THE CHIEF MOURNER.
"——Past
To where beyond these voices there is Peace."
Tennyson's "Guinevere."
Peace! Lo! her hand is on thine heart at last.
No boding echoes of the battle-blast,
Whose hated sound thy earthly slumbers broke,
Shall break the rest whereunto thou hast past.
Earth's mightest autocrat, and yet a man
Unwitched by War's wrath-stirring rataplan!
A phantom haunted thee from the red snows
Where with the blood of legions Plevna ran.
Where War took on its deadliest, dreadfullest guise,
The love of Peace possessed thee. Those closed eyes
Frowned back Bellona's long solicitings.
Peace smiles on them, though lid on lid now lies.
Peace smiles in love, and weeps in true lament,
Mourner for one who, worn and trouble-bent,
Yet with firm hand held fast the Janus gates,
A despot's aid to the dove-carrier lent.
Therefore the hearts of freemen to thee warmed
Great Autocrat, because the strong man armed,
And irresponsible, kept sheathed the sword,—
By Glory's glittering lure unmoved, uncharmed.
In uncheered isolation, fear-beset,
Who shall divine what longing, what regret,
Ached in the heart within that Titan frame,
How oft with anguish those stern eyes were wet?
Pinnacled in thy peril-compassed post,
With Terror like a grey and boding ghost
Haunted continually, of what avail
The boundless realm, the huge embattled host?—
Of what avail to solace, gladden, bless?
From wife's endearment or from child's caress
Starting dread shaken, Power sees danger lurk,
In Peace more menacing than in War's fierce press.
But this man spurned not Peace in fear, nor shook
In his allegiance to her; but would brook
The fierce revilings of her angry foes
Rather than face her with unfriendly look.
"Otus and Ephialtes held the chain"[1]
That bound the mighty Mars. So through his reign
He helped to hold the god in "fetters bound,"
The fierce false god who raged and roared in vain.
So Peace beside his bed chief mourner stands,
The Great White Tsar late lord of limitless lands,—
And on that broad brave breast, now still in death,
Lays her own olive-branch with reverent hands.
THE CHIEF MOURNER
"——PAST
TO WHERE BEYOND THESE VOICES THERE IS PEACE."—Tennyson.
What His Lordship must have Said.—A juryman in a recent case objected to a private soldier, who is a public servant, being described as "one of the lower classes." The Lord Chief Justice explained that the witness had said "rough classes," not "lower," adding his dictum that "patent leather boots do not make a man first class." This remark was à propos de bottes; and what the Chief meant to say was evidently that "patent leather boots were not to be considered as a patent of nobility." When Frank Lockwood, Q.C., M.P., Attorney-General, heard of it, he wept as for another good chance gone for ever.
Caught Punning.—In some of the theatrical items for the week we see it announced that a certain playwright is at work on a comic opera which has for its subject Manon Lescaut. "If it is to be a travestie," observed "W. A.," the World's Archer, who makes a shot at a pun whenever the chance is given him, "then its title should of course be 'Manon Bur-Lescaut.'"
"Reform in Conveyancing."—Certainly, a reform much needed. Let us have some new Hansoms which are not "bone-shakers" and whose windows will not act as so many guillotines. Some improved growlers (they have been a bit better recently), drawn by less dilapidated horses, would be a welcome addition.