(New Style).
'Tis sweet, so sage Lucretius wrote of yore,
To watch a storm-tossed vessel from the shore,
Or safely placed, when hosts in conflict close,
To view the battle as it ebbs and flows;
But he, poor ancient, never knew the rare
Delight afforded by an easy-chair,
Wherein the slippered critic, at his ease,
His ample writing-pad upon his knees,
Primed with historic and romantic lore,
Indites his weekly comment on the War;
Revises or expands official news
With graphic touches and resplendent hues;
Teaches the doubtful battle where to rage
And sprinkles diagrams on ev'ry page;
Creates new posts or, at his own sweet will,
Proceeds expected vacancies to fill;
Deposes Kings, Prime Ministers, Grand Dukes,
And rival pundits suitably rebukes.
A hundred thousand readers every week
For solace in his commentaries seek,
Swear by his arguments, and swear at those
Which rival quidnuncs artfully oppose.
Matched with an occupation such as this
Philosophy is destitute of bliss;
He only breathes content's untroubled air
Who wages warfare from a snug armchair.
R.N. Cadet (during his first term at Osborne—where he has been told always to salute his superior officers of both services—meeting some "temporary" subalterns who disregard his salute). "Really, mother, if these temporary subs of the junior service cannot behave as gentlemen and return my salute, I shall certainly give up taking any notice of them."