Part 7 (1/2)

Our hero married the Fairy, much against his mother's wishes; she knew her son all too well, and she felt certain that she should soon come to know Polly as well, and as unfavorably. Things turned out no better than she had expected. After a month of incompatibility, and worse, Polly consented to a divorce in consideration of one hundred thousand dollars, and they all lived happily ever afterward.

A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO

”_Fay ce que vouldras._”

”FAY CE QUE VOULDRAS.”

_Do what thou wilt._ Long known to fame That ancient motto of Theleme.

To this our abbey hither bring, Wisdom or wit, thine offering, Or low or lofty be thine aim.

Here is no virtue in a name, But all are free to play the game.

Here, welcome as the flow'rs of Spring, _Do what thou wilt._

Each in these halls a place may claim, And is, if sad, alone to blame.

Kick up thy heels and dance and sing-- To any wild conceit give wing-- Be fool or sage, 'tis all the same-- _Do what thou wilt._

That was an amusing tale of the man who complained of injuries resulting from a loaded seegar. He knew when he smoked it that it was a trick weed, and knew that it would explode, but he ”didn't know when.” He reminds us very strongly of a parlor bolshevist.

”Man,” as they sing in ”Princess Ida,” ”is nature's sole mistake.” And he never appears more of a rummy than when some woman kills herself for him, in his embarra.s.sed presence. His first thought is always of himself.

A history exam in a public school contains this delightful information: ”Patrick Henry said, 'I rejoice that I have but one country to live for.'”

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. There are some who, like a certain capable rounder, lately departed, have time to manage a large business, maintain two or more domestic establishments, razz, jazz, get drunk, and fight; while others of us cannot find time in the four and twenty hours to do half the things we wish to achieve. Although your orator has nothing to do but ”write a few headlines and go home,”

as Old Bill Byrne says, night overtakes him with half his ch.o.r.es undone.

Time gallops withal.

”They know what they like.”

There are exceptions. The author of ”Set Down in Malice” mentions a number, the most conspicuous being Ernest Newman. And we recall an exception, Mr. Jimmie Whittaker, merriest of critics, who was so far from knowing what he liked that he adopted the plan, in considering the Symphony concerts, of praising the even numbers one week and d.a.m.ning the even numbers the following week.

Like Ernest Newman, we shall never again hear the Chopin Funeral March without being reminded of Mr. Sidgwick's summary: ”Most funeral marches seem to cheer up in the middle and become gloomy again. I suppose the idea is, (1) the poor old boy's dead; (2) well, after all, he's probably gone to heaven; (3) still, anyhow, the poor old boy's dead.”