IN A MAZE.
"Mr. BALFOUR brought up a new sub-section, which he admitted was so obscure that he only 'more or less' understood it himself, and which, indeed, is of 'plusquam-Thucydidean' dimness and involution.... There is no excuse, we must say, for the muddle into which the Government has got over the Bill.... The House of Commons has adjourned for a short holiday, but the Irish Land Purchase Bill is not yet through Committee.... There still remained all the new clauses, for which no time had been found."—Times.
Little Bill loquitur:—
Oh do, if you please, Mr. BALFOUR, Sir, if you can,—and who can if you can't, Sir?—
Get me out of this Maze, where for days and days I have strayed till I'm all of a pant, Sir.
Twelve months ago we started, you know, and I've been on my feet ever since, Sir.
And oh, if you please, I feel weak at the knees, and the pains in my back make me wince, Sir.
Mister HOOD's "Lost Child" wasn't half as had, for he only strayed in the gutter,
While this dreadful Maze is enough to craze; and my feeling of lostness is utter.
Oh, my poor feet! This is worse than Crete, and old Hampton Court isn't in it.
Oh stop, do stop! for I feel I shall drop if I don't sit down half a minute.
I really thought you knew the way out—which I own I'm unable to guess, Sir—
And now 'twould appear you are far from clear, and are puzzled "more or less," Sir.
The paths are really so twirly-whirly, the hedges so jimble-jumbled;
It must be hundreds and hundreds of miles along which we have staggered and stumbled.
I thought you were a cool card. Mister BALFOUR, and did know your way about. Sir,
But what I should like to know at present is, when we are like to get out, Sir.
How LABBY will laugh at the Labyrinth-maker, who gets lost in his own Great Maze, Sir!
Don't say, Sir, pray, that you've lost your way,—you, whom people so cosset and praise Sir.
You won't be hurried, and you can't be flurried, and you're always as cool as a cucumber.
Can a little 'un like me, your own child, don't you see, such a smart pioneer as are you cumber?
You, the modern Theseus? Where's your Ariadne? Oh, I know you are cool, and clever.
Yet I feel a doubt. When shall we get out?—which I can't go on wandering for ever!
Mazemaster loquitur:—
Poor little man! Yes, I had a plan, and a perfectly plain one, too, boy;
But—I fear—for a moment—I've—lost the clue! Ah! I'm awfully sorry for you boy!
You have been on your feet for a precious long time, and all this roundaboutation,
Is "plusquam-Thucydidean," perhaps, and at any rate mean aggravation.
But you'll please understand I'm a very "cool hand;" there's abundance of "humour" about me,
And though for a jiffy I seem at a loss, don't you come for to go for to doubt me.
'Tis most complicated, this Miz-Maze! I've stated the clue I've let slip for a moment,
And LABBY, no doubt, and his henchmen, will shout and indulge in invidious comment:
The Times, too, may gird, and declare 'tis absurd not to know one's own Labyrinth better.
The Times is my friend, but a trifle too fond of the goad and the scourge and the fetter;
You really can't rule the whole civilised world with the aid of the whip and the closure;
Though I should enjoy—but no matter, my boy, let us try to maintain our composure!
When shall we get out? That's a matter of doubt, cross-hedges my pathway still chequer,
The clue I've let slip, but you just take my tip; we'll get clear—if you keep up your pecker!