe never wanes, 
 
 But shines anew with brighter blaze : 
 
 The Whitehall clerk at work betrays 
 Lo, where he toils from ten to four on ; 
 
 And still the ancient game he plays 
 
 Of 7T/U7T TTpOTtpOV TOV /UW/OOV. 
 
 1 " Send the fool further. " The newcomer at Winchester 
 College would be instructed to apply to A for the imaginary 
 " Pempe-book. " A would refer him to B, B to C, and so on, till 
 the hoax was discovered. 
 
 99
 
 What though yon householder complains 
 Of weeks entangled in the maze 
 
 Ringed with Red-tape ? For all his pains 
 Onward he fares and never stays : 
 The Income-tax ! the Law's delays 1 
 
 All this I set but little store on : 
 Others may gird I chant the praise 
 
 Of TTt/JiTrt TTpOTtpOV TOV 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Princes, and you who buy my lays, 
 I pray you keep them near to pore on 
 
 As for those other popinjays 
 
 Why, TTtjUTre irpoTtpov TOV fiwpov. 
 
 IOO
 
 THE CASE OF THE LADY BICYCLIST 
 AND THE POSTAGE STAMP 
 
 I have never ceased to marvel at the extraordinary 
 ratiocinative powers of my friend Hemlock Jones ; but 
 nothing to my mind displays his wonderful faculty in a 
 clearer light than the case of the Lady Bicyclist and the 
 Postage stamp. 
 
 It was a sultry afternoon at the end of last July, and 
 since town was getting too hot to hold us, I proposed to 
 Hemlock that we should take a brief holiday. He leant 
 back in his chair, or rather my chair, for Jones was 
 kind enough to live entirely at my expense and crossed 
 his left foot carefully over the right, his favourite attitude 
 when considering any important question. " Well, " he 
 replied, after twenty minutes thought, during which I 
 was careful not to interrupt the train of his ideas, " it might 
 perhaps be as well to get away from these professionals. 
 Why not take a house somewhere opposite Scotland 
 Yard ? They would never dream of looking for us there 1" 
 
 The audacious boldness of the scheme fascinated me ; 
 at the same time I ventured to point out that the build- 
 ings in question were not usually let out as furnished 
 apartments for civilians. " Quite right, he said : " really, 
 Shotgun, you have more sense than I supposed, at any 
 rate in these little matters where brains are not needed. " 
 
 101
 
 I blushed at the compliment, and waited for another 
 suggestion. 
 
 " In that case, " said he, " there is really only one 
 place for us. " 
 
 " And what is that ? " I asked. 
 
 " Jesus College, Oxford. " 
 
 I stared at him blankly. The marvellous sequence of 
 his ideas had again eluded my grasp. 
 
 " You don't see, of course, " he continued. " Just 
 hand me that Oxford Calendar, and Todhunter's Algebra 
 for Beginners. " 
 
 I passed him the books, and he proceeded to cover 
 several pages of foolscap with abstruse algebraical calcul- 
 ations. 
 
 " There ! " he said at last, " it is simple enough, even 
 for you. You will observe from the Calendar that there 
 are exactly forty-six undergraduates at Jesus named Jones. 
 Applying the Doctrine of Chances, the odds are precisely 
 45 to i that, if the Scotland Yard blockheads trace us to 
 the College, they will arrest the wrong man. " 
 
 It was on the tip of my tongue to object that the 
 College would be empty during the Long Vacation, but 
 I dreaded exposing myself to the ridicule which so super- 
 ficial an objection would inevitably call forth. " When 
 do we start ? " I asked. 
 
 Hemlock looked at his watch, which, by the way, he 
 always took care should be exactly 36 minutes slow. He 
 spent a few minutes making the necessary calculations 
 
 102
 
 with pencil and paper, and then rose slowly with a yawn. 
 " We start in two and a quarter minutes, " he said. 
 " See that our portmanteaus are ready, Shotgun, and that 
 nothing is forgotten at the last moment. We shall just 
 miss the last train at Paddington. " As usual Hemlock 
 was right. I have never known him catch the train he 
 tried for. It was part of his system. 
 
 I ordered a special, and my friend, according to his 
 invariable custom, travelled under the seat. We reached 
 Jesus College shortly after midnight, and rang up the 
 porter. 
 
 " What name, Sir ? " said that official. 
 
 " Jones ! " replied Hemlock, without a moment's 
 hesitation. " No Christian name of course. I have 
 come up to read for the Balliol Scholarship and coach the 
 'Varsity crew. The Principal has very kindly placed his 
 rooms at my disposal. My valet will have supper with 
 me at once: be careful that the Champagne is well aired." 
 
 We had an excellent supper, and shortly afterwards 
 were fast asleep. My friend did not remove his boots, 
 no doubt owing to some intuitive feeling that there would 
 be work for him in the morning. 
 
 I rose early on that eventful day, and took the local 
 paper to my friend's room. He glanced carelessly at the 
 Advertisements and handed the paper to me. 
 
 " Read that, " he said ; " it might interest you. " 
 
 I took the paper and read as follows : 
 
 " MISSING, since yesterday, a YOUNG LADY. Left home 
 
 103
 
 on a Bicycle at 5 P.M. Any Person bringing INFORM- 
 ATION to Dr. P., " Chronicle " Office, Oxford, will be 
 
 LIBERALLY REWARDED. " 
 
 " Why, it must be the daughter of my old friend 
 Pillbox, " I exclaimed. " Hemlock, will you find her ? 
 Do, there's a good fellow ? " 
 
 " My dear Shotgun, " replied Hemlock, " the case is 
 really a little too simple ! In the name of common fair- 
 ness, do you expect me to waste a whole morning on a 
 little affair that Scotland Yard could manage in a month ? " 
 
 I saw that it was unreasonable, but suggested that if 
 the girl were not found in less than a month she probably 
 would not be found at all : finally, I begged him for old 
 friendship's sake to undertake the task. 
 
 " Well," he said at last, " I suppose I shall have to go 
 and have a look at it. On one condition though : my 
 name must not be mentioned. I really cannot have it 
 said that I undertake these elementary cases, even to keep 
 my hand in. Just wire to the " Times " for yesterday's 
 weather forecast. We will take the 9-15 somewhere : 
 I find there is always 39-15 in these provincial places. " 
 
 I sent the wire, and in half-an-hour handed the "Times" 
 telegram to Hemlock, who had just finished breakfast. 
 It ran as follows : 
 
 " MIDLAND COUNTIES light Southerly breezes variable 
 possibly some rain or fog thunder locally. " 
 
 " Thanks, " said Jones, " that is all I want. We will 
 take the 9-1 5 to Abingdon, and be back in time for lunch." 
 
 104
 
 I was more than ever amazed at the man, but knew 
 better now than to seek for the marvellous connection of 
 his ideas. Even now it seems to me nothing short of 
 miraculous. I only knew that the girl would be found, 
 and that then, and not till then, my friend would give 
 some explanation of his modus operandi. 
 
 On our way to the Station we called at the Post Office, 
 and Hemlock went to the Stamp Counter. 
 
