ANOTHER AIR SCANDAL.
If ever I write a Hymn of Hate, or, at any rate, of resentment, it will not be about the Germans, but about a certain type of Englishman whom I encounter far too often and shall never understand. The Germans are now beyond any hymning, however fervent; they are, it is reassuring to think, a class by themselves. But my man should be hymned, not because it will do him any good, but because it relieves my feelings.
It is really rather a curious case, for he might be quite a nice fellow and, I have little doubt, often is; but he boasts and flaunts an inhuman insensibility that excites one's worst passions.
What would you say was the quality or characteristic most to be desired in every member of our social common-wealth? Obviously there is only one reply to this question: that he should be decently susceptible to draughts. If society is to go on, either we must all be so pachydermatous as to be able to disregard draughts, or we must feel them and act accordingly. There should not be here and there a strange Ishmaelite creature whose delight it is to be played upon by boreal blasts. But there is. I meet him in the train, and the other day I hymned him.
O thou (my hymn of dislike, of annoyance, of remonstrance began):—
O thou, the foe of comfort, heat,
O thou who hast the corner seat,
Facing the engine, as we say
(Although it is so far away,
And in between
So many coaches intervene,
The phrase partakes of foolishness);—
O thou who sittest there no less,
Keeping the window down
Though all the carriage frown,
Why dost thou so rejoice in air?
Not air that nourishes and braces,
Such as one finds in watering-places,
But air to chill a polar bear—
Malignant air at sixty miles an hour
That rakes the carriage fore and aft,
Wherein we cower;
Not air at all, but sheer revengeful draught!
How canst thou like it? Say! How canst thou do it?
Thou even read'st a paper through it!
Know'st thou no pain?
Sciatica or rheumatism
Leading to balm or sinapism?
Doth influenza pass thee by?
Hast never cold or bloodshot eye
Like ordinary Christian folk
Who sit in draughts against their will
And pray they'll not be ill?
Even in tunnels (this is past a joke)
Thou car'st no rap
Nor, as a decent man would, pull'st the strap,
But lett'st the carriage fill with smoke
Till all but thou must choke.
Why art thou anti-social thus,
Why dost thou differ so from us?
Thou pig! thou hippopotamus!
I don't pretend to be satisfied with these lines. They are not strong, not complete. Mr. Joynson-Hicks would have done it more fittingly. Still they might do a little good somewhere, and every little helps.