There would, of course, be no difficulty about the "funeral bakéd meats."
Now he whose gallant heart so lightly bore So long the burden of the years' increase Passes at length toward the silent shore, From peace to deeper peace.
And we, his honoured comrades, by whose side His haunting spirit keeps its ancient spell, We bring our tribute, woven of love and pride, And say a last farewell.
Yet not farewell; because eternal youth Still crowns the craftsmanship where hand and eye Saw and interpreted the soul of Truth, Letting the rest go by.
Thus for his pictured pageant, gay or grave, He seized and fixed the moving hour's event, Maker of history by the life he gave To fact with fancy blent.
So lives the Artist in the work he wrought; Yet Nature dowered the Man with gifts more dear-- A chivalrous true knight in deed and thought, Without reproach or fear.
"GOOD MORNING, Sir," he said, as I boarded a leviathan one day last week. "What a beautiful morning, isn't it? What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" He daftly pulled half-a-dozen tickets from his stock and permitted me to inspect them.
"Fresh in this morning, Sir," he continued. "White, one penny; a great many people prefer them because they go well with any colour. For the blue ones we are asking twopence; they have only the same amount of information but take you twice as far. Sweet shade, isn't it?" He stepped back and held one up to the light for my benefit.
"Well, I really only wanted a pennyworth, but I _must_ have one of the blue ones--they _are_ attractive, as you say. I shall keep it in memory of you."
"Very good of you, Sir. You won't mind my making a little hole in it? A mere matter of form; and the bell, which rings to announce the conclusion of the operation, is, as you will notice, quite musical. A sovereign? I shall be delighted to change it for you." He gave me the correct change, bowed, and turned to answer a lady passenger.
"Have we passed Sloane Street?" she had enquired.
"We passed it at least five minutes ago, madam. Were you wishing to alight there?"
"I was," replied the lady; "but don't trouble--I can walk back."
"Certainly not, my dear madam," he protested. Turning to the little ventilator-window by which he could communicate with the driver, he rapped. "William," he called, "a lady here desired to get down at Sloane Street. Do you mind...?"