 " A Penny stamp, " he said : " a new one, mind : 
 none of your faked up second-hand forgeries. And by 
 the way, did a young lady happen to buy a stamp here 
 yesterday ? " The polite official considered it extremely 
 probable that such a transaction had passed on the 
 previous day, though he could not positively recollect the 
 occurrence owing to absence on leave. 
 
 Hemlock reflected a moment. 
 
 " I have it !" he exclaimed. "I will have two halfpenny 
 stamps instead of the Penny one. How much will that 
 be altogether ? Shotgun, just settle the bill will you ? I 
 really haven't the money. " 
 
 We reached the Station at 9-10 and caught the 9-35 
 to Abingdon. 
 
 My friend produced his private pass, on which were 
 inscribed the words " Admit Bearer and friend to the 
 9-15 Train at any Station. By Order. " 
 
 This was one of his strange whims. I invariably 
 travelled with him and paid for two tickets, but in order 
 not to hurt his feelings, I always allowed him to use his pass. 
 
 105 H
 
 On the way down I kept my attention fixed on the 
 landscape, in the hope that Jones, piqued by my apparent 
 lack of interest in our adventure, would begin to take me 
 into his confidence. In this I was not disappointed. 
 
 " I see, Shotgun, " he began, " that you are dying to 
 know something about this case ; and as usual, I suppose, 
 it will be necessary to begin with the obvious. In the 
 first place, then, I imagine it is fairly clear that the girl 
 has run away from home. " 
 
 "You deduce that from the fact that she has not wired ?" 
 
 " Precisely. It is a pity you are so intelligent, Shot- 
 gun : you might have made your fortune at Scotland 
 Yard. You will agree too, I suppose, that she could not 
 go very far without any money. Evidently she spent 
 her last penny on that postage stamp. " 
 
 I nodded an intelligent assent. It was one more 
 instance of those peculiar powers for which my friend 
 was so famous. 
 
 " Nobody, " he continued, " buys penny stamps singly, 
 unless money is very scarce. Now I won't ask you to 
 form any hypothesis as to the girl's object in buying this 
 stamp ; because, from my knowledge of your character, 
 Shotgun, I feel pretty sure you will say she had a letter 
 to post. I will put it therefore in another way : 
 
 (1) The girl was bicycling, as we know. 
 
 (2) She purchased a penny stamp. 
 
 From these two premisses we may form our algebraical 
 equation as follows : 
 
 106
 
 Bicycle -r-Stamp=Puncture. 
 
 She bought the Stamp, therefore, with the intention of 
 repairing a possible or expected puncture. You follow 
 me, I suppose ? " 
 
 Again I murmured assent ; the conclusion seemed so 
 obvious when put in that way. 
 
 " Now as to why we have taken this Abingdon train. 
 In the first place we must bear in mind that Miss Pillbox 
 is evidently a girl of some resource. Since her object 
 would naturally be to ride as far as possible in a given 
 time, we may credit her, I think, with sufficient intelli- 
 gence to select a road which would give her the wind at 
 her back. Her first step, accordingly, would be to con- 
 sult the weather forecast in yesterday's " Times, " which, 
 you will remember, seemed to have a slight prejudice in 
 favour of Southerly Breezes. Here again we must assume 
 that the girl was clever enough to know that in such 
 matters it is generally safer to go against the " Times. " 
 Confident therefore of finding a North wind to assist her, 
 she started due South towards Abingdon, where I fancy 
 we shall catch her. " 
 
 The train drew up at Abingdon Station and, after the 
 usual dispute with the ticket-collector, Hemlock and I 
 at once started along the Oxford Road. As soon as we 
 were clear of the town my friend took from his waistcoat- 
 pocket the powerful magnifying glass which he invariably 
 carries with him, and proceeded to examine with micros- 
 copical minuteness the various Dunlop tracks visible on 
 
 107
 
 the surface of the road, neglecting of course those which 
 would be on the right hand of a bicyclist coming from 
 Oxford. At last, after rather more than an hour had 
 been spent in this way, I was aroused from the reverie 
 into which I had fallen by a shout from Jones. 
 
 " I have it ! " he exclaimed ; " or rather I haven't it ! 
 The case is really beginning to interest me a little. It 
 has some points. " 
 
 Instantly I was on the alert. " What have you, or 
 haven't you ? " I asked. 
 
 "The Missing Thorn ! " and he held up triumphantly 
 a small piece of hedge-clipping from which a single thorn 
 had undoubtedly been severed. 
 
 " That thorn," he remarked quietly, " has punctured 
 the missing bicycle. We shall find the two together ! " 
 
 He sat down by the roadside and produced his note-book 
 and pencil. Ten minutes' calculation proved sufficient 
 for his purpose. " Now listen, " he said. " Statistics 
 show that a punctured cyclist proceeds on the average a 
 distance of 128 yards before discovering his misfortune. 
 After that he dismounts and wheels his bicycle to the 
 nearest visible gate, with a view to examination of the 
 tyre. Now if you, Shotgun, take, as usual, one end of 
 my little twelve-inch measuring tape, and I take the other, 
 it is clear that 384 lengths of it will bring us to the 
 dismounting point. " 
 
 We completed the measurements in less than half an 
 hour, and, after allowing an extra half-inch for shrinkage 
 
 108
 
 of the tape owing to the prolonged drought, Hemlock 
 carefully marked the spot with one of the tiny red flags 
 which he always carries in his cigarette case for emergen- 
 cies of this kind. And sure enough, not a hundred yards 
 away was a gate in the opposite hedge ! Removing our 
 boots we approached it cautiously; but I must confess that 
 notwithstanding all my faith in my friend's methods, I 
 was positively amazed when, peeping over the gate, we 
 discovered, half concealed in a disused shed the girl and 
 the bicycle. 
 
 Even Hemlock seemed just in the least degree elated 
 by his success. " I suppose even you, " he said, " will 
 admit that wasn't a bad little bit of deduction ! Now we 
 won't spoil the thing by asking the girl any questions 
 or letting her give us any details of her adventure ; we'll 
 just take her straight home and let her tell her story there." 
 
 Having aroused the girl, who presented a rather be- 
 draggled, not to say disreputable appearance after her night 
 in the shed, we enjoined her to be careful not to say a 
 single word till our arrival at Oxford. " Remember, " 
 said Hemlock, in his best professional manner, " anything 
 you say may be used in evidence against you. " The 
 girl did not appear to see the joke, but maintained, as I 
 thought, a rather sulky demeanour throughout the return 
 journey. 
 
 Two hours later when we rang Dr. Pillbox's back-door 
 bell, the door was opened by Inspector Wilkins of Scot- 
 land Yard. 
 
 109
 
 "Ah, Wilkins ! " said Hemlock; " come to shut the 
 stable door as usual, I suppose ? You Scotland Yard 
 people really are fairly good at that ! " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Jones, I really must congratulate you on 
 a very smart piece of work; you have saved me a deal 
 of trouble. I see the bicycle is all right not even a 
 puncture; and the girl you must allow me to take charge 
 of. We've had our eye on her for some time now; she's 
 one of a regular gang down here : " and drawing a pair 
 of handcuffs from his pocket he slipped them neatly over 
 our captive's wrists. 
 
