(_Sung apologetically at a recent Banquet._)
"You do not know the number of muzzled Ciceros who are sitting in
the House of Commons, men who have come from the constituencies
conscious of their power, anxious to render service to the
State."--_Mr. Goschen at the Mansion House._
WHAT if garrulity be rife,
And what if bald debate,
Spun out in empty Party strife,
Has sealed the Session's fate!
What if the tap-room jest has sped,
And hot retort has stirred,
While threats to punch a Member's head
Have been distinctly heard!
Ah, what?--If but the House disclose
A score of Muzzled Ciceros!
What if things are not as they were
Some twenty years ago;
And manners that might make one stare
Are now thought _comme il faut_;
What if the tongue of Billingsgate,
The grace of Seven Dials,
Now modestly subserve the State?
There's one at them who smiles,
And points to where there sit in rows
A score of Muzzled Ciceros!
* * * * *
NAUTICAL SUPERSTITION.--Mr. DAVID JONES, of the Welsh Mercantile Marine,
Shipowner, proposed to call a vessel recently completed the
_Eisteddfod_. A Saxon seaman objected to that as an unlucky name,
because any ship so denominated would be sure to spring a leek.
* * * * *
All the Difference.
"Every Poet hates to be called 'Mr.'"--_Globe._
FORMALITY sometimes is Scorn's twin sister--
The prefix to the Poet means disaster;
But though no Bard would be addressed as "Mister,"
How they all love to be addressed as "Master!"
* * * * *