NOVEL ADVICE FROM LINCOLNSHIRE.
"Real people with splendid mothers would seldom become novelists, because their mother's lore would prepare them for a safer career, or they themselves, I think, would seldom have that intense observant nature which a novelist must have. I suppose most of our greatest writers, who have not created good mothers, have been left much to themselves when they were young, either because their mothers had no sympathy with them, or because they were motherless."—"A Lincolnshire Girl," in the Daily News.
There's a girl away in Lincolnshire, where green is mostly worn,
Who knows all about a novelist, and all about his trade.
And, oh, ye English Novelists, repay her not with scorn,
When she says that by his mother every novelist is made.
If you fail she knows the reason, she can tell it at a glance—
You have had a splendid mother, so you never had a chance.
If your nature is observant, if your nature is intense,
If you track elusive motives through the mazes of the mind;
If you fly o'er plot and passion as a hunter flies a fence,
And leave panting mediocrity a hundred miles behind;
Why then you may be certain, though the thought may give you pain,
That your mother wasn't splendid, or your toil would be in vain.
An unsympathetic mother who neglects her baby boy,
Oh, she knows not what advantages she showers on his head.
Let her frown upon her infant and deprive him of his toy,
That's the training for a novelist who wishes to be read.
He had better have a sea-cook for his mother, or a gun,
Than one who, being splendid, blasts the future of her son.
So, ye publishers of novels, if your mills are short of grist,
Find a child whose mother loathes him, and adopt him as your own,
Give him pens and ink and paper, saying, "Write, Sir Novelist,
You are quite the biggest certainty that ever yet was known.
You may not write good grammar, or be careful how you spell,
But your mother wasn't splendid, so your books are sure to sell!"
Some amiable Statistician has recently been computing the amount of pills taken in England annually. He has omitted "Club-Pilling." The severe committee men are, pace Ibsen, the real Pillars of Society.
House of Commons, Monday, March 31.—Plunket had his annual innings, defending Royal Palaces from attack of mob led by Sage of Queen Anne's Gate. Vote under discussion on account of Royal Palaces. Sage been looking into matter; has come to conclusion that Kensington Palace might be turned into popular restaurant. At one time knew something about management and arrangement of Aquarium. Why not have sort of West-End Aquarium at Kensington Palace? Grounds admirably suited for merry-go-rounds and other popular devices for whiling a happy hour away. Then Kew Palace. Who lived there? George the Third was, he believed, the last tenant, and during his term of occupancy His Majesty was unfortunately cracked. There were other palaces and annexes, each lent to some lady or gentleman. As they lived rent-free, Sage thought the least they could do would be to pay the cost of repairs.
Chaplin, sitting on Treasury Bench, listened to this conversation with lowering brow. Her Majesty had but lately testified afresh to her wisdom and discernment by calling him to her councils; and yet there were men so lost to all sense of decency as to wrangle over the wages of a rat-catcher at Buckingham Palace or the turncock at Kensington. Plunket a little too mild with these gentry. Only let the Minister of Agriculture loose on them, and they would learn a salutary lesson. But Minister for Agriculture nothing to do in this galley. All he could do was to stand at the Bar, with hands on hips, regarding the little band of malcontents. Peradventure the sight of him might serve to bring them to a better way of thinking.
Standing there when Bell rang for Division. Beaten off at Kensington, the mob now marched down on Hampton; raiding on Hampton Court Park; clamouring for admittance for the public who paid the piper. Committee divided; Minister of Agriculture, with his breast aflame with righteous indignation strode into Lobby; doors shut and locked; Chaplin looking round, discovered he had been followed by remarkable contingent; There was the Sage, and Pickersgill, and Causton, and Cremer, and Picton looking more than ever like "his great predecessor in spoliation, Henry the Eighth." Was it possible that he had coerced them by the glance of his falcon eye? Had they been unable to resist the moral persuasion of his presence? They had surely meant to vote against money for Hampton Court. Yet, here they were in the Lobby with him. Chaplin's bosom began to swell with more inflation than usual. Such a triumph rare in Parliamentary history. Plunket been arguing, protesting, cajoling by the hour, and had done nothing. Chaplin had only looked, and had drawn them into the same Lobby as himself.
