THE HAPPY HOOTS.
Yes, it is nearly twelve now. In ten minutes we shall hear the bells—I mean the hooters. I wonder if there were hooters when Tennyson wrote those popular lines about ringing in the New Year. Very likely he didn't hear them if there were, as there's nothing to show that he ever really stayed up late enough to see the New Year in. It's a pity, because the hooters would have fitted in to that poem most beautifully. The hooting idea is just what is wanted to give a dramatic contrast to the sugary ringing business.
"Ring out the false, ring in the true"
doesn't convince somehow; it's too impartial. One doesn't say to the footman, "Show the Rector up, please, and show this blackmailer out," even at the Lyceum. One says, "Kick this black-hearted hound out," and the footman realises then that you have something against the fellow. Just so one doesn't gather from the above line that the poet has any strong preference as between the false and the true, except that there is no good rhyme to "the false," unless you can count "waltz"; but what about—
Hoot out the old, ring in the new;
Hoot out the false, ring in the true?
Magnificent! There's some sting in that; it "gets over," and it brings the whole poem into harmony with modern practice.
Come on, we'd better have another dance before the great moment. I wonder if Tennyson ever saw the New Year in at two guineas a head. I don't expect so. For that matter it's the first time we've done it at an expensive public "Revel" ourselves; but then this is the first year we've been absolutely bankrupt. Up till now we've been rather well off, and have celebrated cheaply at home. Do you realise that this is our wedding-day? I believe you'd forgotten; women never remember these things. Yes, it's six years ... Six years. And this is the first year we've been bankrupt. All the same, as I say, it's the first year we've come out and had a jolly good supper. Reckless? Yes, I'm afraid we are. But we've caught it from the Government ... However, to-morrow we'll start a new cheque-book.
Have you made your resolutions yet? I have. Do you remember this time last year? You said you'd keep accounts, and I said I wouldn't smoke so much. And all the year through our resolution has never wavered. I've got evidence of that. Look at my diary. Here we are:—
January 1st.—G. started keeping accounts. Gave up smoking.
And here we are again:—
March 20th.—G. started accounts.
March 29th.—Knocked off smoking.
That shows it was no mere flash-in-the-pan, doesn't it?
And we went on like that. Look at this:—
June 6th.—Gave up smoking.
June 7th.—Only one pipe since yesterday.
June 30th.—Cut myself down to four pipes a day.
July 1st-9th.—G. keeping accounts; knocked off smoking.
But I wonder why I kept writing it down. Even in September, you see, I wasn't taking it for granted:—
September 29th.—Quarter-Day. Not smoking this quarter. G. began new system of accounts.
It looks like bragging, doesn't it? But I don't think I can have meant it that way. Still, it is rather marvellous, when you come to think of it—here we are, after all these months, twelve of them, and we still stick doggedly to the same unswerving resolution. Nothing can alter it. That's what I call tenacity of purpose.
You don't think I'm serious? But I am. I'm just as serious as I was last year. This year I shall give up smoking. Only I think you ought to give up your hot-water bottle in sympathy. You won't? No, I know you won't. You're a slave of the bottle, you see. It doesn't do you any harm? Oh, yes it does. It makes your backbone flabby, and it makes you susceptible to colds, and it gives you chilblains, and, anyhow, it's morally pernicious, because it's an indulgence ... If I'd known you were a hot-water-bottle woman before we were married ... However, we needn't go into that. But if you won't give up your bottle I shan't give up smoking after all.
Look, they're opening the windows. We shall all catch cold. Can you hear anything? I can hear those people eating. What a draught! Can you hear anything? I can hear the eaters quite plainly now. Here comes Father Christmas. I believe he is going to give us all gifts.
Can you hear anything yet? I have been given a diary. What have you got? Another diary? Is yours for 1921? So is mine. How dull! Christmas will be on a Sunday next year, I see. So will our wedding-day. I hope you'll remember it this time. And they have arranged for the Spring to begin on March 21st. Think of it! Spring—in less than three months!
There they go.
Hoot out, wild hooters, to the wild sky!
What a jolly noise! Much better than bells, really much more accurate as an expression of one's feelings. There's a sort of "faint but pursuing" note about it. And that's how I feel, rather. It was a dreadful year, really, wasn't it?—that last one, I mean. No money, no clothes—nothing but rates and dentists and small accounts respectfully submitted for our esteemed favour. One long crisis.... But we kept the flag flying. This year——
Hallo! somebody 's going to recite. What do you think it will be? You'll never guess. Yes, you're quite right.
Ring out a slowly-dying cause
And ancient forms of party strife.
That sounds like a bit of Government propaganda. Disgraceful, I call it. If I was a Wee Free——
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners——
That's a hit at somebody, too, I shouldn't wonder. Somebody must have written a topical verse for the occasion. Those people are still eating. I expect they are doing Hog-money, or whatever it is....
Are you still as obstinate as ever about that hot-water bottle? Very well, then, I shall now have the first smoke of the New Year. Oh, no; we 've got to do Auld Lang Syne first. I never can smoke while I'm singing.
"Should auld acquaintance ..." Do you know any of the people here? No? Do you ever want to see any of them again? No? Never mind, they've all paid a lot of money to hold our hands; let them have their money's worth ... "A right gude willie-waucht ..." Waiter! One large willie-waucht, please, and a small pint stoup ... Do you realise that this is the only night in the year when you can get a willie-waucht at this hour? What a world!
Six years. Do you see that nice couple over there? I bet they haven't been married as long as we have. And I bet they're not so bankrupt. This is going to be a dreadful year. I can see that at once. But we'll keep the flag flying.
Ah, here come the willie-wauchts. Thank you, waiter.
Well, my dear—a cup of kindness with you. Here's luck!
A. P. H.
Natural History on the Football Field.
"St. Columb's Court and North-End met at The Farm, when St. Columb's Court were the victors by three goats to one."
—Irish Paper.
"Harry —— (19), described as a comedian, was bound over in £5 for six months under the rug, the property of Hilda ——."
Provincial Paper.
It seems that Harry was not the only comedian in court.
A BOXING NIGHTMARE.
The Good Fairy Georgina. "I WAVE MY WAND—UTOPIA DOTH APPEAR ...
(extemporising) SOMETHING'S GONE WRONG. O DEAR! O DEAR! O DEAR!"
Post-War Sportsman. "The hounds meet on the lawn to-morrow, my dear. We must give them a stirrup-cup."
Wife. "I hope the chef knows how to make it. If not I suppose claret-cup would do?"