Mein Herr, will you do us the honour to descend from the railway-carriage? It will be merely a matter of form. We need not disturb those gracious ladies, your wife and daughters.
This is the best way to the Customs. You will notice that we have swept the path that leads to the door.
Certainly, these arm-chairs are for the use of passengers. We have placed them there ourselves, and can recommend them.
Is it asking too great a favour to beg you to lend me the keys of your boxes? A hundred thousand thanks.
Your explanation is absolutely satisfactory. You are bringing these sixteen unopened boxes of cigars home for your grandmother. It is a most proper thing to do, and, under the circumstances, the duty will be remitted.
And these three hundred yards of lace of various makes and ages? An heir-loom! Indeed! Then, of course, the packet must pass duty-free.
As we have found nothing of consequence in this portmanteau of yours, it will be unnecessary to search the nineteen boxes of that gracious lady, your wife. No doubt she has obeyed your instruction not to smuggle. We are absolutely satisfied with your explanations, and are greatly obliged to you for your kindness and condescension.
This is the way to the carriage. We have placed steps before the door, as without a platform it is difficult to ascend.
No, Mein Herr, it is utterly impossible! We are forbidden by the EMPEROR himself to accept a gratuity.
Yes, Madam, it is indeed without charge. Do not tempt us. Instant dismissal is the penalty.
Certainly, Mein Herr, you could get the same politeness before the EMPEROR issued his Imperial instructions.
["I do not wish to call Mr. GLADSTONE by a name which would be both tasteless and pointless."--_Mr. A.V. Dicey's Letter to the Times._]
Tasteless and pointless, DICEY? Well, the time _is_ out of joint, And you were born to set it right, though _not_ with "taste" and "point." We cannot all do all things, Sir, and if you save the State (As the great Twin Brethren mean to in despite of HARCOURT's hate), What _does_ it matter, DICEY, if your letters are not quite In that style epistolary, which our fathers called "polite"? 'Tis a little too meticulous--in you--and rather late, After giving Mr. GLADSTONE such a wholesome slashing "slate." Take heart of grace, dear DICEY, and don't let Sir WILLIAM's "point" In your tough (if tasteless) armour find a vulnerable joint. "Old Timbertoes" won't trouble, Sir, to wish that _you_ were dead, And his taste (_not_ point) forbids him to call you "Old Wooden-head!"