SCENE--_Breakfast-table of an Illustrious Statesman of stalwart
proportions and "Gladstonian" politics. Illustrious Statesman
discovered, admiringly perusing three closely-printed columns of
leading Morning Paper._
[Illustration]
_I. S._ (_soliloquising_). Hah! Really reads very well, _very_ well
indeed. Points neatly put, hits smartly delivered! They shan't call me
the "Champion Slugger" for nothing. American pugilist, named SULLIVAN,
original bearer of that honorific title, I believe. Should like to see
SULLIVAN. A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous--curious. _Not_ kind,
always, or JOSEPH and WILLIAM--but no matter.
Hm--m--m! Hm--m--m--m! Excellent! Sparklers calculated to illuminate
Lewes, startle Sussex, electrify the country. Slugging and sparkling
my specialities. One or two decent speakers about; "our distinguished
leader" can--distinguish, at great length and with considerable
verbosi--I mean eloquence. RANDOLPH can rattle, and MORLEY can pound,
and ROSEBERY twitter pleasantly. But they can't coruscate _and_ crush.
The power of the bolt, which at once shines and smashes, is
Jovian--not Rhodian, as DIZZY once nastily suggested. "My thunder,"
and I'm proud of it.
By the way, wonder what the _other_ "Thunderer" thinks of it. Touches
a tender chord, the chord of memory. Lost chord now, indeed. But no
matter, let's see.
[_Turns paper._
Hm--m--m! Hm--m--m--m! Hah! _Too_ bad! "His bludgeon, or--considering
his present connection--may we say his shillelagh?" Tut-tut! The
Cloud-Compeller as a bludgeon-man, the Titan-queller flourishing a
blackthorn like a tenth-rate Theseus, a Hibernian Hercules! Absurd! No
sense of keeping whatever. "Swashbuckler," too! Nasty, and not even
new!
As to "beating the big drum in Sussex"--why, how often have I done
it--to their delight--in their own pages! "Travesty of contemporary
history"--this to their own omniscient HISTORICUS!
Shows the "Champion Slugger" has struck home, though. Your
hard-hitter--your fellow who smites, as the appreciative rustic
(Sussex man, I wonder?) put it, "blooming hard, blooming high, and
blooming often," generally scores--even in the cricket-field. I am the
BONNOR of debate, the THORNTON of the platform. And doesn't the "Ring"
like it?
Knocked holes in the "Jubilee Session," I fancy, "Ignorant people who
mistake the flush of fever for the bloom of health, the torpor of
apoplexy for the tranquillity of sleep," think that blazing BALFOUR
and stertorous SMITH are never "a penny the worse" for my repeated
poundings. Pooh! "Salted with fire"--_my_ fire--they--not being of the
indomitable race of DIZZY--will _not_ "undecaying live" much longer. I
prophesy--but no, prophecy, _private_ prophecy at least, is not
profitable. Don't suppose a Delphic priest, or even a Derby tipster
ever wasted time in prophesying _to himself!_
Still--still, _if_ Champion "slugging" combined with coruscation
_does_ lead to Leadership--as why should it not?--I fancy I know some
one who will have what the sporting patterers call, I think, "a look
in" one of these days. Parochial shrewdness is all very well, so is
philosophical precision combined with Puritan fervour. But the
"swashing blow" strikes home, and if the Unionist bucklers are beaten
down thereby, let who likes cry "swashbuckler!" As to
"shillelaghs"--why is not "blackthorns to the front!" the order of the
hour?
[_Left smiling._
* * * * *
IN TROUBLED WATERS.--Mr. CHAMBERLAIN is being praised in some quarters
for saying that we should leave Irish affairs, and "attend to our own
business." The inference seems to be that "Irish affairs" are _not_
"our business." Is not Ireland as much a part of the United Kingdom as
England, Scotland, or Wales? We shall be glad of a line from Mr.
CHAMBERLAIN--when he gets to his Fisheries.
* * * * *