Stephen's, hot with T-M H-LY
jeering.
S-L-SB-RY, too, with a well-trained crew, would put his back--that
broad back of his!--in it.
Don't be in a hurry, my nautical friend! we shall all get out in
another minute.
Just like life! Such fidgety strife to be first to the front when the
lock-gates sever.
What does it matter, friends, after all? The slow, the skilful, the
dull, the clever,
The snake-swift "swell" and the splashing 'ARRY, the puffing launch,
and the trim outrigger,
The calm canoest who hugs the timbers, the fussy punter who toils
like a nigger,
All will anon be well out in the cutting, the old gates shutting
slowly behind them,
And where are those who so shoved to the front? At the tail of the
race you may presently find them.
The G.O.M. (with his collars for sails), that jaunty skiff might be
handling. Bless us!
Can he take holiday, he whom toil seems to encoil like a shirt of
Nessus?
Well, Union_ist_ or Separat_ist_, or chap with a twist like
C-NN-NGH-M GR-H-M,
Or howling PAT, or Aristo_crat_ with manners like BRUMMEL and voice
like BRAHAM,
Peppery G-SCH-N, or pompous H-RC-RT, or genial SM-TH, the new-made
Warden,
All, all, to-day, when the world is gay, the stream like silver, the
banks a garden,
_Much_ worse might do than tog up in blue and join a crew on the
rolling river,
"Beyond the tide," dropping all their "side," party or personal,
leaving "liver,"
And Influenza, and other "Obstructions," all party-jobbers, all
jibbers and jolters,
In sunny weather to crowd together in Moulsey Lock, or it might be
BOULTER's!
* * * * *
[Illustration: ELEMENTARY INSTRUCTION IN COOKERY.
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