Part 54 (1/2)

THE FABULISTS

When all the world would have a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom friend to any crowd, Men write in fable, as old aesop did, Jesting at that which none will name aloud.

And this they needs must do, or it will fall Unless they please they are not heard at all.

When desperate Folly daily laboureth To work confusion upon all we have, When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom's death, And banded Fear commandeth Honour's grave-- Even in that certain hour before the fall Unless men please they are not heard at all.

Needs must all please, yet some not all for need Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain, But that men taking pleasure may take heed, Whom present toil shall s.n.a.t.c.h from later pain.

Thus some have toiled but their reward was small Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all.

This was the lock that lay upon our lips, This was the yoke that we have undergone, Denying us all pleasant fellows.h.i.+ps As in our time and generation.

Our pleasures unpursued age past recall.

And for our pains--we are not heard at all.

What man hears aught except the groaning guns?

What man heeds aught save what each instant brings?

When each man's life all imaged life outruns, What man shall pleasure in imaginings?

So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall, We are not, nor we were not, heard at all.

The Vortex

(August 1914)

'Thy Lord spoke by inspiration to the Bee.'

AL KORAN.

I have, to my grief and loss, suppressed several notable stories of my friend, the Hon. A.M. Penfentenyou[8], once Minister of Woods and Waysides in De Thouar's first administration; later, Premier in all but name of one of Our great and growing Dominions; and now, as always, the idol of his own Province, which is two and one-half the size of England.

[Footnote 8: See 'The Puzzler,' _Actions and Reactions_.]

For this reason I hold myself at liberty to deal with some portion of the truth concerning Penfentenyou's latest visit to Our sh.o.r.es. He arrived at my house by car, on a hot summer day, in a white waistcoat and spats, sweeping black frock-coat and glistening top-hat--a little rounded, perhaps, at the edges, but agile as ever in mind and body.

'What is the trouble now?' I asked, for the last time we had met, Penfentenyou was floating a three-million pound loan for his beloved but unscrupulous Province, and I did not wish to entertain any more of his financial friends.

'We,' Penfentenyou replied amba.s.sadorially, 'have come to have a Voice in Your Councils. By the way, the Voice is coming down on the evening train with my Agent-General. I thought you wouldn't mind if I invited 'em. You know We're going to share Your burdens henceforward. You'd better get into training.'

'Certainly,' I replied. 'What's the Voice like?'

'He's in earnest,' said Penfentenyou. 'He's got It, and he's got It bad.

He'll give It to you,' he said.

'What's his name?'

'We call him all sorts of names, but I think you'd better call him Mr.

Lingnam. You won't have to do it more than once.'

'What's he suffering from?'