 " Why, what on earth are you doing ? " said Hemlock. 
 " Surely this is Miss Pillbox ? " 
 
 " No Sir, " replied the Inspector, with the least sus- 
 picion of a smile; " the young lady is safe upstairs. You 
 see she rode over to visit her Aunt at Abingdon yesterday 
 evening, and the wind being dead against her " (here I 
 tried in vain to catch Jones's eye) " She took a bit 
 longer than she expected. While she was inside the house 
 her bicycle disappeared, and what with looking about for 
 it, and making enquiries of the local Police, she missed the 
 last train back, and had to stay the night with her Aunt. 
 She couldn't wire, you see, Sir, as these local telegraph 
 offices close pretty sharp at eight; but Dr. Pilkington was 
 naturally a trifle anxious, and, I understand, put an ad- 
 vertisement in the local paper. Miss Pilkington, however, 
 was safe back by the first train this morning, in fact 
 before the paper came out. Well, Sir, allow me to con- 
 
 no
 
 gratulate you once more on a very smart capture. It 
 would be a credit to any of us; and if you would allow 
 me to say so, I should be most pleased if at any time you 
 could see your way to joining our staff at Scotl " 
 
 But Hemlock Jones had already fled. 
 
 in
 
 THE DOVER EXPRESS 
 
 (AFTER KIPLING) 
 
 Conies a message down the line as the clock is striking 
 
 [nine, 
 
 (And that clock's always right !) 
 Singing : " Over then, come over by the Grand 
 
 [Express to Dover 
 You shall dine in France to-night. " 
 
 You have heard the clash of the porter's bell, 
 
 And the shriek of the engine's pain; 
 You have heard the cry stand by stand by! 
 
 Come down by the old Club Train ! 
 Ha' done with your B and S, dear boys 
 
 We haven't too long to wait, 
 
 And it's time to go down by the old train, our own train, 
 
 [the fast train ; 
 
 Come down, come down by the Club Train the train 
 
 [that is Never late ! 
 
 There be triple ways to take, of the Motor or the Brake, 
 
 Or the way of the Old Road Car ; 
 But the sweetest way, I guess, is a ride on the Express 
 
 Of the grand old S. E. R. 
 
 Can you hear the hiss of her valves, dear boys, 
 
 112
 
 And the throb of the bursting plate, 
 As she strains and swings with the old train, our own 
 
 [train, the fast train : 
 
 As she lifts and 'scends with the Club Train the train 
 
 [that is Never late ? 
 
 Oh, the mutterings inside, when the signal holds us tied, 
 
 And we feel there is some mistake ! 
 And the fearful consternation when we stop at every 
 
 [Station 
 To the jar of the grinding brake ! 
 
 We are sick with the din of the porters' bells, 
 
 And the platform's ghastly light ; 
 In vain the song 'How long How long ! 
 
 Shall we ever get in to-night ? ' 
 The Lord knows where we shall dine, dear boys, 
 
 But one thing's sure as fate 
 That we've come aboard o' the Slow train, the Wrong 
 
 [train, the Snail train ; 
 We're crawling down by the Long train, the train 
 
 [that is Always late !
 
 THE FAMILY INCUBATOR 
 
 When I was a tiny boy, 
 
 And you the merest baby, 
 Without a thought in the world for aught 
 
 That is or was or may be, 
 We used to ride by day inside 
 
 The same perambulator, 
 And nestle warm from the wintry, storm 
 
 In a Family Incubator. 
 
 Oh ! innocent Childhoods' joy 
 Shall we remember it later, 
 How side by side we slept or cried 
 In the Family Incubator ? 
 
 Do you still remember how 
 
 Through all that bitter weather 
 From ten to six like little chicks 
 
 We nestled close together ? 
 But wasn't it hot when Nurse forgot 
 
 To open the ventilator, 
 And we nearly died as we lay inside 
 
 That Family Incubator ? 
 
 114
 
 The danger is over now : 
 
 Nothing could suffocate us : 
 Oh ! little we cared for perils shared 
 
 In the hottest of Incubators ! 
 
 And when I was eight years old, 
 
 And you were seven nearly, 
 'Twas then that I, as time went by, 
 
 Began to love you dearly : 
 And we thought so nice that old device 
 
 Of our respective maters, 
 That still we lay in the old sweet way 
 
 But in separate Incubators ! 
 
 Oh ! blissful days of old 
 
 Shall we remember them later, 
 The time that we spent as we slept content, 
 Each in our Incubator ? 
 
 And now that you're past nineteen, 
 
 And I am leaving College, 
 I lighten my heart in the days apart 
 
 With the same consoling knowledge ; 
 For though you're " out " and I'm about 
 
 To quit my Alma Mater, 
 I dream of you the long night through 
 
 Asleep in your Incubator.
 
 Oh ! keep that memory green ! 
 
 Still let it fascinate us 
 
 To dream and think of that one sweet link, 
 Asleep, in our Incubators ! 
 
 116
 
 RESPECTFUL ADDRESS 
 
 To A CHIMNEY-SWEEP 
 
 (Probably a reminiscence of C. S. C.) 
 
 Thy clarion reveille" floats 
 
 Beneath my window ; 
 My spirit hears those thrilling notes 
 
 Thy shrill crescendo. 
 Ah ! let me see him as he waits, 
 
 That fae"ry figure 
 Dark with the pigment that creates 
 
 The minstrel-nigger. 
 
 Doubtless it lacks so some might hint- 
 
 The finer shading : 
 Perchance it is that sooty tint 
 
 Too all-pervading ? 
 Yet chemists say the gems that grace 
 
 A crown imperial, 
 And that dark carbon on thy face 
 
 Are one material. 
 
 117
 
 Thine ignorance of harmony 
 
 There's no disguising ; 
 The flatness of that upper C 
 
 Was quite surprising : 
 And yet to me thine artless tones 
 
 Give far more pleasure 
 Than his who makes of rags and bones 
 
 His earthly treasure. 
 
 Sing on : and if I had my choice, 
 
 Upon my honour 
 Just now I'd liefer hear thy voice 
 
 Than Prima Donna ; 
 For when those strains I first perceive, 
 
 My angel Orpheus, 
 For three clear hours I need not leave 
 
 The arms of Morpheus. 
 
 118
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE WANTS 
 
 [We learn that the Proprietors of the 
 " Chimes, " encouraged by the success of 
 their Book-selling department, have 
 decided to extend their business in other 
 directions. The following Advertise- 
 ment may be looked for shortly in the 
 leading daily papers. ] 
 
 THE OLD METHOD 
 
 If you go into an ordinary shop and ask for something 
 you want, let us say, a Razor, you will probably, and 
 quite rightly, insist on getting more or less what you came 
 for; you will not be put off with a penknife or a mowing 
 machine. What you require is a Razor, pure and simple, 
 and your first business will be to see that the Shopman 
 understands this clearly. Further, you will take care that 
 whatever razor you select is suitable for the purpose for 
 which you intend to use it. You don't want to use it 
 as a toy, or an ornament, or even for sharpening pencils ; 
 on the contrary, you want to shave with it. You will 
 expect, therefore, a keenly tempered edge, one that will 
 cut well ; and you will get what you want or go else- 
 where. 
 
