WHATEVER the world may weary of; and men get tired of most things in the course of time, it never seems to lose its appetite for eating and drinking. Individuals may, and do become blasé, and were it not for perennial indiscretions in the choice of foods, in the methods of cooking, and in the manner of eating and drinking, the medical profession would soon lose the greater part of its income, and yet, happily for the human race, the vast majority of people maintain those healthy conditions of supply and demand which enable them to “throw physic to the dogs” and to enjoy, without stint or waste, “the kindly fruits of the earth.”
The private dinner party has been already dealt with, and it may be said of the public dinner that while it loses to a large extent the intimate social charm of the select dinner table it adds in compensation the inspiration of numbers, and commonly the interest of occasion, some object of special concern being usually the raison d’être of the festival. Hospitality is a common virtue of humanity, and it would be profitless to attempt to determine what age or peoples have been most given to its display, but wherever shown, it is universally admitted that the social consumption of good food is a sure promoter of good feeling, and that it is always safer to make claims upon human generosity after, than before a meal. This is true of all time, and operates all the world over. We have a saying that “the way to an Englishman’s heart is through his stomach,” and Sydney Smith once recommended a colonial bishop to apply this formula to ingratiate himself with his flock by always keeping a nice piece of cold missionary ready on the sideboard, in case a native might call. It is on this principle that public dinners are frequently organised in the cause of charity and for the furtherance of philanthropic enterprises. Lord Beaconsfield once said that he attributed the good feeling maintained in political circles among rival politicians to the Englishman’s habit of talking politics after dinner, and this too is a tribute to the humanising and harmonising influence of the social feast.
Public dinners are held for a large variety of purposes—to celebrate anniversaries, to mark public events, to crown great occasions and to honour distinguished men. As most business assemblies model their procedure on the methods of the “Mother of Parliaments,” most public dinners follow the precedents of state banquets and the great dinners of the larger public institutions.
The progress of civilisation is said to be marked by developments of refinement in the habits of eating and drinking, and it would be interesting, if space permitted, to compare point by point the characteristics of the ancient and the modern banquet. Pepys lifts the curtain and gives us an interesting peep at the Lord Mayor’s feast of 1663, Sir Anthony Bate-man’s year. He says “At noon I went forth by coach to Guildhall. . . . We went up and down to see the tables where, under every salt there was a bill of fare, and at the end of the table the persons proper for the table. Many were the tables, but none in the hall but the Mayor’s and the Lords of the Privy Council that had napkins or knives, which was very strange.” It appears that the introduction of the fork, which came from Italy, put the napkin out of countenance for a time, and it is probable that the guests brought a knife and fork with them. “I sat at the merchant strangers’ table,” continues the diarist; “where ten good dishes to a messe . . . but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins nor change of trenchers, and drank out of earthen pitchers and wooden dishes.” These banquets are said to have cost from £700 to £800. Accounts show that as late as the year 1782 no fewer than 1,249 bottles of wine were consumed at the Lord Mayor’s banquet. Port was the leading temptation in those days, and 438 bottles of suppressed gout were disposed of at this feast, to say nothing of 220 bottles of Lisbon, which is said to have been a wine of similar character. 168 bottles of claret figured in the list, 143 of champagne, 116 of Burgundy, 90 of Madeira, 66 of hock, 4 of malmsey or sack and 4 of brandy. It will be seen by these facts that much progress has been made since Pepys had more or less to “eat with his fingers,” and six-bottle men finished their dinners under the table.
Of the dinners themselves little need be said. Menus vary, but they never fail to explain themselves as well, at least, as the chef’s knowledge of kitchen French will allow, and the price paid for the ticket is usually some guide as to the variety if not the quality the diner may expect. The writer once insisted upon the menu for a dinner over which he presided being printed in English. He will not repeat the experiment. Bad French may not be appetising, but bad English is positively indigestible.
At public dinners the price of the ticket often includes a first course of wine. This varies, but includes the wine placed on the table in the first instance, and usually carries the diner as far as the entrées, but does not include champagne.
After-dinner speeches are much less the order of the day than formerly, but at most public dinners toasts are proposed and spoken to, and those who can speak with ease and grace are always in demand. After-dinner oratory should be as light as the dessert, and as sparkling as the champagne. Dull speeches are a nuisance at any time, but after dinner they are anathema maranatha. In the following pages a number of specimen speeches are given, more by way of suggestion than as models to be committed to memory and delivered word for word. As two or three examples are given in most cases, the speaker who finds it convenient to use such aids will be able to select points from one and another which, linked up with his own thoughts, may be easily adapted to the occasion which demands his effort.
Those who are called upon to respond to the toasts drunk are usually persons in some way associated with the institutions or vocations which the toast is designed to honour, and therefore may reasonably be expected to be familiar with the interests they are called upon to represent. As their main duty is merely to say “Thank you,” with as much dignity and grace as they can command, and add perhaps a few words upon points raised in the speech of the proposer, there is no need to supply them with suggestions as to subject-matter. The one caution the specialist needs perhaps more than any other speaker is one against prolixity. Some men cannot resist the temptation to let themselves go on occasion, and when Professor Dry-as-dust sets out to air his pet theories, or Dr. Hum-and-haw insists on riding his time-worn hobbies to death, the result can only be weariness of the flesh and vexation of spirit. Brevity is the soul of wit; and all after-dinner speeches should be short and sweet.
As already indicated, there is a tendency to reduce the number of speeches on public occasions, and where orators are few it is well to do so. Good speaking is always listened to with pleasure and profit, but it is too much to expect any company to drink the health of others at the expense of their own, and long, dull, and heavy speeches are not healthy at any time.
The first three toasts, the order of which is invariably followed, are 1. THE KING; 2. THE QUEEN, QUEEN ALEXANDRA, THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE OTHER MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL FAMILY; and 3. THE IMPERIAL FORCES: THE NAVY, AND THE ARMY . The third toast is usually responded to by representatives of the Admiralty, and the Horse Guards, or by officers of the respective services. The fourth toast at such banquets as those given at the Guildhall on November 9, or by the Royal Academy on the eve of the opening of their annual exhibitions is His Majesty’s Ministers. These are both occasions upon which some members of the Cabinet are present, and the duty of responding falls upon the Prime Minister. At the Guildhall Banquet the fifth toast is commonly “Their Excellencies the Foreign Ministers,” and the sixth, “The Judges and the Bar of England.” These are followed by toasts honouring the outgoing and the incoming Lord Mayors and Sheriffs. At the Royal Academy Banquet of 1911 the same order was followed up to toast four, after which an omnibus toast was proposed by Sir Edward Poynter in terms which will explain the reason, and emphasise observations already made. In proposing the toast of “The Guests,” he said: “Of late years it has been what I cannot but regard as a laudable custom, to curtail the number of speeches at public dinners, and we have found it advisable to conform to what is, no doubt, a general wish. We have therefore included in the toast ‘The Guests,’ the representatives of the various offices of dignity and of such professional pursuits as science, literature, music and the drama; which we formerly distinguished by special toasts.” This practice has been largely followed elsewhere, and the example may be commended for adoption to an even wider extent. In this case the names of distinguished members of the professions expected to respond are coupled with the toast, and in the result the speeches are not necessarily fewer, but at least the abandonment of the formal proposal of each one separately saves time, and the pledging of a number of toasts in one is favourable to temperance. Those expected to respond should in all cases be invited to do so, or at least “forewarned,” that they may be “forearmed.” It is not polite, and it is often unkind, to take speakers by surprise.
In addressing the company at a banquet, care should be taken to open with a formula which includes all those who are present. At a Guildhall Banquet of November 9 this formula would be: “My Lord Mayor, Your Excellencies, My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen; the term “Your Excellencies,” being used in reference to Foreign Ministers. Inexperienced speakers are not likely to be called upon to speak first on such occasions, and their best cue as to methods of address is the form folowed by earlier speakers.
Young speakers should be careful in these matters, for it is very easy in the confusion of the moment to say Ladies and Gentlemen when there are no ladies present, or to use the word gentlemen only when the audience is a mixed one. The first error always causes a smile, the second often causes annoyance. Speakers unaware what distinguished guests may be present should consult the printed list,
The first toast, as we have already seen, is always that of “THE KING.” It is proposed by the President, who speaks to it or not at his discretion. As a rule, the less said the better, for no argument is necessary, and the toast is always sure of being drunk with full honours. At the same time, two or three sentences felicitously associating, where possible, the King’s known sympathies with the occasion celebrated, or the object and purpose of the gathering held, may well be made. If musical honours are intended, it is just as well to make sure that the pianist is in his place before the National Anthem is announced. Few things are more annoying to the president—who often enough is a man of distinction who ought not to be annoyed—than a hitch in these elementary ceremonial matters due to unreadiness or misunderstanding.
