Maid. "Sure, mem, 'twas bekase I didn't know what you was ringing for, mem!"
So long as Sims continued on the staff he was at all times a most welcome contributor, and, with one exception, always to our entire satisfaction. The exception came about from the severity of a criticism which he wrote upon Sir Henry Irving's rendering of Macbeth, the humour of the article not being quite as apparent as it was intended to be. This caused Irving [and his friends] so much annoyance that he commenced an action against us for libel. However, Sims at once acknowledged the authorship of the article, with ample apologies and regrets, and assurance that there was no "malice aforethought," and Henry Sampson did the same as the responsible editor, so Sir Henry, in a very handsome and kindly manner, withdrew from the prosecution, and the matter ended.
For several years George Dalziel (the elder of the Brothers), regularly contributed short stories and verse to "Hood's Annual." Among the latter was a rather lengthy poem, of which we give a few of the verses:
WHAT THE MOON SAW.
Oh, can the earth, so dream-like sleeping lie
Beneath the rays of that pale silvery moon,
That never gives a weary moan or cry,
Or sign that sorrow dwelt 'twixt night and noon?
There, calmly sailing on amid the stars,
She looks as though no ruthless thought nor care,
Nor wicked deed could ever be that mars
And lays the black spots of our nature bare.
She looks as though she never yet had seen
An ill deed done in all the million years
That she has gazed upon the earth, or been
Pale witness to a flood of bitter tears,—
Pale witness to the darkest deeds that man,
With demon brooding in his heart, could frame:
Foul, miry spots her gentle eye doth scan,
And "Lady Moon" goes smiling, all the same.
Lo! she did see the budding earth when young;
She saw the first red rose that e'er did bloom;
She heard the first grand carol that was sung,
And saw the mountains clothed with golden broom.
She heard each silvery stream and gurgling brook
Hymn its new song of never-ending praise,
And leaves and flowers, in every ferny nook,
Sing psalms to greet the glorious king of days.
* * * * * * *
She heard the first wild notes of Jubal's lyre,
That fell upon the ear like magic sound—
The first bright spark of that celestial fire
That thrills with rapture rare the whole world round.
She heard the first loud burst of ocean roar,
And saw the crested waves careering fly;—
She heard its ripple kiss the sandy shore,—
And saw the white foam dash against the sky.
* * * * * * *
Years, centuries told, come on, and quickly fly,
And this world rolls beneath the silvery moon
As she sails calmly through the deep blue sky
Unheeding joy or sorrow, night or noon.
Unheeding revel, wail, or bitter cry,
Or joy, or grief, or weary toil, or rest,—
She slowly climbs the ever-darkening sky,
While dying sunlight pales upon her breast.