 THE "CHIMES" SYSTEM 
 
 With The Chimes it is different. If you call at the 
 Chimes Office and ask to see the Editor, or the Publisher, 
 
 119
 
 or whoever it is that manages the Razor department, you 
 will get, not what you want, but what you don't want. 
 That is the difference between The Chimes and an ordinary 
 shop. Ask the Editor of The Chimes to show you a razor 
 that will cut, and he will tell you, in all probability, that 
 you are not by any means the first person to make such 
 an application that day: that he has, in fact, already turn- 
 ed away hundreds, if not thousands of such enquirers 
 from the doors of The Chimes Office that very morning. 
 But he will not sell you he will not even show you, 
 such a razor. And why is this, you will say ? The 
 answer is simple: The Chimes does not keep that kind of 
 razor. It might keep it, but, as a matter of fact, it does 
 not. You may get such a razor; but you will not get it 
 from The Chimes. 
 
 THE NEVER-READY 
 
 What, then still assuming that you require a razor 
 and not an Encyclopedia or a second-hand Novel will 
 the Editor of The Chimes show you ? What kind to 
 use the vulgar expression does he " keep in stock " ? 
 He will tell you candidly that he keeps one kind only 
 the Never- c l(eady. A curious title, you say ? The 
 Editor will gladly explain its significance. The title 
 does not mean that the Razor (so called) is never ready 
 for any purpose whatever. That would be a quite inaccur- 
 ate description of it. For example, it is ready for you to 
 
 120
 
 look at, ready for you to buy, for ready money. What 
 it is not ever ready for is the primary purpose for which 
 other razors are intended : in plain language, /'/ will not 
 shave. And by this we do not mean that it will not shave 
 itself for no razor would do that but that it will not 
 shave you. And why ? Simply because it is too blunt. 
 It is made blunt for that very reason so that you shall 
 not be able to shave with it. 
 
 ITS DOMINANT CHARACTERISTIC 
 
 Very well, then. Now what do you do with a razor so 
 blunt that you cannot shave with it ? You will say, 
 perhaps, that you strop it, or have it set, or ground ; in 
 fact you do all you can to have the bluntness removed, 
 to get rid of it. You cannot do this with the Never- 
 Ready. It is so made that it cannot be set or ground; 
 stropping merely makes it blunter. Bluntness, in fact, 
 is its essential inherent quality, what we may call its dom- 
 inant note. That is where it differs from every other kind 
 of razor : it has not it never can have an " edge. " 
 
 " Yes, " you will say, " but that is not what I want. 
 What I want is a razor I can shave with. " The ob- 
 jection sounds reasonable enough, but, as a matter of fact, 
 it is just a little illogical. For did we not say at the outset 
 that the object of The Chimes is to supply you, not with 
 what you want, but with what you don't want; or, to be 
 quite accurate, what you think you don't want ? 
 
 121 I
 
 ITS PURPOSE 
 
 But apart from this, if you reflect a little, you will see that 
 you have a very real, a very pressing need of such a razor. 
 To make this clear to you and we have no motive what- 
 ever for the reverse we will ask one question: How 
 long, in the course of a day, do you take over your shaving ? 
 We do not mean with a Never-Ready Razor for with 
 that Razor you would take the entire day and more, but 
 how long do you take with an ordinary sharp razor ? 
 Probably you will say "about ten minutes." Then for what 
 part of the day are you not engaged in shaving ? A brief 
 calculation will show that the answer must be " twenty- 
 three hours and fifty minutes." There is no getting out of 
 this: it is a mathematical truth. And it means that in the 
 course of every day, every week, every year, in fact during 
 your whole life, you take exactly one hundred and forty- 
 three times as long over not shaving, as you do over shaving. 
 That is where the Never-Ready Razor comes in. It is 
 the Razor for you, not for the ten minutes when you 
 are shaving, but for the twenty-three hours and fifty 
 minutes when you are not shaving. It is the Razor for 
 the whole of your life except just that ten minutes. And 
 it needs no stropping, no shaving-brush, no soap. 
 
 ITS PRICE 
 
 And now you begin to realize that it must be worth one 
 hundred and forty-three by a curious coincidence almost 
 
 122
 
 exactly one gross of ordinary razors; and you fear prob- 
 ably that its cost may be somewhat beyond your means. 
 That is where you are wrong. For a certain limited 
 period, which we cannot at present divulge, The Chimes 
 is prepared to sell the Never-Ready Razor at precisely the 
 cost at which other shops would sell you a common or shaving 
 razor. It may sound incredible, but it re, nevertheless, a 
 fact. And the explanation is that The Chimes has what 
 is called a " monopoly " of these Razors. We need not 
 go into the derivation of the word " monopoly ; " you 
 will find all about it in your last edition but one of the 
 Encyclopedia Britannica, if you were fortunate enough to 
 secure a copy of that work before it was superseded by 
 the later editions. But it means, in one word, that you 
 cannot get the Never-Ready Razor except through The 
 Chimes. You could not get it in Sheffield the home, as 
 it is called, of -the Cutlery industry. No Sheffield maker 
 would even have heard of it, for and here is the great 
 secret the Never-Ready Razor is not made in England 
 at all. It is manufactured especially for The Chimes, and 
 for The (Chimes only, in the territory of a great Continental 
 Power. 
 
 
 
 This is what The Chimes does for you : can you afford 
 to reject the offer ? The answer to that question is what 
 The Chimes is now waiting for. 
 
 123
 
 ALBUM VERSES 
 
 (l) NON VI, SED SAEPE CADENDO 
 
 Never again to see you here ! again, 
 
 When frosts are sharp, to follow in the train 
 
 Of steel-shod damsels to the frozen mead 
 
 Vulgarly known in Gotha as the " Reed. " 
 
 How often there, ourselves secure from harm, 
 
 We've watched you, with your heavenward-tilted arm 
 
 Like some broad pennon streaming in the breeze 
 
 That guides the mariner through unknown seas, * 
 
 Steering the course of your sublime career, 
 
 Uncertain on your feet, yet free from fear 
 
 Of the imminent fall. What if, as some allege, 
 
 Your best manoeuvres on the outside edge 
 
 Were executed mainly on your back ? 
 
 What if your every limb is blue and black, 
 
 (As we conjecture) ? Time will show the way : 
 
 Nay, Rome itself was not built in a day : 
 
 And, as some bard, whose name I can't recall, 
 
 Says somewhere, " Nobler far to skate and fall 
 
 If falls must be, than never skate at all. " 
 
 1 The friendly critic already alluded to doubts whether even the 
 most experienced mariner steers by his own pennon. I have not 
 said so. 
 
 124
 
 (2) TO DAISY 
 
 What song shall we sing for memorial, 
 Writ rarely in raptures of red, 
 
 How fashion fit hues for the aureole 
 
 That encircles the roof of her head ? 
 
 But though perished the prime of my days is, 
 Let me raise what remains of my voice 
 
 In our Marguerite Muriel's praises 
 (My Daisy " for choice). 1 
 
 Is it red with the redness of roses ? 
 
