The recent discovery of a London millionaire, who not only lives in a
small suburban villa, where his wife dispenses with servants, goes to
bed at 7.30 p.m. and rises at 3 a.m., but reads Homer in the Greek, has
caused a sensation.
His endeavours to prove to a doubting world the truth of a favourite
British adage is admirable; and his modest establishment only bears out
what the millionaires keep on telling us, that, owing to high taxation
and the abnormal cost of luxuries, they must really be reckoned as poor
men. But his study of Homer provokes a difference of opinion.
Our representative, in interviewing a venerable sociologist on the
subject, was told that the study of Greek for millionaires is, within
proper limits, comparatively harmless, but that Homer contains the
elements of danger.
"It is in Homer's apotheosis of heroism in human combat that the peril
lies," he said. "Having regard to the part played in the past by
financiers in the wars between civilised nations, the security of the
League of Nations will be threatened if the millionaires of to-day come
under the spell of that great poet, who, with all his excellent
qualities, directed his genius so persistently to the praise of
warfare."
One of the millionaire class was next approached, and was asked what he
thought of millionaires reading Homer.
"Why not?" he asked. "Some millionaires are great readers. I am one
myself. There are not half-a-dozen of Oppenheim's I haven't read; and I
like Hall Caine--and Ethel Dell's not bad. Who is this Homer? If he's
any good I may as well order him."
"Well, Homer was a poet, you know, a--"
"I've no use for poetry," said the millionaire.
"A Greek poet, who lived--"
"Greek. A _Greek_, did you say?" A shrewd look came into his eyes. "Some
of the cutest devils I know are Greeks." He pulled down a shirt-cuff and
took a diamond-studded pencil from his waistcoat pocket. "How do you
spell it? With an H?"
* * * * *
"POULTRY AND EGGS.
Belfast or Neighbourhood.--Locum Tenency or Sunday duty wanted
by well-known Rector during holiday."--_Irish Paper._
It looks as if he had been mistaken for a Lay-reader.
* * * * *
"Nothing is left of the knave of the church, but the choir still
remains."--_Scotch Paper._
We are glad they discarded the knave.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Country Cousin_ (_who suffers from his wife's elbow at
each crossing_). "Oo! lawks, Maria! Next time we've to cross lemme be
roon ower!"]
* * * * *