In a biographical sketch of the late Rev. Dr. JULIUS HAWLEY
SEELYE, formerly President of Amherst College, in America, I
read that "Amherst made him President notwithstanding considerable
opposition in the faculty. He soon overcame that, and advanced the
prosperity of the College in the accessions to its faculty and
endowments that he secured. He soon required the students to sign an
agreement to be gentlemen. A violation of the pledge resulted in the
termination of their careers at Amherst." This sounds strange, for it
would appear that if no pledge had been given the students might have
behaved as they liked, without terminating their careers. The idea of
solemnly pledging yourself to be a gentleman is quite colossal.
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The Independent Labour Party is not dead yet. It is forming clubs,
just like any ordinary humdrum party. The _Western Daily Press_
reports that "At a special meeting held at LEE'S Coffee
Tavern, Bath Bridge, last night, when there were present Mr. W.
S. M. KNIGHT, president of the Bristol South Independent Labour
Party (in the chair), Messrs. A. BROWNE, E. B. HACK,
C. VALE, C. F. BROCKLEHURST, T. POLE, C.
PARKER, and W. PRICE, it was unanimously decided to open
a club for Totterdown and the East Ward of Bedminster in connection
with the Independent Labour Party. Officers and a committee were
appointed, and suitable headquarters for the club were decided upon."
Nothing could be more appropriate. Totterdown suggests decrepitude and
failure (in this case at least), and Bedminster hints at repose and
peace. I offer the suggestion and the hint gratis to the Independent
Labour Windbags.
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The Loveday Street Canal Bridge (which is, I fancy, in Birmingham) is
evidently a demon bridge with a depraved taste for injuring children.
One day last week it threw JOHN CHICK, aged seven, off and
broke one of his legs. About five hours later, resenting an attempt on
the part of THOMAS WALTON, aged twelve, to climb it, it flung
him off on to the towing-path and injured his back. A few days before
that it had precipitated the same THOMAS WALTON into the
water, whence he was rescued with some difficulty. Evidently this is a
bridge with an ungovernable temper, and the authorities should guard it
efficiently.
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_The Scotsman_ informs me that "speaking the other day at Haddington,
Mr. BALFOUR glanced scathingly at those politicians of the
baser sort who seek to confuse great issues by dragging to the front
petty or irrelevant questions, and the breath of whose nostrils is
the disturbance of the harmony which should subsist between class
and class of the community." On this two questions arise. The first
is how Mr. BALFOUR, an amiable gentleman, managed to glance
scathingly. To scath, as I learn from the dictionary, means to hurt,
to injure; and, personally, I cannot imagine Mr. BALFOUR
infusing very much venom into a mere glance of his expressive eye. The
second question is how politicians, even of the baser sort, can go on
living when their unfortunate lungs are filled with a disturbance of
harmony. That they should have sufficient strength left to drag to the
front petty or irrelevant questions is nothing short of a marvel, due
allowance being made for metaphors.
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A golfer is in trouble, and has confided his difficulties to _Golf_.
Whilst playing on the links at Streetly, on July 16, he drove a ball,
which apparently fell clear, but which for some time could not be
found. After some little hunting it was discovered under a small tuft
of heather in a lark's nest, resting on the back of a young lark,
apparently about four days old, together with three lark's eggs,
which were quite intact. The golfer was obliged, of course, to lift
the ball and place it behind, as it would have been gross cruelty to
have played it from the nest. It was match play. Under the exceptional
circumstances was he bound to lose the hole? The editor replies that
if a player were a stickler for the law and nothing but the law, he,
of course, would be entitled to enforce it against his opponent who
found the ball in the nest.
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A tee for your ball, you may fashion of sand
(Which is found in the sugar you use for your tea);
Then you spread your legs wide, and you take a firm stand,
And away with a whack goes the ball flying free.
If it flies like a bird, there's no need to explain;
If not, then the ways of that golfer are dark,
Who attempts, though the effort is doomed to be vain,
To stand, taking tee on the back of a lark.
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There has been some excitement at Weston-super-Mare. The "Conservative
party organized a reception for the Hon. G. H. JOLLIFFE on his
first appearance in the town since his election for the Wells division.
Arrangements were made for those intending to take part in the
procession to meet the hon. gentleman at the Potteries on his return
from Banwell Horse Show at 7 p.m., but he arrived in the town a quarter
of an hour too early, and scores of enthusiasts were disappointed.
Those, however, who happened to be early enough followed the hon.
gentleman, some on foot and others in cabs, to the Royal Hotel, the
Town Band heading the procession. Mr. JOLLIFFE rode on a coach
drawn by four horses, and was supported by several of the leaders of
the party in the town. Subsequently he addressed those assembled."
But if Mr. JOLLIFFE rode on a coach, why was it necessary to
support him? Moreover, seeing that it was a four-horse affair, it seems
unjust that the leaders should be talked of and that no mention at all
should be made of the wheelers.
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NANA SAHIB has died once more.
A Mr. WILLIAM BROWN, who was formerly an officer in the East
India Company's service, and is now residing at San Francisco, gives
the following particulars regarding the fate of NANA SAHIB.
Mr. BROWN says that he was commodore of the Ganges Fleet
in the Indian Mutiny, and was attacked by Sepoys under NANA
SAHIB himself, who was shot in the fighting, and afterwards died
on board Mr. BROWN'S ship. NANA SAHIB'S body was
then cremated, and the ashes were committed to the river.
Why, oh why, has Mr. BROWN, whom I heartily congratulate on
clearing up the mystery, kept silence for nearly forty years? And, by
the way, which Mr. WILLIAM BROWN is he? There must be a good
many WILLIAM BROWN'S even in San Francisco. Before concluding
that the matter is definitely settled, I should like to hear Mr.
HENRY SMITH, Mr. RICHARD ROBINSON, and Mr. JOHN
JONES on the subject.
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