 Is its bloom of the peach or the plum ? 
 Or the splendour that Summer discloses 
 
 When the time of geraniums is come ? 
 Or, since there is barrier none set 
 
 To bind me from beams beyond reach, 
 Shall I seek in the radiance of Sunset 
 My figure of speech ?* 
 
 i Disputantibus Pictore cum Poeta de proprio cognomine, quum 
 haec "Muriel" ille "Daisy" praeferret, ita tandem rem componere 
 visum est. 
 
 * Quaerit satis absurde Asellinus an Helio-trope etc. etc. 
 
 125
 
 Does it gleam with the glory of poppies 
 Blown full in the first of the year ? 
 
 Are its tints as the tints of the coppice 
 
 When Autumn the Limner is here ? 
 
 Does it glare like the signal of danger, 
 Plain proof to all persons that pass 
 
 That she warns the too imminent stranger 
 To keep off the grass ? 
 
 Ah, no ! 'tis in vain to conceal it : 
 
 The one word that I strove to avoid- 
 
 Fate forces me now to reveal it 
 
 Just C...ts, sans phrase, unalloyed ! 
 
 Nay, tear not thy tresses, but lente 
 Festina till all has been told ; 
 
 For by C...ts I mean of course Twenty 
 Four Carats of Gold. 
 
 126
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF AMI CHANTRE 
 
 The Ship on which we may not sail 
 
 Fares onward to some happier land, 
 By softest breezes gently fanned, 
 
 'Neath Summer skies that never fail, 
 
 For regions of the Sunrise bound : 
 
 And like white birds that cling and cry 
 Round a ship's path so mournfully 
 
 Hover our dreams its flight around. 
 
 We know not where it goes, and yet 
 Doubtless for isles of brighter green 
 Than ever upon Earth was seen, 
 
 And happier shores, its sails are set. 
 
 Would we upon that Ship embark, 
 
 That voyage take, 'neath angry skies, 
 Through warring seas the vessel hies 
 
 To a land of sorrow, a country dark. 
 
 Why seek the ills we here bewail ? 
 
 Ah, not for us that blissful flight : 
 Alone they go to the land of light, 
 
 The Ships on which we may not sail. 
 
 127
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN 
 
 LA GRATITUDJNE 
 
 Eenchl dl senso privo 
 Fin I'arboscello 2 grata 
 A quell' amico ri<vo 
 Da cui rice've umor ; 
 Per lui di fronde ornato, 
 Bella mercl gli rende 
 Quando dal sol difende 
 II suo benefattor. 
 
 There's a little tree I know 
 And a brook that creeps below 
 Helps the little tree to grow 
 
 On its banks : 
 
 But the leafy branches throw 
 Pleasant shade in June and so 
 To the thirsty stream below 
 
 Render thanks. 
 
 128
 
 HATS AND HAT-WORSHIP 
 
 An Essay written in Commemoration 
 of the Centenary of the Tall-hat. 
 
 HISTORICO-PHILOSOPHIC 
 
 Considering the innumerable volumes of printed Trash 
 which have been published on the topic of Clothes of all 
 kinds, Church-clothes, Long-clothes, Dandy-clothes, 
 Aprons, and the like, woven in the Loom of Time or in 
 all other looms whatsoever, it might strike the reflective 
 mind with some surprise that nothing considerable or of 
 a fundamental character has hitherto been written on the 
 subject of Hats. All the more strange when one reflects 
 that Hats, of whatever conceivable Fashion or Shape, are 
 common to all sons of Adam on this terraqueous Globe, 
 from Game-preserving dilettante in Long-acre gig to 
 Billius Hodge-Podge in his Bastille; sole exceptions within 
 our ken being Pavement-painters and the Oval Poet. 
 Taking which indubitable Fact into his consideration, it 
 has seemed good to the Present Editor, out of the Chaotic 
 mass of fuliginous imbecility which he calls his Mind, to 
 
 129
 
 evolve or body forth Somewhat, which to some Thirty- 
 five millions of Readers (mostly fools) shall seem to be 
 substantially a Work, or thing of great Worth. Its 
 precise value, on the whole, being in fact zero or No-thing; 
 as will speedily become visible without aid of Herschel 
 Telescopes or whatever other Optical instruments. 
 
 On the origin and genesis of Hats the Editor has not 
 prepared a long discourse. Suffice it to say, that though 
 the Hat was not the first discovered Garment, the 
 more pressing need being, as would seem, the White 
 Tie, it was nevertheless perhaps not unlike to be the 
 second. For what more natural than that the earliest 
 Sansculottist, or wearer of Nothing, should cast about 
 him for some means of defending his Precious Head 
 against Sunstrokes and Rains-storms (T{egensturme\ not 
 to mention (nicht zu sageri) Thunder, Lightning, and 
 other so-called Forces-of-Nature ? 
 
 On all which and many other similar Adamitic quest- 
 ions a Refined History would rather say nothing. 
 What chiefly concerns our present purpose being the 
 Hat, so to speak, of To-day, in all its manifold Forms 
 and Fashions : Pot-hats, Necklace-cardinals' Hats, 
 Academical Hats, Shovel-hats and what not. Of which 
 latter indeed let it suffice to say here once for all, that of 
 all the wearers of them Seneca was the father. 
 
 But what after all, speaking in quite unofficial lan- 
 guage, is the net-purpose or upshot of the thing we call 
 a Hat ? Is it in these modern times merely as heretofore 
 
 130
 
 a defence against the Weather ? Or, on the whole, shall 
 we not rather say that, as Speech was given to man to 
 conceal his Thoughts, so the Hat was designed quite 
 marvellously to conceal his Thought-works or brains ? 
 Which latter, though not for the most part standing in 
 need of much concealment, do nevertheless without doubt, 
 when existent, have their Seat, or Permanent Residence, 
 in the Upper Story, and must for sake of argument be 
 presumed to dwell therein, even though the flat (Dumm- 
 kopf) be visibly f/w-furnished. As in the case of double- 
 barrelled Game-preservers, and all others whose Profes- 
 sion or Work-in-the- World is to Own Land. Concerning 
 all which we shall here, for obvious reasons, say no more. 
 Thus nevertheless, after darkest groping, is there at 
 length realised Somewhat ; namely that the Hat, being, 
 as we have seen, the Brain-cover or as it were Outer 
 Shell of the Brain, does actually, uncertain whether from 
 mere Proximity, or in whatever more or less mysterious 
 way, absorb into itself some considerable portion or 
 Concentrated Essence of the Brain : so that not only 
 does the Hat become characteristic of, or mark the Man, 
 but in a manner really makes the Man, whereby he 
 becomes recognisable to his fellows, and even Definable 
 solely in terms of his Hat. As for instance when thou 
 askest question of Billius Hodge-Podge in the occidental 
 parts : " What son of Adam hath wn-lawfully made away 
 with a certain Four-legged, Midas-eared animal without 
 Feathers, to wit a Moke ? In the Devil's name Ans-
 
 wer ! " and straightway gettest answered so : " The 
 Man in the White Hat ! " Truly a very questionable 
 kind of man this, going about his Moke-lifting in a 
 White Hat ! Quite a distinguished man, one would 
 think ! One would like to know more of him : whether 
 he did any Work in the world (Treadmill or otherwise), 
 before Chaotic Night, in person of Samson or Jack 
 Ketch, drew on his distinguished visage the White Cap y 
 and so wr-tinguished him for ever ! 
 