Where strict rule is observed, the toast of “THE QUEEN, QUEEN ALEXANDRA, THE PRINCE OF WALES and the other members of the Royal Family” follows; and here again felicitous references to amiable qualities known to exist are admissible, but obviously all references to Royalty must be made in the best of taste. All the Royal toasts are proposed from the chair, and in the absence of Royalty, are drunk without acknowledgment or response.
Other toasts follow according to the toast list, which varies with the occasion.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the first toast given at all gatherings of Englishmen is that of “The King!” It is a toast which carries with it its own passport, and as such requires no argument in its support. To give reasons for it would be to suggest necessity where none exists, and to inflict verbosity where none is needed. Ladies and gentlemen, all upstanding, I give you the toast of toasts, “The King!”
Ladies and Gentlemen, the first toast which I have the honour and pleasure of proposing to you to-night is “A Health unto His Majesty The King!”
We who are old enough to remember the glories of three reigns, who still look back with loving memory to the long and happy reign of the great and good Queen Victoria; who yet remember the geniality and grace of the rule of Edward the Peacemaker, and who now contemplate the virtues of the best travelled and most up-to-date monarch in the world, will not need much persuasion to induce us to rise with alacrity and drink with enthusiasm to the perpetuation of a dynasty so rich in the glory of the past, and so full of hope for the future.
Those men are the most successful in common life who best adapt themselves from time to time to the ever-changing conditions of their environment, and England is happy and safe to-day in the hands of a King who looks with twentieth-century eyes upon the modern trend of things, who, by personal experience, knows more of his own dominions than any of his predecessors ever learned, and more of the policy and enterprise of other nations than perhaps any of his royal contemporaries evidence, and whose “Wake up England,” uttered at the very heart of Empire on his return from his famous tour, rang like a trumpet peal throughout the length and breadth of the world, loosening the purse-strings of capital, quickening the brain of enterprise, and nerving the arm of labour to the maintenance of our proud pre-eminence in the forefront of the progress of mankind.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the first of loyal toasts, “The King! His Majesty King George V.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, in these days when party politics merely mark off the different regiments of loyal soldiers who battle for King and country, any one upon whom the duty may fall can rise with perfect confidence and propose the health of the reigning monarch.
Time was when he who dared the loyal purpose did so at some risk—he stood in danger of the headsman’s axe, and was shadowed by the dagger of the assassin. In those days the King was pledged with bated breath, and cheered in whispers. Toasts were robed in riddles, and disguised in innuendoes. We all remember the famous toast:
“God bless the King—I mean the Faith’s defender.
God bless—no harm in blessing—the Pretender.
Who the Pretender is and who the King,
God bless us all, that’s quite another thing.”
Of this spirit was the answer of the noble countess who was reproached for not praying for the King—“For the King,” she said, “I do pray; but I do not think it necessary to tell my God who is the King.”
In the days when no King was, the same necessity obtained
“Into the Devil Tavern
Three booted troopers strode;
From spur to feather spotted and splashed
With the mud of the winter’s road;
In each of their cups they dropped a crust
And stared at the guests with a frown;
Then drew their swords and roared for a toast,
‘God send this crum-well down!’”
But, Ladies and Gentlemen, we live in happier times; we meet without a bode of evil, none daring to make us afraid, and, conscious that of all the forms of government the world has ever known, the purest politics and the cleanest administrations prosper under a limited monarchy, we rise with enthusiasm—a mixed assembly with a single aim—differing in many matters, but one in loyalty to the supreme head of the State, and drink this toast to the common good. Ladies and Gentlemen, “The King!”
Ladies and Gentlemen, intimately associated with the last toast—as intimately, indeed, as are the distinguished persons the two toasts seek to honour—is the toast I now have the privilege to propose: The Queen, Queen Alexandra, the Prince of Wales, and the other Members of the Royal Family.”
Happy as we have been for many years past under a succession of supreme rulers of the State who have magnified their office, and borne with grace and dignity “the fierce light that beats upon the throne,” we have been equally favoured under the royal consorts who have shared their responsibilities and honours. Albert the Good, who died all too soon, left a memory and an influence which still survive; Alexandra of Denmark, who conquered England as her forbears never could, still holds her own in the hearts of a loving and admiring people; and the consort of King George V., whom we remember with affection as the Princess May—a name which stands for all that is bright and promising in the springtime of nature and of life, and whom we now honour with enthusiasm as Queen Mary—the sweetest name of all—sustains her noble office in a manner well befitting the best traditions of the past, and fully worthy the imitation of consorts yet to come.
Of the Prince of Wales and the younger members of the Royal Family I need only remind you that they are growing up under the best of home influences, and amid the wisest of educational counsels, and that we have every right to hope that, given the health we now wish them, they will follow the best examples of their ancestors and become the pride of their parents and the honour of their country.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast is “The Queen, Queen Alexandra, the Prince of Wales, and the other members of the Royal Family.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is among the disabilities of kings that commonly they are not free to marry ladies of their own country, and it is matter of history that they have often been called upon to prejudice, if not to sacrifice, their own domestic felicity in diplomatic exigencies for political gain. The influence of foreign queens upon English policy is a long and romantic story, whose pages are blotted with the people’s tears, and reddened with the nation’s best blood.
But England to-day is in a happier case, for His Majesty King George V. was fortunate in being free to marry the daughter of an English Princess, who was born a native of the country over which she has been called upon to reign. On her first appearance in society, she expressed a wish to be called Princess Mary of England, and from that day to this she has been English through and through.
Surely we may congratulate ourselves that at the time of the federation of the hundred Englands up and down the sea, we have, united upon a united throne and ruling over a united people, a King and Queen who are each of them free from foreign prejudices, and who are both animated by the national spirit.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast is “Her Majesty the Queen, Queen Alexandra, the Prince of Wales, and the other members of the Boyal Family.” May they long live to adorn their high positions, and enjoy the love and confidence of a united people.
Ladies and Gentlemen, much as we honour royalty and admire the great qualities that lend lustre to the throne, it is the domestic virtues which appeal most nearly to English hearts, and for all our admiration for the grace and dignity that invest the court with an atmosphere of awe, it is the human characteristics which affect us most nearly—the “touch of nature which makes the whole world kin,” a touch which lifts the monarch above the crown and the woman above the queen.
In Her Majesty Queen Mary we have a lady as up to date as her royal husband. Animated by the modern spirit, she realises that she can best serve the interests of the King by being well informed upon the great questions that demand his serious attention, and with this view, takes care to keep in close touch with European problems and national politics. As a mother, she has aimed at encouraging the spirit of independence among her children, and by teaching them, when young, to wait upon themselves, has given them the best qualifications to direct servants when wider responsibilities involve them in more important duties. Herself proficient in the French and German languages, with which she keeps in practice by constant reading, she is insistent that her children shall acquire equal facility in the mastery of languages, which will in later years keep them en rapport with French feeling and German thought. As a housewife, she orders domestic matters with the ease of one familiar with every detail, and as one not disdaining personal service.
A wise queen, a true wife, and a model mother, I give you the toast of “Her Majesty the Queen, of Queen Alexandra of queenly memories, of the Prince of Wales, our future King, and the other members of the Boyal Family.”
Proposed by the Chairman or some one appointed.
Ladies and Gentlemen, although we are a peace-loving people, who cherish the hope that time may, and will, come when peaceful methods of conference will supersede “the stern arbitrament of war,” we cannot and do not shut our eyes to the fact that in the meantime the best security for peace must be that the balance of power should rest in the hands of those most peaceably disposed. There is no nation on the earth more peaceably disposed than Great Britain, and if our proposition be true, there is no country in the world more fitted to hold the balance of power. Supreme fitness always carries with it paramount obligations, and in the discharge of this duty England is forced to arm in the interests of peace. Gerald Massey sings:
“For we are peacemen, also, crying for
Peace, peace at any price, though it be war.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, if we organise institutions charged with this grave responsibility, we cannot escape the duty of wishing them good health, and where is the one amongst us who wishes to escape any duty whatsoever? Proud of their great accomplishments in the historic past, safe in the security of their present protection, and confident in their ability to defend us in the future, I give you the toast “The Army and Navy, and Auxiliary Forces.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, John Bull is proud of his Island home, and, small as it is, he would venture all his other wealth in its defence.
Our insular position ensures us great freedom and involves us in some disadvantages. We are free from quarrels over boundaries, and are not harassed by the predatory incursions which are common when lines of demarcation are indistinct. We are no longer subject to raids across our border, for the British Isles are one nation, and for the rest, the armadas of the world are not equal to the conquest of the surrounding seas, which lie like a protecting arm thrown round a united people, to give them their first line of defence.
