The Audacious War
IF! Suppose 't were done! The lanyard pulled on every shotted gun; Into the wheeling death-clutch sent Each millioned armament, To grapple there On land, on sea and under, and in air! Suppose at last 't were come-- Now, while each bourse and shop and mill is dumb And arsenals and dockyards hum,-- Now all complete, supreme, That vast, Satanic dream!-- Each field were trampled, soaked, Each stream dyed, choked, Each leaguered city and blockaded port Made famine's sport; The empty wave Made reeling dreadnought's grave; Cathedral, castle, gallery, smoking fell
business acumen, his foresight, capacity, and shrewdness he advanced the
business, which had already been highly successful, to a rare pitch of
prosperity.
At one time I saw and heard much of Mr. Chamberlain, especially in the
earlier part of his Birmingham public career. He was always what he is
now--a sharp, smart, and ready man. A man to inspire admiration and
confidence. There was always a promptness and "all thereness" in his
nature, with a decided touch of self-reliance, and I may even say
audacity. In fact, without intending any reflection upon him, I might
perhaps suggest that he could appropriately take as his motto "De
l'audace, encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace." In proof of this
I may cite one or two incidents that came under my notice.
Some thirty years or more ago Mr. Chamberlain was a prominent member of
a local debating society. Now, this society used to have every year two
social gatherings, and it was observed that many members who rarely or
never came to the debates were not conspicuous by their absence when the
summer "outings" and other little feasts took place. The committee
thought it would be rather good sport to give these knife and fork
debaters a little mild and gentle rub. Consequently they made them the
subject of a toast at one of their social meetings, held at the
Lyttelton Arms, Hagley. A word was coined for the occasion, and they
were toasted as the "Artopsareocoluthic Members" (signifying the lovers
of the loaves and fishes), and to Mr. Chamberlain was entrusted the task
of proposing the toast.
IF! Suppose 't were done! The lanyard pulled on every shotted gun; Into the wheeling death-clutch sent Each millioned armament, To grapple there On land, on sea and under, and in air! Suppose at last 't were come-- Now, while each bourse and shop and mill is dumb And arsenals and dockyards hum,-- Now all complete, supreme, That vast, Satanic dream!-- Each field were trampled, soaked, Each stream dyed, choked, Each leaguered city and blockaded port Made famine's sport; The empty wave Made reeling dreadnought's grave; Cathedral, castle, gallery, smoking fell