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Territorial (giving himself away to proprietor of coal-heap). "Could you lend us a bucket of coal until it's dark?"
THE ORGANIST.
A Modern Portrait.
Grave and serene, though young at heart,
"The Doctor," so his boys address him,
And rightly, since his healing art
Has made full many a mourner bless him—
For close on twenty years has served
An ancient church renowned in story,
And never in his teaching swerved
From studying God's greater glory.
His choir, like every singing school,
By turns angelic and demonic,
Are quick to recognise a rule
That is both "dominant" and "tonic;"
For contact with so rare a mind
Has seldom failed to spur and raise them,
And when they shirk their needful grind
With just rebuke he turns and flays them.
Withal he knows that human boys
Are dulled by industry unending,
And unreservedly enjoys
Himself at seasons of unbending;
A diet of perpetual Psalms
Is only fit for saints and Dantes,
And so he varies Bach and Brahms
With simple tunes and rousing chanties.
His taste is catholic and sane;
He does not treat as worthless lumber
All Mendelssohn, or Spohr disdain,
Or let the works of Handel slumber;
He likes to keep Church music clear
From operatic frills and ribbons,
And never ceases to revere
Tallis and Purcell, Byrd and Gibbons.
And thus he wisely neither aims
At showing off his erudition,
Nor for his choir and organ claims
A prima donna-like position;
He sees no virtue in mere speed,
With sentiment he scorns to palter,
And gives his most especial heed
To the clear chanting of the Psalter.
He loves his organ far too well
To be o'er-lavish with its thunder,
Yet wields at will the magic spell
That moves our hearts to awe or wonder;
Three centuries have lent its keys
All that consoles, inspires, rejoices,
And with a calm consummate ease
He blends the new and ancient voices.
And in these days when mothers mourn,
When joy is fled and faith is shaken,
When age survives bereft, forlorn,
And youth before its prime is taken,
He draws from music's soul divine
A double magic, gently pleading
With grief its passion to resign
And happy warriors vanward speeding.
The hurrying years their changes bring;
New-comers fill the singers' benches;
And many whom he taught to sing
To-day are fighting in the trenches;
But howsoe'er their sun shall set,
They'll face or glory or disaster
More nobly for the lifelong debt
They owe to their beloved master.
"On the other hand, the motor cycle rider may consider the law of expediency. When he confronts a motor car that insists on taking more than one-half of the road, it is up to him to stop and consider: 'Shall I insist on my rightful half of the road, and perhaps get injured, or shall I waive my right and break my neck?'"—Cape Argus.
Personally we wave our neck, and brake with the right.
From a sale advert.:—
- "OAK BEDSTEADS.
- PILLOW CASES.
- BREAKFAST SET
To match above for 6 persons."</poem>
However, it is generally considered dangerous to breakfast more than five in a bed.