When we think of the favoured position that we geographically occupy, and the wondrous record we historically hold, we are emboldened, without boasting and with true thankfulness to the Giver of all good, under whose providence we live and prosper, to say with Sir Robert Grant:
“Our land, with its store
Of wonders untold,
Almighty, Thy power
Hath founded of old,
Hath ’stablished it fast
By a changeless decree,
And round it hath cast,
Like a mantle, the sea.”
But besides our first line of defence, we have a second—“the thin red line”—of immortal memory, that has borne the flag of freedom over hill and plain, through jungle fastnesses, and over desert wastes to stay the hand of tyranny and strike the fetters from the slave, and that still exists, clad in a more sober hue, to hold the liberties our fathers won, and to guard the empire upon which the sun never sets.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast is “The Imperial Forces, The Navy and the Army.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, the valour of our arms is a thrice-told tale, and the Jingoes, who are for ever bragging of our military preeminence, only depreciate the virtues they attempt to extol. The merest suspicion of braggadocio is repugnant to the sense of the heroic. Surely no nation has less need to exaggerate the prowess of its soldiers than the one that can point to a thousand victories, marking the epochs of history and the stepping-stones of civilisation, often won under all but impossible circumstances, and commonly against all but overwhelming odds.
Happily for us, when we are celebrating the valour of our armies, we are not called upon to justify the policy that has too often given them employment. The motive of a war may be without defence, but there is always glory at the cannon’s mouth.
The statesman who plays with human lives as a savant plays at chess, may crown a great ambition with a splendour that hides a greater shame, but no man, however humble, ever bared his bosom, at the call of duty, to the bullets of the enemy in a quarrel which was not his own, but proved himself to be of imperishable metal cast in true heroic mould.
Nothing can justify the campaign of wanton plunder led by the Black Prince in 1356, but quite as truly it may be said that no words are equal to the sum of heroism which led his little band of Englishmen to dare the chances of Poitiers, and face, defy, and then defeat at odds of ten to one, the chosen chivalry of France.
Ladies and Gentlemen, here’s to our Imperial Forces, officers and men—“The Army.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, from the earliest ages England has recognised as its first ally the ocean that rolls round about her coasts. A thousand years ago the great father of our history, Alfred the Great, founded the policy of meeting the enemies of our country upon the sea, and in this demonstrated the fact that there are occasions when it may become worth while to meet trouble half-way. To render that policy effective he built a Navy to defend the land against invasion, and from that day to this, while arms have changed and methods have been altered, while the arrow has given place to the bullet, and the iron plate has superseded the wooden wall, the same policy has been pursued, and all the world has had the benefit of the freedom of the seas while Britannia ruled the waves.
Our naval history has been one long epic, full of heroism and romance; and though the age of iron has not sustained the old romance which ever lingers round the story of our wooden walls, with their freer opportunities for the display of personal prowess, and their larger incentives to individual daring, and although we do fight our battles upon sea and land with machines as much as men, there was never a time in all our history when greater pluck was needed by those who protect us from the enemy and the destroyer. The miner shows his bravery when he runs the risk of fire-damp and living burial, that he may dig the coal to speed the engines of the world, but what of the miner who works in the hold of the ironclad to feed her giant engines with that selfsame coal, without a chance to save himself should the hull be rammed? It is one thing to fight hand-to-hand with fair exchange of chances, but quite another thing to drop dead at a mile, and never see the hand that sped the blow. And yet we do not fail us of our brave defenders, and we shall all be ready to add appreciative encouragement, and join in Gerald Massey’s manly appeal:
“Come, show your colours now, my lads,
That all the world may know
The boys are equal to their dads
Whatever blasts may blow.
“All hands aboard, our country calls
On her seafaring folk;
In giving up our wooden walls
More need of hearts of oak.”
Full of gratitude for the triumphs of the past, full of confidence in the courage of the future, we will strike another stanza of the poet’s song:
“Old England still throbs with the muffled fire
Of a past she can never forget,
And again shall she herald the world up higher:
There’s life in the old land yet.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, “The Imperial Forces, The Navy.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast I have the honour to propose is that of “His Majesty’s Ministers.”
To whatever school of political thought we may belong, and whatever party organisation we may generally support, we are all sensible enough to appreciate the other side of argument, and generous enough to recognise the merits of opponents.
Party divisions are very much the result of temperament, and political controversy is often a struggle between thoughts and feelings. Both are factors in national life, and there are times when each has its part to play in determining national policy.
Under a constitution like ours, where His Majesty’s Ministers are chosen by the joint will of the people and the King, the Government for the time being is usually the best that can be, pending an appeal to the electorate for further orders; and however much we may differ from the men chosen on issues large or small, we are all under great obligation to them for the enormous responsibilities they bear, and for the splendid ability they devote to what they believe to be the best interests of us all.
Ladies and Gentlemen, health is a prime necessity of all good work, and even though we may differ from the Cabinet from time to time, since their best work is, for the time being, the best work that can be, it becomes us all to drink with heartiness, if not enthusiasm, “The Health of His Majesty’s Ministers.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, among the many institutions of which Great Britain is justly proud, there are few that can be said to rank in national esteem with the Houses of Parliament.
As a nation we pride ourselves upon the integrity of our justice and our love of fair play; upon the soundness of our finance and the honesty of our industrial methods; upon the sincerity of our political aims, and the reality of our patriotic devotion; and finding all these qualities operative in our legislature, we recognise them as reflections of our national character, and are really paying an incidental compliment to ourselves when for these reasons we give “honour to whom honour is due.”
Of course we do not waive our constitutional right of grumbling at Parliaments, as well as at everything else; and sometimes their contentions are so provoking that we are inclined to cry out, “A plague on both your houses,” and sigh for some drastic method of compelling them to employ their common sense for the common good. For one half of John Bull’s happy family they are generally far too slow, for the other half they are always much too dangerously fast, and yet, notwithstanding these defects, we are all proud to regard our Parliament as the safest, surest, and most business-like legislative assembly in the world.
We hear much in our day of revolutions, and history has many an instructive page upon the subject. But revolutions may be constructive or destructive, and monuments of the one and ruins of the other lie all along the paths of progress. Happily for us, under our constitution, constructive revolutions can take place with no more disturbance of the national peace than follows the revolutions of the world as it rolls round the sun and leads all its children in turn from darkness to light.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you “The Houses of Parliament.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, it has been said that a legal career offers the shortest road to the highest honours of the country. Given the endowment of necessary natural gifts, and an equal measure of physical health and industrial application, a barrister has a better chance of reaching the woolsack in the House of Lords than the curate has of occupying the throne of an archbishop, and the subaltern of wielding the baton of a field-marshal.
If this is so, perhaps it is the reason why the law attracts to its practice so large a number of the most brilliant of Britain’s gifted sons. But whether for this reason, or for some other, certain it is that the Bench and Bar of England display an intellectual strength, a forensic skill, and a scrupulous honesty of which all the Englands are proud. Some people are fond of attributing the pre-eminence of our country among the nations of the earth to our military power, our naval supremacy, our diplomatic skill, and our genius for colonisation; and no doubt all these play a great part in our influence upon the world; but in and through these, as well as apart from them, the strong hold we have upon the honour of other nations is the integrity of our justice, the soundness of our finance which grows out of it, and the honesty of our trade which follows.
Strong as this appeal is to the larger nations of the earth, it has an even more powerful effect upon smaller and less civilised communities. Our humbler fellow-subjects in the remoter parts of the world know full well that English justice is not bought or sold, and that, as a rule, when they submit a case to an English tribunal they do so without fear or favour, and with every confidence of obtaining equal justice. They know too that they will not be punished more than once for one offence, and they will not be called upon to pay the same taxes twice over.
This we owe to the spirit of justice and the love of fair play, which is an integral part of the English character, and which finds its active expression in Bench and Bar.
Ladies and Gentlemen, malice has sometimes suggested that indigestion is often more powerful than evidence in influencing judgment, but without for a moment admitting so foul a calumny, we shall all agree that whether we are plaintiffs or defendants we are all of us vitally interested in the health of Bench and Bar.
Ladies and Gentlemen, there is no body of men to whom we resign ourselves more unreservedly than to the members of the medical profession. We dispute with our clergy, we argue with our lawyers, and we can always improve upon the designs of our architects; we criticise our artists and actors, and we quarrel roundly with our statesmen and administrators, but we become less dogmatic when we enter the domain of science, and, as a rule, observe passive obedience, as even the doctors themselves do when needing medical attendance. How much of this is due to our confidence in the profession and how much to our want of confidence in ourselves, would perhaps be difficult to decide; but we all recognise the wisdom of the formula, “It is no use consulting a doctor unless you follow his advice,” and the measure of our obedience to medical orders is doubtless largely determined by the measure of the weakness that calls for them.
