"I DON'T THINK SO, THANKS. HE
LOOKS RATHER FEARSOME."
_Fellow-Guest._ "MY DEAR, HE'S ONE OF THE FEW DECENT PEOPLE HERE--BELONGS
TO AN OLD ENGLISH LABOURING FAMILY."]
* * * * *
I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
(_Carefully imitated from the best models, except that it has somehow
got into metre and rhyme._)
Four-and-ninety English winters
Having flecked my hair with snows,
I am ready for the printers,
And my publishers suppose
That these random recollections
Of a mid-Victorian male,
Owing to my high connections,
Ought to have a fairish sale.
Comrades of my giddy zenith,
Gazing back in retrospect,
I should say Lord Brixton (Kenneth)
Had the brightest intellect;
Though of course no age enfeebles
James Kircudbright's mental vim
(Now the seventh Duke of Peebles)--
I have lots of tales of Jim.
We were gilded youths together
In our Foreign Office days;
Used to fish and tramp the heather
At his uncle's castle, "Braes;"
I recall our wild elation
One day when we stole the hat,
At the Honduras Legation,
Of a Danish diplomat.
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