Chapter 3

Fallen! And not as leaders love to fall, In battle's forefront, loved and mourned by all; But fiercely fighting, as for his own hand, With the scant remnant of a broken band; His chieftainship, well-earned in many a fray, Rent from him--by himself! None did betray This sinister strong fighter to his foes; He fell by his own action, as he rose. He had fought all--himself he could not fight, Nor rise to the clear air of patient right. Somewhere his strenuous soul unsoundly rang, When closely tested. Let the laurels hang About his tomb, for, with whatever fault, He led with valour cool a fierce assault Upon a frowning fortress, densely manned With strong outnumbering enemies. He planned Far-seen campaigns apparently forlorn; He fronted headlong hate and scourging scorn, Impassively persistent. But the task Of coldly keeping up the Stoic mask O'ertaxed him at the last; it fell, and lo! Another face was bared to friend and foe. Scarce to his foes will generous judgment lean-- Foes mean as merciless, and false as mean, Their poisoned pens, which even softening Death, Which hate should hush and stifle slander's breath, May not deprive of venom, prodding still The unresponsive corse they helped to kill, Is an ignoble sight. Turn, turn away! Mean hates pursue the MARMION of our day, A nobler foe, like DOUGLAS, well may rue His fall, and sigh, "'Tis pity of him, too!"

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MOTTO FOR THE MOMENT.

(_BY A MILITANT RADICAL CANDIDATE._)

Ah! I must trounce the Tory foe, And love my Toiling neighbour. The cry with which to fight I go Is "Labour and _Be_labour!"

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THE G.P. AND THE G.P.O.

(_A DIALOGUE STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PRECEDENT._)

_General Public_. I am sorry to say the condition of the Postal Service is really extremely defective. The delay in the delivery of letters is most annoying. Frequently a note which should be received in the evening is not obtained until the following morning--proof of this being given by the post-marks.

_General Post Office_. Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ You are most kind. Next, a telegram despatched from one part of London to another part, sometimes takes eight hours, and the reason given is that the counter-clerk has a discretionary power to retain telegrams until he has what he considers a sufficient supply for the messenger to take out for delivery. This naturally causes much delay and consequent inconvenience.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ You are too good. Next, the carelessness at Branch Offices is extremely irritating. For instance, it is often the case that the words of telegrams have been altered and changed during transmission. It is unnecessary to point out that such mistakes are liable to create annoyance, not to say disaster.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ Very many thanks. Then, at offices where females are engaged, rudeness is very common. Would-be purchasers of postage-stamps are frequently kept waiting while the clerks chatter to one another about matters entirely unconnected with the Department. And this habit is gaining ground in those offices in which male labour is only employed, especially in the immediate neighbourhood of St. Martin's-le-Grand itself. It is useless to call attention to this practice, as a simple denial from an official implicated is accepted by the authorities as proof (almost) positive of his or her innocence.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ Again, thanks for your courtesy. But about these and many other grievances, the same stereotyped answer has invariably been received.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ Exactly! That is the very answer. And it is felt that no other outcome will result from agitation. It seems utterly impossible to make the officials in charge realise their responsibility to the taxpayers.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

_G.P._ Of course; the same parrot-cry! And it may be for years, and it be for ever, before reform is introduced. The probability is, that the present unsatisfactory condition of affairs may exist at St. Martin's-le-Grand until the hour of doom.

_G.P.O._ Your complaint shall receive consideration.

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REFLECTION BY A GENERAL READER.

I have been reading books wherein 'tis shown (In diction autocratic, sour, un-civil), That nothing can be absolutely known, Save that the Universe is wholly evil! And even this poor result is only plain To Genius--which, of course, is quite a rarity. _I_ should have thought this would have given it pain, And moved it to both modesty and charity; But what surprises _me_ (--ZOILUS, to mock sure, Will whip me with sham-epigrams would-be witty,--) Is that Agnostics seem so awfully pure, And Pessimists so destitute of pity.

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ANNALS OF A WATERING-PLACE

THAT HAS "SEEN ITS DAY."

The weather which, in Mr. DUNSTABLE's varied experience of five-and-twenty years, he assures me, has never been so bad, having at length afforded some indications of "breaking" I make the acquaintance, through Mrs. COBBLER, of Mr. WISTERWHISTLE, the Proprietor of the one Bath-chair available for the invalid of Torsington-on-Sea, who, like myself, stands in need of the salubrious air of that health-giving resort, but who is ordered by his medical adviser to secure it with the least possible expenditure of physical strength.