Ladies and Gentleman, as a rule our confidence is not misplaced. There is probably no body of men more uniformly patient, gentle, courteous, and humane and skilful; and often enough the personnel of the doctor is a prime factor in the cures that he effects. No men are more ready at call, more devoted in service, and more ill-requited for labour than the men of the medical profession. There are no men who do more for nothing, and who suffer more from failure and inadequacy of payment.
To the larger triumphs of the medical profession and the progress of sanitary science it is impossible now to refer at length, but it is sufficient for our present purpose to point out that even within modern memory they have largely reduced the tale of human suffering, and they have added to the average length of human life.
Ladies and Gentlemen, while we owe to them our greater health and increased longevity, we shall need no urging to induce us to wish for them the full enjoyment of the fruits of their own labours. I give you the toast of “The Medical Profession.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, “All the world’s a stage,” so Shakespeare says, “and all the men and women merely players”; and whether we follow the drama of life in the world at large, through the pleasant pages of a novel, or amid the picturesque accessories of the stage, we all admit it a profoundly interesting study.
Pope says, “The proper study of mankind is man,” and if this be so we have not far to go to school. In the world at large the play is too complex to be comprehended as a whole, and often too bewildering to be understood in parts. In the novel we see the problem at nearer range and focused with clearer definition; but a book makes strong claims upon our patience, and puts no little tax upon our time. On the stage we have the concentration of the vital elements of the drama, without verbosity and studied delay, and we have it presented to us with a vividness which is impossible to the mere word-painter, and a reality of action and emotion which only the human form and voice can reproduce.
In Hamlet s view the office of the play is “to hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own features, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure”; and this office it has sustained from age to age. As such it has reflected the evil and the good. As the standards of society have fluctuated the drama has reflected their rise and fall, disclaiming all responsibility for aught but the accuracy of the presentation, and so it continues “to show virtue her own features” and “scorn her own image,” it will yet serve and chronicle its day and generation, from time to time, and he would be unwise who, esteeming some things evil, would ring down the curtain upon all, as he would be a fool who broke a mirror because it sometimes reflected an ugly truth.
Ladies and Gentlemen, as the health of the stage reflects the health of the times, I am giving you a double toast when I ask you to drink the health of the Drama.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we live in a scientific age. Some people call it an age of materialism, but whether we are materialists or spiritualists, we are all beggared of wonderment when we contemplate the marvels of modern science.
Within the memory of men still living, the steam engine has minimised distance and linked together the scattered abodes of men—stirring the pulses of humanity and quickening the energies of the world. But a few years ater the electric telegraph flashed new opportunities across the spheres and harnessed the lightning in the service of mankind.
“On the back of a word a-ride a wire,
Unseen, unheard, with a heart of fire
We speed the message of our desire.”
Then followed the thousand-and-one applications of electricity to the needs and industries of man:
“The stars light up the household sky,
And a million moons rush out on high,
To light the people passing by.
“The wheels, awhirl with right goodwill,
Weave the web of the fabric still,
And grind the grist that comes to the mill.”
And then its application to traffic:
“We turn a handle and off we go,
And move in a groove in the ground below,
And thread the traffic to and fro,
Or trail a-rail, or fast or slow.
“We burrow and furrow like human moles,
A-cube in a tube till we reach our goals.
“We mock the paddle and scorn the sail,
And stem the tempest and ride the gale.”
And then later came the wonder of all electric wonders—the wireless telegraphy, which places on speaking terms the ships that pass in the night, that brings into touch the four corners of the earth, that makes us masters of the empyrean, and may one day bring us into fellowship with the stars.
“I am the spirit, Thought. In the clumsy garb men praise
As a thing of sense and sound and sight I walked their common ways.
Then over their iron threads I paced with patient care.
But they’ve found at last, these sons of men, they may trust me to the air.
“Tell me whither to go. Clothe me and set me free.
I pass and my winged feet skim the waves of the wide electric sea.
Where you would have me tarry, make me a welcome there.
Faithful to you, O sons of men, you may trust me to the air.
“Freer at last am I to fly as a spirit may,
With only the weight of the wings I wave. Oh, this foretells the day
When without speech or language some cunning mind may dare
Waft me to other minds and know he may trust me to the air.”—Charles P. Cleaves.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the toast of “Science.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast I have the honour to propose is that of Science, and, learned or unlearned, we cannot escape our obligations to do it honour.
Science is systematised truth, and art is truth idealised, and all good purposes are served when truth is demonstrated and beauty worshipped. We investigate natural phenomena, we discover apparently isolated facts; we trace their relationship to one another, and find them grouped in systems; we mark the laws that regulate them, and note their influence upon other systems, and then we give them the names by which they are known—astronomy, geology, mineralogy and metallurgy, and other ‘urgies, and’ Ologies galore. We invent instruments to bring us into closer touch with our studies. The telescope brings far things near. The microscope makes small things large. The microphone magnifies sound, the telephone speeds it, and the phonograph records it and makes even dead men speak. And so science accumulates knowledge and places it at the disposal of mankind.
Perhaps no department of science makes a more direct appeal to us all than that which devotes itself to the promotion of health. On this subject whole libraries have been written. The discovery of anæsthetics has brought all pain within the area of endurance. The application of the Röntgen rays has enabled skilled observation to locate disease. The power of radium has yet to be demonstrated. And the end is not yet. As Charles Mackay sings:
“Lo, the world is rich in blessings:
Earth and ocean, flame and wind,
Have unnumbered secrets still,
To be ransacked when you will,
For the service of mankind.
“Science is a child as yet,
And her power and scope shall grow,
And her triumphs in the future
Shall diminish toil and woe;
Shall extend the bounds of pleasure,
With an ever-widening ken,
And of woods and wildernesses
Make the homes of happy men.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, Science has already so extended boundaries and quickened movements, that it has outstripped our possibility of doing justice to itself. I give you the toast of “Science.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, the toast I have the honour to propose is that of “Art,” and in doing so I would first observe that the word art is one of the best abused words in the English language. Even when used by practised speakers, it is often applied indifferently to signify the means whereby we attain artistic ideals, and the finished product itself. Like poetry, art is difficult, if not impossible of definition. As a means to an end, we associate it with the word “crafts,” and recognise it as the skilled use of mechanical means to achieve a more than mechanical result. As the end itself, we use it to indicate that more than material result which marks the difference between the work of the mechanic and the artist. All art is an effort after expression, and it employs every available means. The emotions find their ideal expression in poetry, and poetry appeals to the human mind through all the senses. Poetry is the mother of all the arts. It is poetry that clothes the marble limbs with more than marble beauty; poetry that transfigures colour with a light beyond its own; poetry that inspires tone, and gives to music the blood of life and the wings of worship.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the toast of Art!
Ladies and Gentlemen, we have only to look through some of the early volumes of our illustrated papers to see how immeasurably taste has improved in the last fifty years, and we have only to look at the decoration of our own homes to realise the progress of refinement effected in almost every object of domestic use. Works of art in themselves are more numerous than formerly, and if we have fewer examples of great art, we have a higher standard of average, and a larger field of application: a sense of appreciation of art is infinitely more widespread than formerly.
Art is said to be one of the last acquirements of a luxurious age, and to be a sure precursor of national decay. If this be so, the progress of art might be regarded as a bad omen, but at present, at least, we have no reason to fear. There are many stages of further development which may be safely passed without any fear of Imperial dissolution.
For all their extravagances of excess, the most outrageous fashions of dress in our day will compare very favourably with the costumes in which our great-grandmothers took so much delight, while in the grouping of colours and the designs of ornament there are in wall-papers and in metal-work, as well as furniture, improvements as striking as they are new, not the least happy of the characteristics of which are the preservation of the best traditions of the past in forms better adapted to modern requirements.
Ladies and Gentlemen, whatever may be the state of art at any time, those who look upon it as truth idealised must ever wish it well, assured that while art remains well and healthy, it can have no part in national decay.
Ladies and Gentlemen, in proposing the toast of Literature, an Englishman in our time may well claim pride of place. Homer held it for the ancient Greeks, Virgil and Horace for the Augustine age of Roman letters. Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio stand for the classical revival of a more modern Italy, and Chaucer, whom Dryden called “the father of English poetry,” and who was born when Boccaccio was a young man, started that long line of illustrious poets, the glory of all literature, of whom the greatest were Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton of the elder time, Pope, Cowper, and Burns of the eighteenth century, and Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, who heralded the advent of the nineteenth century, an age as full of singers as are the woods in spring.
