HIGHWAY LOOT.
Ah! the lapse of courtly manners,
Ah! the change from knighthood's code
Since the day when oil and spanners
Ousted horseflesh from the road!
This I realised most fully
Last week-end at Potter's Bar
When a beetle-flattening bully
Held me up in Laura's car.
"Where," I shouted, "are the graces,
Officer, of days long dead?
Never mind how hot our pace is,
Conjure up the past instead;
Dream of chaises and postilions,
Turnpike bars that ope and shut;
Try to get some more resilience
Into your confounded nut.
"Blooms are bursting in the covers
Even as they burst to-day
(Not to mention tyres); two lovers
Post to Scotland, let us say;
Sudden from the hedge comes Turpin,
Pistols cocked and debonair;
Both the horses stand up perpen-
dicularly in the air.
"What occurs? The gallant caitiff,
Noticing the swain is poor
(Courtesy with him is native,
Not like you, suburban boor),
Bows, and says in accents sunny,
'Pass along, Sir—make good speed;
I'm convinced you've got no money
And I do not want your bleed.
"'Sweet be Maytime to your noses;
Short is life, but love is sweet,
There's a city man named Moses
Whom I've simply got to meet;
On you go, you two young larkers;'
Then he bids his Jew disgorge
Or reserves his brace of barkers
For the coach of D. Lloyd George.
"Such the good high Toby fashion;
Surely in your bosom stirs,
Constable, a like compassion
For our two poor cylinders;
All we have is vile and shoddy;
See that low-hung touring brute—
There's a bonnet! there's a body
Worthy of a road-knight's loot!"
Thus I spake; but, still phlegmatic,
Imperturbable and stout,
Rendering Doric for my Attic,
Robert pulled his note-book out;
Said, "Me dooty is me dooty,"
And retiring to his trench
Pondered further schemes of booty
For the footpads on the Bench.
Evoe.
"The enthusiasm of the people was so great that it was not damped by a real Scotch milk."—Liverpool Courier.
When did whisky ever damp the enthusiasm of a Scotch crowd?