_Prisoner_ (_with a laugh_). How should _you_ know?--you, who are only a magistrate!
_Magistrate._ You insult me! But that will not serve you. Drink is the curse of the country!
_Prisoner._ You have tried it? It has been a curse to you!
_Magistrate._ You are young to bandy words with one old enough to be your father!
_Prisoner._ My father! You my father! What an honour!
_Magistrate._ I do not envy him! Nor your mother!
_Prisoner_ (_excitedly_). You shall not speak of my mother. My mother is sacred. She shall not be referred to in the tainted atmosphere of a Court of Justice.
_Magistrate._ This hypocrisy shall not serve you. You never loved your mother!
_Prisoner._ Your worship, you are a liar!
_Magistrate._ This to the Bench from the gutter! For you know you were found drunk and incapable in the gutter. What were you doing there?
_Prisoner_ (_tearfully_). I was dreaming of my mother, my loved mother.
_Magistrate._ You do not deserve to have a mother!
_Prisoner_ (_scornfully_). Only a magistrate could make such a cold-blooded observation!
_Magistrate._ For all that you are fined five shillings and costs! Remove the wretched prisoner!
[_The accused was then removed amidst expressions of sympathy from the body of the Court._
There, Sir, would not that be far better reading than paragraphs about gigantic gooseberries and leaders upon the sea serpent? Perhaps my suggestion may be adopted in the proper quarter. Hoping that this may be the case, the police case,
"Let Art and Commerce, Laws and Learning die, But leave us still our Old Nobility!" Without them, in our democratic day, Who will the part of princely patriot play? Who else will keep a splendid Family Seat, And claim--for its defence--a mighty Fleet? Who else will make Bank Holidays a joy To wandering workman and to wondering boy? Who else will rear big fortunes upon Rent, Or palaces on Unearned Increment? Monopolise art's treasures and life's pleasures, And throw out dangerous democratic measures? Who else will keep up England's glorious name? Who else preserve her prestige--and her game? Who else will wear the purple and the ermine, And proudly stamp out Socialistic vermin? Who else in one grand field-day, 'midst the Peers, Undo the labours of _ig_noble years? Who else in solemn ranks, like three-tailed Turks, Defend the power of Privilege and Perks? And 'tis these most magnanimous Mamelukes, Our patriot Earls and foe-defying Dukes, A traitorous Chancellor would dare to--_Tax_!!! Ah! where's the dungeon, and oh! where's the axe? _Noblesse oblige!_ But sure the obligation Cannot involve that horror, Graduation! Is't not enough to rule, and guide, and bless, And soar as shining samples of Success? While with our Nobles England's glory waxes, The Proletariat's proud to--pay the Taxes!