Said her maid (and risked her place), "In the 'ouse it should have kept, Flymen drives at such a pace"-- Still the lady's anger slept. Rose her husband, best of dears, Laid a bracelet on her knee. Like playful child she boxed his ears-- "Sweet old pet!--let's have some tea." And the following by Mr. Sawyer is also worthy of preservation:-- THE RECOGNITION. Home they brought her sailor son, Grown a man across the sea, Tall and broad and black of beard, And hoarse of voice as man may be. Hand to shake and mouth to kiss. Both he offered ere he spoke; But she said--"What man is this Comes to play a sorry joke?" Then they praised him--call'd him "smart," "Tightest lad that ever stept;" But her son she did not know, And she neither smiled nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set a pigeon-pie in sight: She saw him eat--"'Tis he! 'tis he!" She knew him--by his appetite! * * * * * In January, 1882, Mr. Cook speaking at a public meeting in reference to the state of affairs in Ireland at that time, observed that he could not better represent Mr. Gladstone's position in this land question than by quoting a parody on that celebrated poem of Tennyson's, "Home they brought her warrior dead":-- Home they brought Montmorres dead, _He_ nor sighed nor uttered cry. All the English angered said Strike! or know the reason why. Jones and Boycott labouring well Lost the fruits of earlier years; Surely now 'tis time to quell, Yet no remedy appears, Farmers who had paid some rent On the cold ground weltering lay; Still on landlord plunder bent Small attention did he pay. Travelling Forster entering said: But our "Bill" will strangled be; Then the Premier raised his head-- Oh sweet, my child, I strike for thee. * * * * * IN IMMEMORIAM. (_Ascribed to the author of "In Memoriam" but not believed to be his_). We seek to know, and knowing seek; We seek, we know, and every sense Is trembling with the great intense, And vibrating to what we speak. We ask too much, we seek too oft; We know enough, and should no more; And yet we skim through Fancy's lore, And look to earth and not aloft. * * * * * O sea! whose ancient ripples lie On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone; O moon! whose golden sickle's gone, O voices all! like you I die! (_Dies._) From _Medley_, by Cuthbert Bede, 1856. The 1842 volume of Tennyson's works contained a short poem in four verses entitled A FAREWELL. Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. * * *