[Illustration: "_When your toe begins to take a fantastic shape it is pretty nearly time to give up dancing._"] I always sympathise with you in your sorrows and try to join you in your pleasures. In this life, unfortunately, for a good many, there are more sorrows than pleasures, but I think it is the duty of all who have it in their power to try to make those around them have, if possible, more pleasures in their lives than sorrows. I congratulate myself that I have still a kick left in me. You know that Milton, the poet, has said in two lines: "Come and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe." but when your toe begins to take a fantastic shape it is pretty nearly time to give up dancing. As my toes are beginning to take that shape, I am afraid I shall not have a kick left much longer. I have always spoken a few words to you on these occasions--sometimes of sentiment, sometimes of politics, and sometimes of fun. I usually prefer fun, because there is generally enough of the other phases around us. I will therefore content myself with giving the establishment a little bit of advice, or rather a hint. I have found that what I say on these occasions has somehow or other found its way into the papers. I do not know exactly how that is. However, I think it will be more impressive in print, because if you forget what I say before the end of the evening, you will be able to read it in the Press next day. My hint is about fires. There are large fireplaces in Tredegar House, which is an old one, full of old oak which is liable to catch fire. During the last few weeks some fine old country houses have been destroyed by fire. I do not think this has occurred through carelessness. I know my servants are not careless. What I want you to understand is the difference between a fire and a furnace. Old Welsh families--and my family is really an old Welsh family--all believe that they have very long pedigrees. There are in the strong room at Tredegar House a great many old records--some of which I have read out of curiosity. Many of them, no doubt, are mythical, and some are accurate, but in all my study of them I have not been able to discover that I bear any relationship to Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. I therefore fail to see why the household staff should pile up furnaces, especially now that I assure them I am not quite impervious to fire. I always like to entertain you a little on these occasions. I will therefore just sing to you a few lines, and ask Young Charley (the huntsman) to come in at the end. I notice that Old Charley (the former huntsman) is also present, and he, perhaps, will join in as well. His Lordship then sang the following verses to the tune of "Ben Bolt":--