Volume 159 — I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

Four-and-ninety English winters Having flecked my hair with snows, I am ready for the printers, And my publishers suppose That these random recollections Of a mid-Victorian male, Owing to my high connections, Ought to have a fairish sale. Comrades of my giddy zenith, Gazing back in retrospect, I should say Lord Brixton (Kenneth) Had the brightest intellect; Though of course no age enfeebles James Kircudbright's mental vim (Now the seventh Duke of Peebles)— I have lots of tales of Jim. We were gilded youths together In our Foreign Office days; Used to fish and tramp the heather At his uncle's castle, "Braes;" I recall our wild elation One day when we stole the hat, At the Honduras Legation, Of a Danish diplomat. James had scarcely any vices, His career was made almost When the Guatemalan crisis Caused him to resign his post; He possessed a Gordon setter On whose treatment by a vet I once wrote The Times a letter Which has not been published yet. Politics were dry and dusty, Still they had their moods of fun, As, for instance, when the crusty Yet delightful Viscount Bunn Broke into the Second Reading Of a Church Endowment Bill With a snore of perfect breeding Which convulsed the Earl of Brill. Through my kinship with the Gortons I was much at Widnes Square; People of the first importance Often came to luncheon there; Gladstone, Dizzy, even older Statesmen used to throng the hall; Palmerston once touched my shoulder— Which one I do not recall. Then I went to routs and dances, Ah, how fine they were, and how Different from the dubious prances That the young indulge in now; There I first encountered Kitty, Told the girl I was a dunce, But implored her to have pity, And she said she would, at once. Eh, well, well! I must not linger On those glorious halcyon days; Time with his relentless finger Brings me to the second phase; Politics were always creeping Like a ghost across my view— I contested Market Sleeping In the Spring of Seventy-Two. Gladstone—[No, please not. Ed.] Evoe.