 Not much of the Flunkey here, one would hope ! 
 Rather, at bottom, some Inkling (Dintchen) of the Hero, 
 of the Cromwell-Dick-Turpin kind at worst ! A man 
 not very likely to be troubled with Valets, unless indeed 
 of the Newgate Turnkey sort ! And note further that 
 this luminous head-gear of his serves not merely as 
 envelopment for Cranium or Num-skull, but does actually 
 seem to shelter likewise the entire visible corporeal 
 existence of the man : Front-of-brass, breast-works, 
 stern-works and the like, down to his very Two Legs 
 and Timber-toes. In a really marvellous way ! Not so 
 strange though if, with the spectacular Teutons, we 
 interpret Hat (Hut) as Hut, house, or perhaps even Hose 
 (Hosen). Strange philological, or rather illogical, specu- 
 lations ! In the midst of which the Man himself has 
 unhappily evaporated, leaving results amounting, on the 
 whole, to zero \ 
 
 For quite other indeed must we consider those " White 
 Hats " of which Sporting Journalists do learnedly dis- 
 
 132
 
 course, what time all the Posterity of Adam, from 
 Game-preserving Dilettante to Billius Hodge-Podge from 
 his Bastille, do assemble with observant eye to witness 
 the Royal game of Stool-ball at Lords or Law-wards. 
 Wards or Wardens, that is to say, of Cricket-laws, Two- 
 legs-bef ore- wicket- laws, Five-balls-to-the-over-laws, and 
 what not : like to become perforce, through over-much 
 Laissez-faire, wards of their own Ground ; no longer 
 Ground-game Preservers but veritable Game-ground Pre- 
 servers, or prepare for vanishing ! With this Man- 
 chester-Sheffield business looming ever more palpably on 
 the rim of the horizon ! Concerning which altogether 
 questionable White Hats the present Writer has been 
 able to learn, after patientest enquiry, as good as nothing 
 whatever. This authentic Fact alone being at length 
 discoverable : namely that the M.C.C., or Council of 
 Twelve Hundred Lords (or Law-wards), do of their 
 bounty award this White Hat as a Crown of honour for 
 successful performance of certain " Hat-tricks " (Hut- 
 listen.} 
 
 In such enigmatic duskiness and thrice-folded involu- 
 tion, after all enquiries, does the matter yet hang. 
 Nevertheless, by dint of meditation and comparison, 
 light-points that stand fixed and abide scrutiny do here 
 and there disclose themselves. As for instance, that this 
 singular Hat-trick is no mere Cagliostro quackery or 
 Maskelyne-and-Cooke miracle with Omelette or live 
 Bunny, but is in some not very easily discernible way 
 
 *33
 
 connected with the ancient Art of Bowling, now alas ! 
 as good as extinct. Might we then guess that for clean 
 bowling the enemy the reward was, not inappropriately, 
 a Clean Bowler, or, in plain language, a White Hat ? 
 
 To linger among such speculations, longer than mere 
 Science requires, a discerning Public can have no wish. 
 And now dimly arises the question, Whether the 
 straddling biped called Man, being for the most part 
 definable as a Piece of Wood (Holzstiick), may not, at 
 bottom, be at least as much Hat-peg as Clothes-horse 
 (Kleidenpferd) or Scarecrow ? Nay farther, who knows 
 whether the Hat, which, as we proved above, makes the 
 Man, may not in a manner actually be the Man, so that 
 he is what he is solely in virtue (vir-tus y Man-hood) of 
 his Hat ? In token whereof are not the members of the 
 Dandiacal Body wont to hail one another as " Old 
 Chappie " (Chapeau), or even Cap-tain ? With which 
 singular, if not altogether questionable suggestion, we 
 must close this already too considerable chapter. 
 
 II 
 
 INCIDENT IN MODERN HISTORY 
 
 To those who, with the present Ready-Writer, hold 
 this exalted and even worshipful opinion of the inner 
 purport of Hats, some disquisition here on Hat-guards 
 
 J 34
 
 may not seem altogether out of place. Under which 
 category, be it understood, he would include not merely 
 pieces of String, elastic or inelastic, serving as security 
 against loss by Whirlwind and the like : but likewise 
 those other safe-guards against damage by Hail and Rain, 
 of which the one most worth considering here is the 
 Umbrella. Against damage by those other hereditary 
 foes of the Hat, such as doors of Omnibuses and Railway 
 Carriages, or ascending showers of Babylonian mud, there 
 has been unhappily no defence at present got discovered. 
 
 But quitting all that of which the human soul cannot 
 well speak in terms of civility, some light on the origin 
 of the Umbrella, even if merely fish-oil transparency or 
 bog Will-o'-Wisp, might perhaps from the volumes of 
 Dryasdust, or from whatever more or less arid or humid 
 tomes, be after infinite pains and world-torments at length 
 dimly discernible. This Editor will venture on such a 
 thing. 
 
 And truly a very remarkable year was that, well-nigh 
 two centuries ago, when the first Ombrifuge,or Umbrella, 
 was unfurled in London Streets. What a sensation ! 
 Not imaginary in the least, but entirely real and indis- 
 putable : of which happily the historian (or Boswell] is 
 extant. Let us search the pages of our Encyclopedic, not 
 
 that of Diderot (d d rot) but one writ in our own 
 
 tongue, wherein he who runs may read : of which Book 
 the net-value, or Worth (valor) is, by Cash-computation, 
 precisely Sixpence sterling ; its value to us on the other 
 
 135
 
 hand being quite infinite ! Let the Professor of Things- 
 in-general, not to say (nicht zu sagen) Life-weariness, 
 tell the tale in his own quaint end-of-the-century style. 
 
 " For many centuries the umbrella had been in common 
 use in China and Japan before it was introduced into 
 European countries. About 200 years ago it was 
 introduced into London by Jonas Hanway, a benevolent 
 and eccentric old gentleman. When he first raised his 
 umbrella, on a rainy day, he found it of unexpected use 
 in keeping off a shower of sticks and stones, with which 
 the street-boys pelted him." Showers quite other than 
 of rain ! As without doubt he speedily became aware. 
 A spectacle to gods and men 1 Pelting which this new 
 Umbrella of his was not built to withstand : not being 
 precisely constructed in that manner. 
 
 And what of the " eccentric old gentleman " himself, 
 Jonas Hanway or Han well, (for so let us name him 
 for his eccentricity) ? How he makes shift to adapt 
 himself to this unexpectedly solid environment ? Turn tail 
 and furl brolly ? Demand the Arrestment of Knaves and 
 Dastards ! By no means ! (keinwegs !) Just elevates the 
 dexter eyebrow of him slightly perhaps : for the rest, 
 plods bravely on his way not wishing himself back in 
 China ! Half-conscious perhaps, in his dim inarticulate 
 way, that he too is at length got become a Leader of the 
 Fashions, the Introducer of a really new Thing, a Boon 
 and a Blessing to his Fellow-creatures. 
 
