Lord Curzon rises with the lark—­
  That is (at present) when it’s dark—­
  Breakfasts in haste on tea and toast,
  Then grapples with the early post,
  And reads the newspapers, which shed
  Denunciation on his head. 
  Having digested their vagaries
  He calls his faithful secretaries
  And keeps them writing, sheet on sheet,
  Until he’s due in Downing Street. 
  The Cabinet is seldom through
  Until the clock is striking two,
  When Ministers, dispersing, munch
  Their frugal sandwiches for lunch. 
  Then back into affairs of State
  Again they plunge from three till eight,
  Presiding, guiding, interviewing,
  Tea conscientiously eschewing,
  Until exhausted nature cries
  At half-past eight for more supplies. 
  Another hasty meal is snatched
  And, when the viands are despatched,
  Once more our admirable Crichton,
  Though feeling like a weary Titan,
  Resumes the toil of brain and pen
  Till two is sounded by Big Ben.

* * * * *

The life of those whom duty spurs on
To lead laborious days, like Curzon,
Is not the life of Billy Merson
Or any gay inferior person.

* * * * *

RUS IN URBE.

The Selborne Society, which used to be a purely rural expeditionary force, has lately taken to exploring London, and personally-conducted tours have been arranged to University College in darkest Gower Street, where Sir PHILIP MAGNUS and Sir GREGORY FOSTER will act as guides, and to the Royal Courts of Justice, where Sir EDWARD MARSHALL HALL, K.C., “will describe the methods of conducting civil actions.”  What GILBERT WHITE would say to all this brick-and-mortar sophistication we do not dare to guess.  All that we venture to do is to suggest one or two more urbane adventures.

Why, for example, should not a visit be paid to the House of Lords, under the direction of the new LORD CHANCELLOR?  Five minutes spent on the Woolsack in such company not only would be a treasured memory, but a liberal (or, at any rate, a coalition) education.  After such an experience all the Selbornians should come away better fitted to climb the ascents which life offers.

Again, if Sir HORACE MARSHALL, the Lord Mayor, invited the Society to the Mansion House they might be enormously benefited.  Of turtle doves they naturally know all; GILBERT WHITE would have seen to that; but what do they know of turtle soup?  Well, the LORD MAYOR would instruct them.  He would show them the pools under the Mansion House where these creatures luxuriate while awaiting their doom; he would indicate the areas beneath the shell from some of which is extracted the calipash and from some the calipee; he might even induce the Most Worshipful Keeper of the Turtles, O.B.E., to discourse on the subject.