In the world of Music Germany may claim easy pre-eminence, and boast behind it a noble literature as characteristic of its national genius; in the world of Art the imagination of la belle France, in all that is the outcome of the artistic temperament, from the cartoons on the walls of the Louvre to the meanest objects of common use, excite the admiration, if not the envy of the world; but in the appreciation of all of these England and the English-speaking nations admit no superiors, even among the children of the masters of colour, form, and sound, nor have they reason to complain of any want of appreciation on the part of other nations of that splendid Literature which is so peculiarly their own.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the toast of this splendid heritage, “Literature.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, there are some people who think that the time has come when literature may be safely removed from the toast list, and that “science” may more usefully and fittingly occupy its place. This of course is an indication of the materialistic tendencies of the times. But, as you know, there is a saying which affirms that “second thoughts are best,” and I feel sure that if those who entertain this idea were to give it sufficient thought, they would be forced to the conviction that so long as science has anything to say, literature will have a vocation, and science will be greatly dependent upon it.
What should we know of the science of the past but for the literature that has preserved it? Of what use would be the science of the present apart from the literature that diffuses it? And when the whole tale of science has been told, where are we to look for the story of its growth, for the understanding of its application, and for the results of its achievement, except in the literature which perpetuates it?
No, Ladies and Gentlemen, literature has the first and the last word. We begin by learning our A B C, if we finish by signing our F.R.S. It is with the growth of literature that nations grow, and by the means of literature that the thoughts, discourses, and prophecies of one generation are handed on to the next, for instruction, improvement, and realisation in the ultimate consummation of all knowledge. If it is not in literature to serve science, how is it that the poet can transfigure the dry-as-dust of the doctrinaire into “a thing of beauty” and “a joy for ever”?
But, Ladies and Gentlemen, Literature has a value of its own, for which we cherish it, and now for its own sake, as well as for the sake of science, which is apt to undervalue it, I give you the toast of Literature.
Gentlemen, the practice which relegates the toast of the ladies to the youngest bachelor present is a relic of the days of chivalry, and its object is to enable the one who most needs the opportunity to prove himself a worthy champion of the dames, by displaying the ability, and the bravery that deserve the fair. Gentlemen, it requires no great courage to champion the cause of woman in a gallant assembly like this, and my fear is not that I may fail to convince you of the worthiness of the toast, but that I may be unable to demonstrate the sufficiency of the advocate. My confidence lies in the assurance that you are all of you as enthusiastic as I am in the cause for which I speak, and that, however faltering my accents may be, the ladies are as safe in your hearts as are the fixed stars in heaven. In these circumstances they have no need of further words of mine. Gentlemen, I give you the toast:
“Here’s to the girl whose eyes are blue,
Whose heart is fond, whose love is true.
Here’s to the girl whose eyes are brown,
Too true to shrink, too kind to frown.
Here’s to the girl with eyes of grey,
Whose smile can drive dull care away.
Here’s to them all of every hue—
The black, the grey, the brown, the blue.”
In brief, Gentlemen—The Ladies.
The toast I have the honour to propose is that of “Woman, lovely woman,” and, although I am aware that man is still liable, as were the nobility and gentry of the Cannibal Islands, to burn his fingers when attempting to toast a woman without a fork, I have the courage of my convictions, and shall not shrink from the fiery ordeal.
Gentlemen, woman as an individual never grows old, but as a body she forms one of the oldest institutions on record. Not the oldest, of course, for man was here before her. She gave him but little start, however, and but short time to enjoy the felicities of single blessedness. She was soon after him, and she has been after him ever since.
It has been said by some “mere man” that, made from a human rib, woman was nothing but a side issue from the first, and it has been added by some lovely woman, that if man really lost a rib at her birth, he has more than made up for it, by putting on side ever since. Comparing the lot of Adam with that of his myriad sons, I am inclined to think that Adam had the best of it. He lost a rib, it is true, but think of the millions since his time, the thousands in the world to-day, the number in this room to-night who, having one less rib to protect it with, have lost their hearts. Think of the billions who from first to last, dazzled by the eyes of beauty, have tripped over the skirts of grace, and lost at once their balance and their heads. Think again of that unnumbered host who, in the dark ages now happily long since passed away, were even known to lose their tempers, and I am sure that you will agree with me that Adam’s loss was nothing compared with that of his innumerable heritors.
But, gentlemen, one of the first lessons that a wise man learns when graduating at the school of experience is that of the necessity and the duty of making the best of things. Of course no one would be so ungallant as to speak of a woman as a thing; but the sex which is the most powerful factor in the life of man is one of those entities of which it is certainly wise, as well as necessary, to make the best. There are compensations in all conditions of existence, and even married life has its ameliorations. As Sir Walter Scott says:
“O woman, in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow
A ministering angel thou!”
Gentlemen, we must take the fat with the lean. Of course you will understand that I am not applying this metaphor to the ladies, but to the circumstances of life: we must take the worse with the better, the poorer with the richer, and the sickness with the health.
Some one has said a man marries three times, first for love, second for money, and third for a nurse, and the proverb has it that “variety is the charm of life.”
Happy is the man who finds in one only, and only one, the love that outlasts every trial, the wealth that for ever gains in spending, and the grace and sympathy that soften the couch of pain, and can even throw a cheering light across “the valley of the shadow of death.”
An old toast and a good toast, and one which may well be revived to night, is the sparkling toast, “Women and Wine.” By whatever name the toast of “The Ladies” is labelled, it means women and wine, for while “Women” is the subject, wine is the means employed in doing her honour. The toteetler may of course sing with rare Ben Jonson:
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine,
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine;”
but such a troubadour will be one so intoxicated with the beauty of his inamorata that he fails to appreciate anything else, or one so new to the felicities of love that, never having experienced disillusion, he lives in a paradise of fools.
And yet a paradise of fools is a paradise after all, and for all we know, may last as long in modern experience and be as real as the one of old time that sheltered the first lovers of our race. Why, then, break the spell?
“Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.”
and were we to convert him, he would only change his note:
“If all your beauties one by one,
I pledge dear—I am thinking
Before the list were well begun,
I should be dead with drinking.”
But lovesick swains are not the only fools. Extremes meet:
“He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
To turn the current of a woman’s will.” (SIR S. TUKE.)
“For if she will she will, you may depend on’t,
And if she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end on’t.”
Tom Moore says:
“Disguise the bondage as we will,
’Tis woman, woman rules us still;”
and John Dryden adds with immeasurable common sense:
“As for the women, though we scorn and flout them,
We may live with, but cannot live without them.”
If we have the temerity to scorn and flout them, surely we shall deserve the retribution of which Congreve warns us:
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
The union of Women and Wine in this toast is justified on a logical basis by an unknown poet in the significant lines:
“God made man
Frail as a bubble;
God made love,
Love made trouble,
“God made the vine:
Was it a sin
That man made wine
To drown trouble in?”
Gentlemen, if this be a true statement of cause and effect, I give you the bane and the antidote together, and the moral or immoral of the toast is this: may the women have enough influence over us to keep us sober, and the wine enough solace to make us independent of their caprice.
Gentlemen, however excellent the reasons may be for the practice of relegating the toast of the ladies to the youngest bachelor present, there is at any rate a great deal to be said in favour of placing the duty in the hands of experience, for who is more likely to do full justice to a toast like this than he who has had experiences of the sex in her fourfold relationship of mother, sister, wife, and daughter? This is a comprehensive toast, both in its subject and its appeal, for it is one of those absolute certainties of life about which there can never be any dispute, that wherever you find a man, you can be quite sure that he had a mother. Here at least I have a perfect basis of appeal, and a sufficient one, and were it not that I have to include others, I would close at once by saying:
This the toast before all others,
All upstanding, Boys, “Tour mothers.”
Of a lesser, and yet still a large number, it is safe to assume that they have not passed through the earlier years of life without experiencing a sister’s sweet and servicable influence. Our most jealous friends, our most candid critics, our most sincere well-wishers, the measure of our brotherly indebtedness is beyond estimate. Those who have no sisters of their own have sometimes sisters who have proffered that relationship as compensation for refusing a nearer and a dearer one; and others again, more fortunate in wooing, have found in other people’s sisters the opportunity of securing the sweetest of all human associations in the relationship of man and wife. Happy the man who in this union secures a woman who has
A smile for every joy,
A tear for every sorrow,
A consolation for every grief,
An excuse for every fault,
A prayer for every misfortune, and
An encouragement for every hope.
Wordsworth has described her in verse too long for full quotation:
“She was a phantom of delight,
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament.
“I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty.
“A creature not too bright and good
For human nature’s daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wilee,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
“And now I see with eyes serene,
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death.
“A perfect woman nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.”
No one but a father can appreciate a father’s pride in his son’s success, or his joy in his daughter’s filial regard. And the joy is an imperishable one. The proverb says:
“My son’s my son till he gets him a wife,
But my daughter’s my daughter all her life;”
and the proverb is true. For all these reasons I propose to you this comprehensive toast, which includes in one sentence of two words our mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters—“The Ladies.”
Gentlemen, the toast I have the honour to propose is one that is usually merged in the larger toast, that includes the whole of the gentler sex, and that, being so included, loses the individuality which to-night I invite you to honour. Gentlemen, the toast is:
“Our unappropriated blessings.”