 Not much of the Flunkey here either, one might 
 
 136
 
 suppose ! A man probably accustomed to looking after 
 his own Hat and Clothes. Truly a very notable old 
 gentleman ! worth living more than two centuries back 
 to see him and his Umbrella ! (Might we but possess 
 one of those new Patent T/W-conquering Fortunatus- 
 Hats of ours !) Good old Jonas Hanwell ! Here we must 
 leave thee, and thy antique Ombrifuge ! Of thy Heroism, 
 for Hero truly thou wert let Dryasdust and Divine 
 Silence be the record. 
 
 Into the question, Whether the Umbrella be, on the 
 whole, a weapon of of-fence partly, no less than of dt- 
 fence, we shall not here so much as glance. Enough for 
 us to say that in the hands of all Daughters-of-Eve, 
 Scarlet-Women, Quarteroons and the like, it is fraught 
 with perils (of the frightfullest sort !) to our observant 
 Eye. For the rest, a sovereign remedy for insane cows 
 and even Highway-Dick-Turpins. 
 
 With the ultimate end or Destiny of every Brolly on 
 this terraqueous Globe only the greener mind in these 
 days need concern itself. For, after all, no man happy 
 enough to own a Brolly lacks a friend willing to relieve 
 him of the burden. How thankful should we be then 
 that from such Candid-friend depredations our Hat at 
 least is secure : uncertain whether from reverence to its 
 great Age and well-nigh sacerdotal character, or from 
 some personal considerations of shape, size, or the like. 
 As for instance this, that on a less noble brow our own 
 private Hat is like to become a mere Extinguisher ; 
 
 '37
 
 whereby the unlawful wearer is rendered quite remarkable, 
 
 conspicuous among his fellow-creatures. 
 
 And if even our own Bosom-friend vouchsafes this 
 respect to our Hat, how were it with a mere L/w-Friend 
 or Total-stranger ? Imagine, for instance, that chancing 
 to enter our Penetralia or Inward-hall at dead-of-night, 
 we behold dimly through Cimmerian darkness an Entire 
 Stranger, of the questionable species, in possession of even 
 the humblest of our Hats 1 Think you that we will 
 bid him depart in peace, glad to be quit of him even at 
 such a price ? Very far from that ! Quite the reverse 
 of all that 1 Awake he shall NOT have it, not he wide- 
 awake our wide-awake ! For the rest, producing from 
 our interior reservoirs our Bromwicham Family-Revolver, 
 and looking fixedly on the man, we will at first speak to 
 him, after the manner of friend Teufelsdrockh ; in the 
 simplest language, not to be mistaken. " Er gebe es auf y 
 Freund ! Be so obliging as to give-up that Hat, Friend ! 
 
 or, on the whole, here are some half-dozen leaden 
 pellets, each cunningly fitted into its proper tube, one or 
 more of which shall otherwise of a certainty compel thee 
 to give-up that which thou alone, methinks, of us twain 
 valuest above my Hat, to wit the GHOST !" Hearing 
 which good-advice, if with other than moke's ears, our 
 burglarious friend cannot be gone too quickly 1 
 
 In all which who does not discern the quite sacred 
 value which we set on our Hat, as a thing to be defended, 
 if need be, with our very Life-blood ? How foolish then 
 
 '38
 
 were we to neglect to furnish it with a suitable Wind- 
 guard, lest it become the Sport of furious gales to our 
 everlasting Wo ! To such abysmal overturns (Coolboots) 
 and frightful instantaneous inversions of the centre-of- 
 gravity is human head-gear always liable. 
 
 But, quitting generalities, what strange Fact is this, 
 clearly visible to authentic History passing along Fleet 
 Street, one summer afternoon ? It were worth while to 
 inquire, and that promptly. Authentic History, accord- 
 ingly, looking fixedly at Fleet Street, discerns two 
 things : the one, our best and blackest Tall-hat, whirling 
 along with countless Maurepas-gyratings, with Scylla-and- 
 Charybdis eddyings, through Babylonian mire towards 
 Infinite Space: the other, Hat-less, panting in hot pursuit, 
 amid loud ha-has and fa-iras of all St. Antoine turned 
 out to view the sport, the present unfortunate Editor ! 
 Unluckiest of Editors, what an afternoon! But, specially, 
 what to do ? Were wise who wist ! For, despite our 
 best endeavour, the Thing-pursued seems actually to be 
 gaining-on us, St. Antoine and all Sanculottism blocking 
 our path. Here is a nodus ! 
 
 Why we do not call-in the Police ? We do call-in 
 the Police. With results. Chief-Inspector Bailly, shift- 
 iest of all Chief -Inspectors, and Constable Coles, scenting 
 safety, nay, perhaps even silver, from afar, do emerge as 
 if from Tartarus ; plainly visible this once to the eye of 
 History, and to all other eyes. Constable Coles has 
 even a suggestion of the practicallest sort ! Constable 
 
 '39
 
 Coles will himself join in the chase ; will, with those 
 silent league-covering Fortunatus-boots of his, if but 
 by mere treading and trampling, effect the capture ! To 
 which all too practical suggestion we, as owners of the 
 quarry, looking at the matter from quite other point- 
 of-view, will for the present have nothing whatever to 
 say. Constable Coles, (so we ordain), shall clear the 
 way ; for such purpose were those rr<ra;^-compelling 
 Boots even the suitablest ! We ourselves will conduct 
 the chase in person. Let Inspector Bailly, active and 
 intelligent, bring up the rear. 
 
 In such manner do we, after infinite pantings and 
 perspirings, recapture our prize, amid universal hep-hep- 
 hurrahs for Glorious-victory : which we will forthwith 
 celebrate, in our modest way, by the purchase of a new 
 Patent Hat-guard. Thus, too, did Constable Coles, as 
 we have seen, emerge from Tartarus, dawn on us visibly 
 out of the darkness, and become a person and a Crowd- 
 compeller. Whither he must nevertheless return, not 
 without suitable thank-offering (Trinkgeld] from us, and 
 vanishes henceforth from the tissue of our story. A too 
 practical man, with his Fixed-idea (and those Boots of 
 his !). A man of no astucity : and yet withal no mere 
 specious Formula. Rather one who had swallowed all 
 Formulas, speciosities, sham-trues, babblements, puffer- 
 ies, quackeries, Paperkites, Dead-sea-apisms and most 
 other Isms. Happy if he can but digest them all ! To 
 which veritable Hercules-labour let us here leave him. 
 