Both Mr. WISTERWHISTLE and his chair are peculiar in their respective ways, and each has a decided history. Mr. WISTERWHISTLE, growing confidential over his antecedents, says, "You see, Sir, I wasn't brought up to the Bath-chair business, so to speak, for I began in the Royal Navy, under His Majesty King WILLIAM THE FOURTH. Then I took to the Coast-Guard business, and having put by a matter of thirty pound odd, and hearing 'she' was in the market,"--Mr. WISTERWHISTLE always referred to his Bath-chair as "she," evidently regarding it from the nautical stand-point as of the feminine gender,--"and knowing, saving your presence, Sir, that old BLOXER, of whom I bought her, had such a good crop of cripples the last season or two, that he often touched two-and-forty shillings a-week with 'em, I dropped Her Majesty's Service, and took to this 'ere. But, Lor, Sir, the business ain't wot it wos. Things is changed woeful at Torsington since I took her up. Then from 9 o'clock, as you might say, to 6 P.M., every hour was took up; and, mind you, by real downright 'aristocracy,'--real live noble-men, with gout on 'em, as thought nothink of a two hours' stretch, and didn't 'aggle, savin' your presence, over a extra sixpence for the job either way. But, bless you, wot's it come to now? Why, she might as well lay up in a dry dock arf the week, for wot's come of the downright genuine invalid, savin' your presence, blow'd if I knows. One can see, of course, Sir, in arf a jiffy, as you is touched in the legs with the rheumatics, or summat like it; but besides you and a old gent on crutches from Portland Buildings, there ain't no real invalid public 'ere at all, and one can't expect to make a livin' out of you two; for if you mean to do the thing ever so 'ansome, it ain't reasonable to expect you and the old gent I was a referring to, to stand seven hours a day goin' up and down the Esplanade between you, and you see even that at a bob an hour ain't no great shakes when you come to pay for 'ousing her and keepin' her lookin' spic and span, with all her brass knobs a shining and her leather apron fresh polished with patent carriage blackin': and Lor, Sir, you'd not b'lieve me if I was to tell you what a deal of show some parties expects for their one bob an hour. Why, it was only the other day that Lady GLUMPLEY (a old party with a front of black curls and yaller bows in her bonnet, as I dare say you've noticed me a haulin' up and down the Parade when the band's a playin'), says to me, says she, 'It ain't so much the easy goin' of your chair, Mr. WISTERWHISTLE, as makes me patronise it, as its general genteel appearance. For there's many a chair at Brighton that can't hold a candle to it!'" But at this point he was interrupted by the appearance of a dense crowd that half filled the street, and drew up in silent expectation opposite my front door. Dear me, I had quite forgotten I had sent for him. But the boy who cleans the boots and knives has returned, and brought with him _the One Policeman_!

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THE BOY THE FATHER OF THE MAN.

(_A CHAPTER FROM A SEA STORY OF THE FUTURE._)

"Lash the lubber to the top-gallant yard and give him five hundred with the cat o' ninetails!" shouted the pirate Captain, blue with passion.

There was a murmur amongst his crew. Because their messmate had forgotten to touch his cap, it seemed hard to their poor untutored minds he should receive so heavy a punishment.

"What, mutiny!" cried the ruffian skipper, "here take this and this and this!" and he distributed the contents of his revolver amongst the sailors aft.

In the meanwhile, the poor wretch was hanging to the topgallant yard, expecting every moment to be his last.

"A sail, Sir," said the boatswain, saluting, as he mounted to the quarter-deck.

"Get ready the torpedoes, and serve out per man a hundredweight of smokeless powder cartridges. We shall have rough work." Then he added, "By the way, what is the time?"

"About half-past two, Sir," returned the other, and then, as his Captain made an unsuccessful grab, he muttered, "No you don't!"

The ship in pursuit came on apace, and soon the two vessels were yard-arm to yard-arm engaged in mortal combat. For a while the confusion was so great that it was impossible to say what would be the upshot. But a fortunate torpedo sent the pirate craft to the bottom, and of all her crew, only the skipper survived. He was brought (loaded with chains) before his conqueror.

"Well, you scoundrel," said the British Captain, "have you anything to urge in your defence before we prepare you for your execution?"

"What would be the good?" was the sulky reply. "I know my fate."

"That voice, those husky tones," exclaimed the epauletted representative of the English Admiralty; "surely I know them. They bring back painful recollections. Show your face, Sirrah!"

"Why should I?" queried the conquered Chief. "It won't do me any good!"

But at a gesture of the British Captain, his prisoner was seized, and his face forcibly washed.

"What, BILLY TOMPKINS!" murmured the Briton, "and we meet again like this!"

"Yes," answered the other, "and it can't be helped. You have your duty to perform, and so have I. Do your worst!"

"But, BILLY, you were not always like this!"

"No, JACK, I was not. Once I used to prattle at my mother's knee. I was beloved by my brothers and sisters, and I was the pride of the nursery!"

And then the strong man broke down, and wept bitterly.

"But have you not fallen very low?" asked the British Captain, gently.

"Indeed I have! I am a thief, a liar, a scoundrel--and, in fact, a blackguard!"

"With such surroundings," returned the Officer R.N., pointing to the _debris_ of the pirate craft, "it is difficult to dispute your contention. Indeed, you are a blackguard! But to what cause do you owe your fall?"

"To my early training."

"I do not comprehend you. Your early training! Where were you trained?"

"In the _Britannia_!"

And then the British Captain completely understood the situation.

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