The British Barbarians
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS I The time was Saturday afternoon; the place was Surrey; the person of the drama was Philip Christy. He had come down by the early fast train to Brackenhurst. All the world knows Brackenhurst, of course, the greenest and leafiest of our southern suburbs. It looked even prettier than its wont just then, that town of villas, in the first fresh tenderness of its wan spring foliage, the first full flush of lilac, laburnum, horse- chestnut, and guelder-rose. The air was heavy with the odour of May and the hum of bees. Philip paused a while at the corner, by the ivied cottage, admiring it silently. He was glad he lived there-- so very aristocratic! What joy to glide direct, on the enchanted carpet of the South-Eastern Railway, from the gloom and din and
'Thou extreme Ass!' replied the Dog.
'When the work's done, grudging wages--is that acting like a lord?'
'Mean-spirited beast,' retorted the Ass, 'who neglectest thy master's
business! Well, then, I at least will endeavor to arouse him; it is no
less than religion,
'Serve the Sun with sweat of body; starve thy maw to feed the flame;
Stead thy lord with all thy service; to thy death go, quit of blame.'
So saying, he put forth his very best braying. The Washerman sprang up
at the noise, and missing the thief, turned in a rage upon the Ass for
disturbing him, and beat it with a cudgel to such an extent that the
blows resolved the poor animal into the five elements of death. 'So
that,' continued Karataka, 'is why I say, Let the prime minister look to
him. The hunting for prey is our duty--let us stick to it, then. And
this,' he said, with a meditative look, 'need not trouble us to-day; for
we have a capital dish of the royal leavings.'
'What!' said Damanaka, rough with rage, 'dost thou serve the King for
the sake of thy belly? Why take any such trouble to preserve an
existence like thine?--
'Many prayers for him are uttered whereon many a life relies;
'Tis but one poor fool the fewer when the gulping Raven dies.'
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS I The time was Saturday afternoon; the place was Surrey; the person of the drama was Philip Christy. He had come down by the early fast train to Brackenhurst. All the world knows Brackenhurst, of course, the greenest and leafiest of our southern suburbs. It looked even prettier than its wont just then, that town of villas, in the first fresh tenderness of its wan spring foliage, the first full flush of lilac, laburnum, horse- chestnut, and guelder-rose. The air was heavy with the odour of May and the hum of bees. Philip paused a while at the corner, by the ivied cottage, admiring it silently. He was glad he lived there-- so very aristocratic! What joy to glide direct, on the enchanted carpet of the South-Eastern Railway, from the gloom and din and