The MINISTER OF MUNITIONS had a good audience for his review of the wonderful work of his department. Who could refuse the chance of listening to ADDISON on Steel? I cannot honestly say that the result of this combination was quite so sparkling as it should have been, for the orator stuck closely to his manuscript and allowed himself few flights of fancy. But the facts spoke for themselves, and the House readily endorsed the verdict already given by Vimy Ridge and Messines.
"You remember that lachrymose elegiac of Tom Moore, The Exile's Lament,
—Canadian Courier.'I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side.'"
'I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side.'"
No, frankly, we don't. But we seem to have a dim recollection that Lady DUFFERIN wrote something very like it.
A RESOLUTION.
I'll tell you what I mean to do
When these our wars shall cease to rage:
I'll go where Summer skies are blue
And Spring enjoys her heritage;
I shall not work for fame or wage,
But wear a large black silk cravat,
A velvet coat that's grey with age
Beneath a high-crowned broad-brimmed hat.
I'll journey to some Tuscan town
And rent a palace for a song,
And all the walls I'll whitewash down
Some day when I am feeling strong;
And there I'll pass my days among
My books, and, when my reading palls
And Summer days are overlong,
I'll daub up frescoes on the walls.
The world may go her divers ways
The while I draw or write or smoke,
Happy to live laborious days
There among simple painter folk;
To wed the olive and the oak,
Most patiently to woo the Muse,
And wear a great big Tuscan cloak
To guard against the heavy dews.
Between the olive and the vine
I'll make heroic mock of Mars,
And drink at even golden wine
Kept cool in terra-cotta jars;
And afterwards harangue the stars
In little gems of fervid speech,
And smoke impossible cigars
Which cost at least three soldi each.
Let more ambitious spirits spin
The web of life for weal or woe,
Whilst I above my violin
Shall sit and watch the vale below
All crimson in the afterglow;
And when the patient stars grow bright
I'll draw across the strings my bow
Till Chopin ushers in the night.
Such things as these I mean to do
When Peace once more resumes her sway;
To walk barefooted through the dew
And while the sunlit hours away,
If haply I may find some gay
Conceit to light a sombre mind,
As gracious as a Summer day,
As wayward as an April wind.