The world is so rich in blessings, that an infinite number of them fail of appreciation. Enough, in all things, is said to be as good as a feast, and where sufficiency obtains superfluity languishes in disregard. As the poet Gray in his incomparable Elegy puts it:
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
But it is not only in distant places that wealth and beauty fail of worthy appreciation. In every gathering of men and women the gems are too numerous for individual recognition, and even in a homely garden there are more flowers than can be plucked and worn upon the breast of love. These are the unappropriated blessings which, lacking the distinction of individual selection, I invite you to toast to-night.
First among these let me name “our maiden aunts.” Who amongst us who has enjoyed the benefits of this relationship can total the sum of its beneficences? We can most of us remember in the days of our childhood, a mother’s justice, which was associated with more than a mother’s mercy, and for which latter we were indebted to maiden aunts. Few of us have forgotten the friendly hand which helped us out of early troubles, and the all-too-slender purse, generously depleted to recruit our own. The sugar-plums of childhood, the cigarettes of youth, the birthday presents out of all proportion to the donor’s means and our own deserts. Those of us who are happy husbands and fathers know the advantages our children enjoy from this relationship, and the comforts we experience from the kindly offices of those mothers’ helps, whose attentions are not regulated by bonds of servitude, and in whose hands our interests are as safe as in our own. Of course there are Aunt Tabithas, who are the terror of little girls and the monitors of big ones; but even these must be honoured for their sincerity, and may be trusted for their goodwill. Besides these, there are the ladies of the Red Cross and the nurses in our hospitals, and all those who, without the recompense of wedded companionship, smooth the way of life and ease the bed of pain. Gentlemen, in our own interests we must wish them health, and in their own we shall not withhold the pledge of happiness. We drink to the health and happiness of all spinsters. “Our unappropriated blessings.”
Here’s to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here’s to the widow of fifty;
Here’s to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here’s to the wife that is thrifty.
Let the toast pass, drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass.
“Here’s to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
Here’s to the maid who has none, sir;
Here’s to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here’s to the nymph with but one, sir.
Let the toast pass, drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass.
“Here’s to the maid with a bosom of snow,
Here’s to her that’s as brown as a berry;
Here’s to the wife with a face full of woe,
And here’s to the girl that is merry.
Let the toast pass, drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass.
“For let ’em be clumsy, or let ’em be thin,—
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
Come fill up the bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e’en toast them together.
Let the toast pass, drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, a very simple and pleasing duty devolves upon us all to-day. It is that of joining together to wish health and happiness to those whose nuptials we have met to celebrate.
There are many important days in the lives of men and women. The day of birth is an important day, though we rarely realise it at the time. The day we begin school is an important day, though we seldom recognise it until our school-days are over. The day of our majority is an important day, and one we do not usually undervalue; but there is no day in a life’s career which can for a moment compare in importance with the wedding day.
In some sense it is a day of days, including the characteristics of all these other days. It is the birthday, as a rule, of a new household, it is certainly the starting of a new curriculum in the school of life, and it is the attainment of that maturity in human responsibility which is the basis of civic unity, national integrity, and imperial power.
If we were asked to name the institution which lies nearest to the foundations of our national greatness, I doubt if we could give a better answer than to name the institution of marriage.
“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home,” and it is the homes of England, far more than “the towers along her steeps,” which make us jealous for the peace of the world and strong for national defence. Hence the building of a home is more important than the building of a Dreadnought. Arms become obsolete and machines get out of date, but Home is a universal and an everlasting word, which includes both Earth and Heaven.
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is the laying of the foundation of an English home that gives us festival to-day; and I am persuaded that where mutual respect lays these foundations, where mutual affection is the contractor, where mutual sympathy is the architect, and mutual forbearance the builder, there must ever rise one of those temples of domestic peace which are the power of an empire’s being and the strength of a nation’s life. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you “The Bride and Bridegroom.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is not always that pleasure and duty go hand in hand, and it is sometimes an unhappy thing for our convenience that we are called upon to choose betwixt the two. But however this may operate in ordinary cases, it certainly presents me with no difficulty now, for I know of no duty more pleasurable and no pleasure more dutiful than that which calls me to my feet, which is to ask you to join with me in wishing health, happiness, and prosperity to the Bride and Bridegroom. It is a pleasure with enough of duty in it to give it zest, a duty with enough of pleasure in it to make it sweet. Many and various are the occasions upon which we meet together to promote business or pleasure, and a large number of these are represented in our gathering to-day. There are political meetings, for instance, ribboned and badged in the interest of every conceivable political party; and all these parties are represented here.
It is a Unionist meeting for instance, and we are all uniting to bless a union of loyal hearts. It is a Home Rule meeting too, and it is not often that two such meetings are held beneath the same roof, and at the same time. Then it is a Liberal meeting in the thoughts and sentiments it calls forth, and the gifts for which it gives such good occasion, and Radical in the changes it will effect in the lives of those we honour with our toast; and finally, it is Conservative of one of the oldest and best institutions which make for the happiness of all. Then it is a garden party—another Eden, with our up-to-date Adam and a modern Eve, and a horticultural show in which the ladies blossom as the rose, and the gentlemen flourish like the green bay-tree; and when we gaze upon the rich array of presents that the love of friends has outspread with such lavish hands, who will say it does not resemble a grand bazaar? And now, with all the loyalty and earnestness which animate these many and various gatherings, I ask you to join with me in drinking to the loyal union of the happy couple, to the perfect harmony of their home rule, to their liberal enjoyment of all material benefits, and to the conservation of all that is true and good in the traditions of domestic life. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you “The Bride and Bridegroom.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, my first, and perhaps my only duty on this occasion, is on behalf of my wife and myself to thank the proposer of the toast for all the kind, good, and witty things he said in proposing it, and you for the heartiness and goodwill with which you joined in its support.
There are few more embarrassing positions a man can occupy than that which falls to my lot to-day. There are some, I admit, almost as embarrassing, which anticipate the greater embarrassment that now is. There is often no little embarrassment in making the first proposal, which starts the train of carriages which carry us to marriage junction; but this usually takes place in private, and there are frequently, on such occasions, little encouragements which materially alleviate embarrassment, and remove the necessity for speech. Ladies and Gentlemen, you may take it from me as a matter of experience, that there are times when speech is quite superfluous and lips can be far more eloquent and convincing when otherwise engaged. There is some embarrassment often in facing parental dignity; but this again is a private meeting, and even when unsatisfactory to the interviewer there is commonly no impediment to rapid retreat. “None but the brave deserve the fair,” and men should always be ready to face difficulties in the cause of love. An irate father is just one of those difficulties upon which it is not wise to turn one’s back.
But, Ladies and Gentlemen, neither of these embarrassments is with me now, and my one trouble is that I can neither express my own feelings, nor those of my wife, on this happy consummation of our hopes, nor adequately acknowledge your kind and generous wishes for our future well-being. And yet in your good wishes I find all the encouragement I need. You who wish us well with such sincerity will not be too critical of my maiden speech, and will, I am sure, make up out of the fullness of your own generosity for all its numerous shortcomings. Ladies and Gentlemen, in this confidence, on my wife’s behalf, and on my own, I say—I thank you.
Ladies and Gentlemen, a wedding is much too serious a matter to be made light of, and far be it from me to introduce levity upon so solemn an occasion. It used to be said that everybody cried at weddings, and all for different reasons. The bride cried because she was being married, and the bridesmaids cried because they were not. The mothers cried because when a wench left home there was always a wrench in home associations, and when bachelors set up in business for themselves, or retired into private life—whichever you like to call it—there were always batches of old-time recollections, which, welling up from the cisterns of memory, found their only proper outlet in tears. Fathers—well—of course fathers never cried at weddings, because long before they were old enough to give boys and girls away they had usually mastered the art of consuming their own—well their own emotions; and if in these later days they do sometimes on such occasions use their pocket-handkerchiefs or clear their throats, it is because they have speeches to make, and wish to give fair play and sonorous expression to their thoughts and feelings. Pew openers and vergers are said to have cried in old days in proportion to the fees paid, or forgotten, and others again because they liked to, and nobody in the wide world could say why they should not do as they liked. Ladies and Gentlemen, under these depressing circumstances, I am happy in being able to propose to you a toast full of brightness and hope. You have already pledged the health of the bride of the present, it is mine to propose to you the toast of the brides of the future—the bridesmaids that adorn our festival to-day. Here we have roses that are ever sweet, lilies that are fair and full of grace, violets of fascinating modesty, and forget-me-nots that can never be forgotten. May they continue in the enjoyment of all their charms, and when they are picked to adorn some manly bosom, may they find bridegrooms who are worthy of them, and spheres of domestic felicity which they may long live to adorn. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you “The Bridesmaids.”
