In spite of Fate invincible, Of lack of wit, and lack of gold, Of pictures that too cheaply sell, Or pictures never sold, Oh, yet, when I am old and grey, If old and grey I live to be, I shall recall one happy day, The day you came to tea!
You came. Of course I am aware You did not, could not, come alone. You were between the millionaire And a stout chaperon. My work they called to criticise, But what they said I do not know, For gleams of laughter in your eyes That seemed to come and go.
The hurrying moments how I rued! There flashed a scheme into my brain. With unexpected tea, I would My visitors detain. The ever-willing household slave Into my service I impressed; To her my tea, my gold I gave, She vowed to do the rest.
That tea was strong, for all my hoard, Some half a pound, two shilling tea, Into the teapot had been poured-- Only the milk--ah me! So pallid, comfortless a stream, Into your cup I saw it glide. For a true jug of country cream I felt I would have died!
But with the cake I was content, Its richness no one could mistake, For my whole store the slave had spent On a superior cake. 'Twas all in layers, almonded, And crowned with white and rosy ice: "What a delightful cake!" you said; "But, please, a smaller slice!"
I flushed and stammered. I suspect A pound I'd cut you unaware. On what I did could I reflect When you were sitting there? That revel, ah, how soon 'twas o'er! How swiftly came the moment when After my guests I shut the door, I mounted to my den.
Then down I sat beside the wall, And, feeling doubtful and amazed, I strove your accent to recall As at your chair I gazed. I heard your soft laugh echo through The dingy room grown dear to me, Where now was silence; and I knew That you had been to tea!
"'LETTING I DARE NOT WAIT UPON I WOULD, LIKE THE POOR CAT IN THE ADAGE.'
(_By an Affable Philosopher and Courteous Guide._)
It does not take very long to make yourself quite at home as Secretary of the Public Squander Department--the office I will suppose you to be filling. You will find everything ready to your hand. All you will have to remember is this--the golden rule of the Service--that what was done last year, should be followed this, and arranged for next. Ministries may come and Cabinets may go, but the P. S. D. continues for ever. The policy of the office must never be disturbed. If it has been the custom (say) to put orange-trees in the open spaces under the control of the Department out to bloom in February, under no consideration whatever must the date be changed. It may be advanced (generally in the newspapers when there is nothing more interesting ripe for discussion) that July would be the better month. It may be declared that an orange-tree taken from a hothouse and thrust into the uncertain atmosphere of the Metropolis, and indeed the provinces, stands less chance of weathering that climate in the second month of the year than it would in the seventh. That may be very true, but what has been done by the Public Squander Department once should be repeated for ever. If an alteration has to be made it must not be accomplished except "under-pressure." Questions must be asked in the House, returns moved for, and all the rest of it. So long as the alteration can be resisted, it is the duty of every member of the Department to stand shoulder to shoulder to oppose. You will find a case in point in the matter of your own pet grievance the condition of "Milestones." You will recollect (if you have a good memory) that "Milestones" were the steps of the staircase that led you from the hall of Parliament to the comfortable apartments reserved for the special use of the Secretary of the P. S. D.