 140
 
 Ill 
 
 SANITV OF HATTERS 
 
 Truly a very questionable title for this our concluding 
 chapter, whereby this Life- Work of ours, shall be at length 
 got completed ! Questionablest, indeed,- if we reflect that 
 the Hatter has, properly speaking, no sanity at all, but quite 
 the reverse ; being afflicted, even to a proverbial extent, 
 with the veriest /n-sanity or mad-capacity not to be 
 cured by any Morrison's Pill as yet discoverable. Whence 
 perforce he must at times even quit this terraqueous 
 Globe, wandering like some cat-o'-mountain spirit or 
 huge Copper Portent in the lunar limbo (JVunderland\ a 
 boon-companion to March-Hares, Dormice, and many 
 more whom the human memory need not charge itself 
 with : uttering, as the spirit moves him, things foolish 
 and not wise. Nay, driven to break his fast (such is the 
 dearth of Grains), on Cochin-China Cups and Saucers : 
 could he indeed contrive to swallow them, and digest 
 them ; which last, however, is precisely the doubtful 
 thing, or even the not doubtful our Patent Bromwicham 
 Cast-iron Digester being not yet invented. But why 
 dwell on this aspect of the matter ? It is too indisputable, 
 not doubtful now to any man. More profitable, accord- 
 
 141
 
 ingly, were it for us in the long-run to conduct a quite 
 unofficial enquiry (without Bluebooks) into the Causes 
 of this so singular Phenomenon of Hatters'-Madness. 
 Having which fixed-purpose or end-in-view, we, for 
 our part, have in these latter days diligently read and 
 re-read every well or ill-redacted treatise that has been 
 written by all ready -writers on the subject whatsoever : 
 being for the most part very far from legible to runner : 
 could one but after infinite reading get to understand 
 so much as the merest inkling of their meaning, or 
 indeed whether they have any meaning at all ! Never- 
 theless, after patientest study, scattered lights, do from 
 time to time sparkle-out ; whereby the idea, or Thing- 
 signified, becomes for the time even intelligible ! As 
 for instance, this remarkable suggestion of Professor 
 Hammond Bacon, a man evidently of much grinding in 
 the John Stuart Logic-mill ; That the Hatter does not, 
 as one would have thought, become insane as the result 
 of his profession of Hatter (Hattitude), but that he was 
 naturally and of necessity insane before becoming a 
 Hatter. Let us hear the world-famous Professor himself, 
 as far as possible without interruption. 
 
 " A Hatter is a maker of Hats." (Remarkable Profes- 
 sor !) " A Hat is a covering to protect the Head from 
 Rain. Rain is more destructive to Hats than it is to 
 Heads. " (Evidently the World-renowned does not dye 
 his wig.) " Consequently the Hatter is one who seeks 
 to protect the less destructible article by means of the 
 
 142
 
 more destructible. " (Hence, we imagine, the Deluge.) 
 " Therefore (ergo) the Hatter is Mad. Quod erat 
 demonstrandum. " 
 
 In addition to which (praeterea) one might say, hence 
 the Umbrella. Taking which singular suggestion of the 
 Professor's into consideration (as far as one can understand 
 it), do we not at length begin, if but faintly, to discern 
 the meaning of that portentous seven-foot-high Lath-and- 
 plaster Hat-on-wheels of the Strand Hatter, whereat the 
 wrath of Friend Sauerteig was of late so strangely excited ? 
 For precisely as the Hat, being designed to protect the 
 Head, was found by Jonas Hanwell to be in need itself 
 of some protector, is it not in like manner conceivable 
 that the Umbrella, while defending the Hat, may itself 
 require some gigantic seven-foot Hat for its own defence ? 
 Which marvellous erection again, being somewhat weighty 
 to carry, shall it not go better on wheels ? And even, 
 perhaps, by steam ? Here accordingly a question arises ; 
 of the prophetic sort ; which cannot now be answered : 
 namely Whether, for better protection of these same 
 tallest of Tall-hats, we shall not require some quite 
 preposterous PaulVdome Umbrella or Parachute, hanging 
 by vast Gas-bags from the air of heaven ? And so on 
 ad infinitum, till we strike the Starry Vault with our 
 sublime Heads. Whereupon one begins to wonder, 
 How the streets shall be passable ? Which problem the 
 best insight, seeking light from all possible sources, 
 shifting its point of vision whithersoever vision or glimpse
 
 of vision can be had, may employ itself in solving in 
 some tolerably approximate way ! But, apart from all 
 Transcendentalism, let us here say at once that with this 
 enigmatic theory of our Professor, how plausible soever 
 it may seem, we for our part must entirely disagree. 
 For which disagreement we shall not here assign so 
 much as a reason : sufficient for us that we do publicly 
 name the man a mere Pot-walloper or Logheaded Wind- 
 bag, and order him at his earliest convenience to 
 disappear ! 
 
 For the rest, it remains but to state our own private 
 view of the matter, which is of the simplest kind : this 
 namely, that every Hat of good Quality is, in some 
 miraculous way, endued with the power of absorbing 
 brains, to a certain definable extent : whereby the 
 wearers of many new Hats do actually become visibly 
 Brainless, plain to behold ! As in the case of our 
 double-barrelled Game-preservers, Most-Eminent Parle- 
 ment-Leaders, and others who are rightly called Notables, 
 or Not-ables. (Whereat wise Wigs wag !) What won- 
 der then that the Hatter, being whether from choice or 
 of necessity continually surrounded by a multitude of 
 new Hats, with all their brain-absorbent faculties fresh 
 and nascent, should speedily be reduced to a condition of 
 sheer mad-capacity or Madness ? Nay, further, such is 
 the virtue of Victorious- Analysis, do we not begin to 
 discern with tolerable certainty the cause of that hitherto 
 mysterious Lunacy of most Princes, Potentates and others 
 
 144
 
 whose occupation or Work-in-the-World is to be con- 
 tinually wearing crowns ? So much can observation 
 altogether unstatistic, looking only at a Hamlet or a 
 Julius Caesar, ascertain for itself. Nay perchance too 
 even some in our own time; concerning which latter, 
 however, let us by all means forbear speaking treasonably, 
 lest Mother Guillotine become desirous of our own 
 Hat-peg, a thing not easily to be replaced ! 
 
 Thus have we, as closely and perhaps satisfactorily as 
 in such circumstances might be, followed out to the end 
 the History of this Transcendental Inquiry : happy if 
 we can but find a Reader to follow Us ! The subject 
 was bewildering, and at times we may have seemed even 
 to lose our way, so Cimmerian was the boscage and 
 umbrage. And yet withal has there not been realised 
 somewhat, some actual existing quotity of Residual Fact ? 
 This namely, that all Work and all Labour is unprofit- 
 able, and this Life of ours but the idle shadow of a vision: 
 
 "We are such Stuff ".... 
 
 At which point, methinks, we hear one of our Public 
 mutter audibly " Coq J'lnde, " which, being interpreted 
 into the Scots tongue signifies < Bubbly-Jock ! Whereupon 
 we also, uttering comminatory words after the manner 
 of the Scotch, do thus substantially unburden ourselves : 
 " Thou stupendous blockhead ! unprintable offspring 
 of scoundrels ! Thinkest thou that for the sake of a 
 merely infinitesimal fraction of a public such as thou, we 
 would condescend to speak words of mere brute sense, 
 
 145
 
 instead of our divinest Bunkum or Non-sense ? Despic- 
 able biped ! Retire into private places with thy foolish 
 cackle, or, on the whole, go to the.... ! 
 
 Ha ! What is this ? What ? What ? Ignominious 
 shovings and menacings : Spurnings a posteriori not to 
 be named ! The present editor cannot be gone too 
 quickly ! 
 
 JT 
 
 146

 
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