I know his step, his ring, his knock,
I hear him, too, explain,
With emphasis my nerves that shock,
That he "won't call again!"
I know that bodes a coming storm--
A summons looms a-head!
I follow his retreating form,
And note his stealthy tread!
Some grace to beg, implore, beseech,
'Twere vain! Let him depart!
I know no human cry can reach
That Tax-Collector's heart!
He kept his word. To claim that rate
He never called again.
An outraged Vestry, loth to wait,
Soon made their purpose plain.
I know not how, I missed the day,--
But that fell summons came.
Two shillings costs it took to play
That Tax-Collector's game.
I own the outlay was not much!
But, _that_ is not the smart:
'Tis that no anguished shriek can touch
That Tax-Collector's heart!
* * * * *
"MORS ET VITA."--A fine performance, April 15, at Albert Hall, with ALBANI,
HILDA WILSON, Messrs. LLOYD, and WATKIN MILLS, and Dr. MACKENZIE, as
conductor or con-doctor. I should have given, writes our correspondent, a
full and enthusiastic account of it, but that I was bothered all the time
by two persons near me, who would talk and wouldn't listen. Thank goodness,
they didn't stay throughout the performance. In a theatre they'd have been
hushed down, but this is such a big place that a talking duet is heard only
in the immediate neighbourhood of the talkers; and then no one wants to
have a row during the performance of sacred music. It's like brawling in
church.
* * * * *