But the facts spoke for themselves, and the House readily
endorsed the verdict already given by Vimy Ridge and Messines.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"DOES GOD MAKE LIONS, MOTHER?"
"YES, DEAR."
"BUT ISN'T HE FRIGHTENED TO?"
* * * * *
"You remember that lachrymose elegiac of Tom Moore, The
Exile's Lament,
'I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side.'"
--_Canadian Courier._
No, frankly, we don't. But we seem to have a dim recollection that Lady
DUFFERIN wrote something very like it.
* * * * *
A RESOLUTION.
I'll tell you what I mean to do
When these our wars shall cease to rage:
I'll go where Summer skies are blue
And Spring enjoys her heritage;
I shall not work for fame or wage,
But wear a large black silk cravat,
A velvet coat that's grey with age
Beneath a high-crowned broad-brimmed hat.
I'll journey to some Tuscan town
And rent a palace for a song,
And all the walls I'll whitewash down
Some day when I am feeling strong;
And there I'll pass my days among
My books, and, when my reading palls
And Summer days are overlong,
I'll daub up frescoes on the walls.
The world may go her divers ways
The while I draw or write or smoke,
Happy to live laborious days
There among simple painter folk;
To wed the olive and the oak,
Most patiently to woo the Muse,
And wear a great big Tuscan cloak
To guard against the heavy dews.
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