Gentlemen:
“Solomon said—and he was a king—
There’s a time to dance and a time to sing,
A time for joy, and a time for sorrow,
And one’s to-day and the other’s to-morrow.”
Whether Solomon put his thoughts in exactly this form, is perhaps open to doubt, but it is quite clear that he put things in their right order when he said:
“A time for joy, and a time for sorrow,
And one’s to-day and the other’s to-morrow.”
Englishmen have a constitutional right to grumble, and Christmas places no limit upon their privileges, but to-night we are all disposed to take a favourable view of things, and we shall all be ready to admit that the year is full of jolly days for those who cherish the spirit of jollity.
New Year’s Day begins the list, and red letters dot the calendar from first to last. Twelfth Night crowns a jolly day, and that before the new year is one week old. The first of April is a jolly day for saucy children and irresponsible youth, if sometimes not so jolly to children of larger growth. So much depends upon the point of view. The first of May is full of bright and appetising promises of jolly days to come—on road and river, on links, in courts and playing-fields, while the first of June works out the plan of May, and fills our hearts with music and our paths with flowers. July gives us many jolly days, if old St. Swithin but acts with some discretion. Then August bids us forth with bag and gun, and gives to all who take it a jolly 12th, when none but grouse need grouse.
September gives us picnics with the partridges, and October pleasant outings with the pheasant, while the huntsman with the cry of Tally Ho! bids us leap into the saddle and scour the countryside with Reynard ever ready for a run.
Then of another kind are the red-letter days we know as quarter days, though they give no quarter, and bring letters read with regret or satisfaction as they bring us bills that check our jollity or cheques that meet our bills.
Gentlemen, the chief of these is Christmas Day, the central day of the happy season, which now we celebrate around the Mahogany Tree:
“Christmas is here:
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The Mahogany Tree.
“Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we:
Here we carouse,
Singing, like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.
“Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short—
When we are gone,
Let them sing on
Round the old tree.
“Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;
Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see.
Kind hearts and true,
Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.
“Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we’ll be!
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!
“Drain we the cup.—
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up,
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree,
“Sorrows begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills
Bid me to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite,
Leave us to-night
Round the old tree.”—W. M. Thackeray.
Gentlemen, the toast is “Christmas,” the central jolly day of two years full of them.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Christmas is with us once again. He comes to us with the same genial countenance and cheery greeting that we remember in our early childhood, that was the hope and joy of our callow youth, and that is associated with all that is best and brightest of what we know as the good old days:
Modern enterprise has changed the face of the earth, but the face of Christmas remains the same:
“Heap on more wood I—the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.”—Scott.
We all remember our children’s birthdays, and they often remember ours, but the nativity that is never forgotten is the birthday of the Christian world. And yet, older than that is the festival we celebrate to-day:
“Each age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer.”
The Romans in their saturnalia at the winter solstice kept nature’s birthday—the birthday of all worldly hopes.
The savage Dane
“High on the beach bis galleys drew
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall,
Where shields and axes decked the wall,
They gorged upon the half-dressed steer,
Caroused in seas of table-beer . . .
As best might to the mind recall
The boisterous joys of Odin’s hall.”
In later days, and under Christian auspices,
“Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:
On Christmas eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas eve the mass was sung;
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the mistletoe.
“Then opened wide the baron’s hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside
And Ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The Lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of ‘post and pair.’
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.
“The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hall-table’s oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn,
By old blue-coated serving-man;
Then the grim boar’s head frowned on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.”
In those days they had to catch the boar before they ate it. To-day we should fare ill were we dependent on our own catching. Times have changed and methods have altered with them, but human nature remains the same, and Christmas is human nature’s festival. We live more strenuous lives these later times, and need the more the change and relaxations which Christmas sanctions. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” and it is beyond philosophy to estimate the work-a-day value of an idle hour. As Scott says in the poem (“Marmion”) I have already quoted:
“England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,
’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man’s heart through half the year.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the toast of “Christmas,” its old associations, its present joys, and its inspiration for the years to come.
Ladies and Gentlemen, of all the days of all the year, there is no day that brings us nearer to each other than Christmas Day. We cannot approach a common centre without coming into nearer contact with each other, and if, as in the case of Christmas, the centre of attraction is a humanising and harmonising influence, the common nearness which it brings about can only foster happiness and peace.
Christmas is the great home-festival of the world. It brings the children back from school. It brings the sons and daughters from the near distance, and the wanderers from the ends of the earth. It unites all of one blood in the true spirit of kinship, the old and the young, the richer and the poorer. It is as though a truce were sounded amid the battle of life, and the time were, as it never is at any other, when if, as we are laying our gifts upon the altar we remember that our brother has aught against us, we seek first that reconciliation with the human which can alone make our gifts acceptable to the divine. It is the time when we come nearest to the observance of the golden rule and the following of the great commandment, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” It is a time that softens asperities and revives friendships, that bridges the hiatus of estrangement, and calls to the renewal of love. It is the season of forgiveness and generosity, of kind gifts and good wishes; and if we but realise the Christmas spirit we shall be prepared to throw the wide arms of our Christmas greeting round one and all, and say with the poet:
“Ye who have scorned each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast-fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come gather here.
“Let sinned against, and sinning,
Forget their strife’s beginning,
And join in friendship now,
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
Under the holly bough.
“Ye who have loved each other,
Sister and friend and brother,
In this fast-fading year;
Mother and sire and child,
Young man and maiden mild,
Come gather here;
“And let your hearts grow fonder
As memory shall ponder
Each past unbroken vow.
Old love and younger wooing
Are sweet in the renewing,
Under the holly bough.
“Ye who have nourished sadness,
Estranged from hope and gladness,
In this fast-fading year;
Ye with o’erburdened mind,
Made aliens from your kind,
Come gather here.
“Let not the useless sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow;
If e’er you hoped, hope now.
Take heart, uncloud your faces,
And join in our embraces
Under the holly bough.”—Charles Mackay.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the spirit of Christmas.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we stand upon the threshold of a new year. Anno domini 19——lies all behind us; anno domini 19——lies all before. For the moment we wait the ringing of the passing bell that we may “welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.”
“Time flies,” the proverb tells us, but the poet says:
“Ah no!
Alas, Time stays, we go;
Or else, were this not so,
What need to chain the hours,
For youth were always ours?
Time goes, you say? ah no!”—Austin Dobson
And both are true, the proverb and the poem, but let it pass. We want no further problems for the old year to solve, and we will not enter the new one with a question that must lead to words. The foot of Time is ever on the march, whether he goes or not, and the foot-rule with which we have measured off the months of 19——is nearing the exhaustion of its final inch.
Like its predecessors, it has been a year of lights and shadows for us all. It has had its ups and downs, its joys and sorrows, its failures and successes; and it will give us its greatest blessing as a parting gift if it leaves us with greater courage and increased strength to grapple with the vicissitudes of 19——.
Its retrospect is varied by individual experience; but few if any of us can look back upon it without seeing many bright and happy passages, even though they may be intertwined with shadowed paths.
In all years we have the better and the worse, the richer and the poorer, and they are the gatherers of the harvests of the years who learn the arts of that divine alchemy which turns all ill to good.
All years are cheered by the love of youth, inspired by the bravery of man and enheartened by the confidence of trusty friends. All these we have known in the year that now totters to its close.
“Here’s to the year that’s awa’:
We’ll drink it in strong and in sma’,
And pledge with a glass ilka laddie and lass
We loved in the year that’s awa’.
“Here’s to the soldier who bled
And the sailor who fought but to fa’;
Their fame is not dead tho’ their spirits have fled
On the wings of the year that’s awa’.
“Here’s to the kin that we love,
A far o’er the sea and the plain,
In ilk’ colony yon, who were with us anon,
Who may never be with us again.
“Here’s to the friends that were true
In the days when the sun never shone;
Whatever betide, may they ever abide
As they were in the year that is gone.
“Here’s to the good that survives
The toil and the trust of it all,
And may all the ill of the year we fulfil
Depart with the year that’s awa’.”
But, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a double toast, and while we remember the good of the year that is gone, we must also pledge the health of the year about to follow.
There is always hope in new beginnings, and as we turn over new leaves with high resolves we may find many pleasant pages in the book of 19——.
“Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none.
Life is mostly froth and bubble
Two things stand like stone—
KINDNESS in another’s trouble,
COURAGE in your own.”
But the hour is at hand. The clock strikes twelve. The King is dead! Long live the King!
