Mary (exploring). "Oh, look, Mummie, I've found a smuggler's cave!"
Yes, I must pack my things, and, what is worse,
Must pack alone, for James, my faithful man,
The ancient servitor who knows my wants,
Is busy, and to-day he cannot aid.
The house is in a turmoil, and the maids
Speed to and fro without a moment's stay.
The corridors and all the rooms resound
With footfalls, and the lady of the house,
Her sleeves tucked up (they always tuck their sleeves),
Her working-apron girt about her form,
Bustles around and issues her commands,
As who should say, "Behold me as I pack;
This is no place for men who do not pack,
Who play with dogs, or smoke their cigarettes,
Or read the papers, getting in the way
Of workers." So she packs and packs and packs.
Four children in their various rooms have spread
All the contents of drawers upon the floor,
A most insane disorder, while they eat
Cream chocolates, for their mother is not there.
They too wear aprons, and their cheeks are red,
Their hair is tousled, and the rooms resound
With battle-cry and challenge, and the air
Is thick with things they hurl at one another.
And I, too, yield and go to pack my things.
Yet how shall man decide what he may want
In four revolving weeks; what hats, what coats,
How many collars and what handkerchiefs,
What flannel trousers—all the articles,
Shoes, scissors, waistcoats, gaudy ties and boots,
Socks, safety-razor-blades and leather belts,
Studs, links, dress-suit, and plain and coloured shirts,
And undervests—the articles, in short,
That make a man in very truth a man?
Did Agamemnon, when he rushed to war,
And sought the dreadful fields of Ilium—
Did he pack up, or trust the thing to slaves,
Saying, "Put in my six best pairs of greaves,
Four regal mantles, sandals for the shore,
And fourteen glittering helmets with their plumes,
And ten strong breastplates and a sheaf of swords,
And crowns and robes and tunics, and of spears
A goodly number, such as may beseem
The office and the valour of a King.
Ay, and if one least thing you should forget
Your lives shall pay the forfeit. Go and pack?"
If it was thus that Agamemnon spake
I envy him, for I must pack alone.
I shall forget the necessary things
And take the useless, having none to blame
Save only my incomparable mind.
A Sporting Offer.
From The Times on the Servian Chief of Staff:—
As the Austro-Hungarian Army is imbued with a much too chivalrous feeling to deprive the Servian Army of its loader an opportunity will be given him to continue his journey to Servia to-day, and a special saloon carriage will be placed at his disposal.—Reuter."
An unusual luxury for a loader.
"Headstone, cost £12, for £7: selling cheap through death of proprietor."—Glasgow Evening Citizen.
Not sufficient reason for us.
