LITERARY GOSSIP

Press, Volume LX, Issue 18141, 2 August 1924, Page 13

LITERARY GOSSIP

To harness "Wit in the chariot of «!• profession. writes Arthur Waugh, and still to preserve her native spirit and vivacity, is a hard task; and few there bs that suoceed in it. The amateur has the blessings, of «11 the world; the professional its girdings and complaints. There is always'a suspicion that the trained jester is falling out of form. In the Court of Illyria. B este was openly despised by the self-satisfied Mal-volio. and even Olivia was beginning to ba bored by his. quips and quillets . . . "Go to; you .are si dry fool." When this sort of rebuke is bandied about, the end of popularity is near. Even the gentle Fool of Lear fell away into a sad melancholy when his young Jady ' was married and ' taken off to France; and. to come down straight away to wise saws and modern instances. Mark Lemon's impatient retort, that "Punch" had never been as good as it was, sums up once and for all tho eternal burden of the professional wit. Humour is a thing of habit; its appeal depends on novelty, and the dullard is tjie first to got wcai-y of his own., amusements. The wit who would keep in favour with the public must either wear his fancy like the fashion of his hat. changing over with the nest block, or lie must possess that subtle and tender strain of humanity which reveals the man beneath the motley. He must l>o a laughing philosopher with a droop in the corner of his eyelid. Though ho may smile away sentimentality, he must be the friend of a wiso W penetrating sentiment.

What is the ideal income T Mr Bernard Shaw told a Communist meeting that he considered his own "three or four thousand a ye ; ar to spend'' the average of what every man should enjoy and find content with —a big advance on Mr John Burns's famous prewar declaration that no man had need of more than £SOO a year. Time was, indeed, when Mr Shaw's ideal amount would have been considered ample for the support of a peerage. "Lord Shelburne," said Dr. Johnson, "told me that a man of high rank who looked into his own affairs might have all he ought to have, all that can be of any use or appear with any advantage, for £SOOO a year." Not a few men of "high rank" nowadays, one suspects, have to manage on a good deal less.

LINES ON A SHEPHERD. (From the "Saturday Review.") He never owns he iB old: but these late Springs Do tease the bones. Whoever i!se may fail, When February pits his cheeifs with hail, Or in his head March like an iron bell dings, Shepherd must never fail .... But O, the grace Of the Hay cherry-boughs that bend and brush His hairy aim with petals; of the blush The sunset throws over his wrinkled face; Of the gTeen grass, so tender on the lips Of his young lambs; and o£ the call Of ewes when thev are anxious—such things fall Like balsams on the wounds of Winter's whips. He'll never own he is old: but fragrant now. His dreams are, as the cherry's burdened bough; And kinder than his own kind hands are thoy That loan out oi the night, to beckon him war.