“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die,
“Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
“Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
“Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
“Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
“Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
“Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
“Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a characteristic of our country, of which we have every right to be proud, that any meeting called for the purpose of alleviating suffering, of aiding thrift, of bettering the condition of the deserving poor, or in any way of helping “lame dogs over stiles” is sure of securing popular support, and I congratulate myself to-night on the fact that I have the honour to preside over so large and influential a gathering of wellwishers of a good cause. Some one has said—and I am glad to believe in the truth of the statement—that there is sufficient humanity in this country to deal with all its necessity if there were only a sufficient organisation to bring the one to bear upon the other without delay and without waste. If this be so, it becomes us to do our best to perfect our organisations, that they may inspire a generous public with sufficient confidence to provide the necessary means to accomplish this desirable end. What has already been accomplished in the past, in dealing with the class of need that we have met to consider to-night, the report of the secretary will doubtless show, and what remains to be accomplished in the same direction is not likely to escape his practical observation. For my own part I hope that we shall all prove that we have a real interest in the purpose of this meeting, and that as a result of our gathering together here this evening the suffering may be soothed, the sorrowing may be cheered, the needy may be helped, the struggling may be encouraged, and that all who show mercy will prove for themselves that “the quality of mercy is not strained, but is twice blessed”—blessing him that gives and him that takes.
A platform wit once said that a chairman’s duty on such occasions as this was fourfold. He said “It is the Chairman’s duty to Stand Up, to Speak Up, to Stump Up, and then to Shut Up.” On another occasion he limited the duties to three, and these were, “to Look Sunny, to Talk Honey, and to Give Money.” Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been standing up for some time, I have been speaking up to the best of my ability, I am quite ready to stump up according to my means, and am now looking forward to relieving both you and myself by shutting up at the earliest possible moment.
Ladies and Gentlemen, there are two duties that belong to every chairman, and therefore two which devolve upon me to-night. The first is that of maintaining order, and the second that of announcing from time to time the progress of the business. Neither of these duties involves me in any difficulty on this occasion. The spirit of order is too clearly reflected in the faces of the highly intelligent and good-tempered company I see before me, to permit of any fear of disturbance. And the agenda is perfectly safe under the supervision of the courteous and efficient secretary who occupies a seat at my elbow. Under these circumstances, I can, with confidence, anticipate a careful consideration of the various matters which it will be my duty to bring before you, and a hearty, and I hope a unanimous adoption of the proposals which will be submitted for your approval.
My first words this evening shall be words of welcome, and I hope you will need no assurance of the pleasure I feel in meeting those who are associated with me in business around the social board.
We are all of us partners in a commercial enterprise, the success of which is our common aim. We occupy different positions, and our duties vary in character and importance, and yet all are necessary to the efficiency and success of the whole.
I often think that a business enterprise is very much like a voyage at sea. The good ship may be berthed in Mincing Lane or Cannon Street, by the river-side or on the banks of a canal, and good docks or premises are as necessary as a good ship in attempting the voyage of success. In the equipment of a ship there are officers and crew, and as these are efficient in the management of dock and vessel the voyage will be prosperous or not. The first of these officers is necessarily the Captain, and I need hardly say that as captain of this firm I am proud of the ship that carries me, and the crew that sails under my orders. Next to the Captain comes the first officer, who takes care of the vessel when the captain is absent from duty; he is the captain’s confidant, and has to further the captain’s orders. With a good mate to carry out his instructions and further his wishes, the captain’s work is made easier and more pleasant than it might be.
Of the other officers, few or many, I must not stay to speak in detail, and yet the purser must not be forgotten. The purser, you know, is the officer who distributes the financial rewards which we all find so grateful and comforting. It is to him we look for that monetary encouragement which we all feel so necessary to our happiness. For my part I always try to keep on good terms with the purser; and when the enterprises of the year are reckoned up and the log-books are overhauled, I look with inquiring anxiety into the genial face of the purser to try and catch a glimpse of that benign expression which promises an increase of my salary. If I see it broaden out into a smile of satisfaction I know that my wages will be raised, but if he shakes his head I see that I have to work another year before I can expect an increase. Seeing how much our fortunes are in the purser’s hands, I am sure we shall all wish him a happy and successful career.
But the captain and the officers would not be able to make much progress if the ship were not manned with an able and willing crew. Gentlemen, I put it to you that here is the secret of success—a good ship bound on healthy enterprises, with good officers and a loyal crew, all working together with one object—a happy and successful voyage. Gentlemen, your prosperity and mine are indissolubly bound together, and the co-operation of the humblest worker is necessary to the general good. The purser may watch the cash box with the utmost vigilance, but we must all remember that it is the “mickles that make the muckle,” and small economies that make for increased profits. Every penny wasted is a penny out of the profits, and every penny out of profits reduces the margin out of which increases of salary can be made. Knowing and feeling this, I ask you all to join with me in drinking to and working for the health and prosperity of the firm.
(Ladies and) Gentlemen, some one has said “There are no pleasures we enjoy that do not involve us in obligations, and side by side with all our enjoyments there are duties which we are called upon to perform.” If this be so, I am sure we shall all recognise the fact that the pleasure and enjoyment we have had to-night, under the able chairmanship of our worthy president, demands of us all the hearty and unanimous vote of thanks which it is now my privilege to propose.
It is not necessary for me, nor would it be becoming on my part, to attempt the enumeration of the many qualities which excite our admiration and command our respect. That he should have accepted so readily and discharged so ably the duties of his important office are sufficient grounds upon which to unite in performing a duty which is in itself a pleasure, and if you want another reason why we should join with enthusiasm in thanking him for his genial service, I will give it to you in the words of the poet,
“For he’s a jolly good fellow,
And so say all of us.”
Ladies and Gentlemen, those of us who join clubs and societies of this kind with the main purpose of promoting our own pleasure and amusement, should be the first to recognise how largely we are indebted to those who contribute so much to our comfort and convenience by undertaking the clerical work and managerial responsibility. When we enter the cricket field, the tennis ground, the croquet lawn or the bowling green, and find the wickets pitched, the courts marked, the grass mown and all things ready for our enjoyment, we do not always remember how much we owe to those who are content to do the drudgery by which we profit, and who, however perverse the clerk of the weather may be, are always at their posts to make the best that may be, out of the worst that is.
But for “hewers of wood” we should have no bats and wickets to play with, and but for “drawers of water,” no faultless pitches and sport-inviting grounds; but beyond these, whose services are seldom overpaid, there are those whose work is never fully requited, who voluntarily and without reward fulfil the offices of government—Prime Minister, Chancellor of the Exchequer, Home and Foreign Secretary, or who sit upon committees—for diplomatic service.
With all this work done freely for our-comfort and convenience, we should indeed be wanting in the slightest claim upon its continuance, were we not ready on an occasion like this to testify our appreciation and express our gratitude.
Ladies and Gentlemen, in the name of the sport we love, and the enjoyment we derive from its pursuit, I ask you to join me in this vote of thanks to the secretary and the other honorary officers of this club.
(Ladies and) Gentlemen, As the (senior) successful candidate in the election which has. just taken place, I desire to exercise the right and privilege conceded by all parties on such occasions to those who occupy that position, of moving a hearty vote of thanks to the returning officer for the manner in which he has discharged the duties of his office.
At election times, when competition is keen, and asperities are not uncommon, it is satisfactory to all parties to know that there is one person who remains unaffected by the turmoil of controversy and unperturbed by the personalities which sometimes embitter strife—one person who maintains the attitude of the sphinx, the discipline of a field marshal, the organisation of an army service corps, the dignity of a judge, the integrity of an archbishop, and the courtesy of a master of the ceremonies, and that is the returning officer, whose wise arrangements and business methods have smoothed the way for the better and the worse in the contest which he has just brought to a close.
For my own part I must express myself as being as well contented with the procedure as I am satisfied with the result, and I am happy in feeling sure that while my opponent may not be as well pleased with the issue as I confess I am, he will none the less join heartily with me in thanking the returning officer for the completeness of his arrangements, the efficiency of his staff, and the promptness of his return. Ladies and Gentlemen, I beg to move a hearty vote of thanks to the returning officer.
Ladies and Gentlemen, though I have been sharply opposed to my honourable friend the mover of this vote of thanks for some time past, I am happy to-night in finding myself in entire agreement with him on at least one subject, and that is the appreciation of public service, wisely, honestly, and efficiently rendered. There are compensations in all our disappointments, and whatever regrets I may have with regard to the result of this election, I shall always look back with pleasure and satisfaction upon the manner of its conduct, and it is quite within the range of possibility that I may some day prove my appreciation of the services of the Returning Officer by asking for their employment again. I have much pleasure in seconding the proposal.
FROM Memphis old
A message clear,
The end behold
Of all things here!
Of song and measure,
Wail and woe;
Of wealth and pleasure,
Pain and throe;
Of pride and wealth,
A final fall;
Who comes by stealth
Low levels all!
And ringing after
Echo’s cheers,
Ribald laughter,
Gibes and jeers.
Memento mori!
The mentor saith:
The feast of Life
The fast of Death.—A. H. M.