86 



MY LIFE 



[Chap. 



and misleading. I received no reply either to my letter or to 

 the review. 



When I was at Montreal in 1887, Mr. lies, the manager 

 of the Windsor Hotel in that city, called my attention to a 

 most humorous critical rhapsody which Mr. Butler had 

 written after his recent visit to Canada and sent to the 

 Spectat07\ As I do not think it has appeared elsewhere, 

 and is a good example of his fantastic genius, I here give 

 it from a copy furnished me by Mr. lies. 



A Psalm of Montreal. 



[The city of Montreal is one of the most rising and, in many respects, most 

 agreeable on the American continent, but its inhabitants are as yet too busy with 

 commerce to care greatly about the masterpieces of old Greek Art. A cast, how- 

 ever, of one of these masterpieces — the finest of the several statues of Discoboli, 

 or Quoit-throwers — was found by the present writer in the Montreal Museum of 

 Natural History ; it was, however, banished from public view, to a room where 

 were all manner of skins, plants, snakes, insects, etc., and in the middle of these, 

 an old man stuffing an owl. The dialogue — perhaps true, perhaps imaginary, 

 perhaps a little of one and a little of the other — between the writer and the old 

 man gave rise to the lines that follow.] 



Stowed away in a Montreal lumber-room, 

 The Discobolus standeth, and turneth his face to the wall ; 

 Dusty, cobweb-covered, maimed and set at naught, 

 Beauty crieth in an attic, and no man regardeth. 



Oh God ! oh Montreal ! 



Beautiful by night and day, beautiful in summer and winter, 

 Whole or maimed, always and alike beautiful, 

 He preacheth gospel of grace to the skins of owls, 

 And to one who seasoneth the skins of Canadian owls. 



Oh God ! oh Montreal ! 



When I saw him, I was wroth, and I said, " O Discobolus ! 

 Beautiful Discobolus, a Prince both among gods and men, 

 What doest thou here, how earnest thou here. Discobolus, 

 Preaching gospel in vain to the skins of owls ? " 



Oh God ! oh Montreal ! 



And I turned to the man of skins, and said unto him, Oh ! thou man of 

 skins. 



Wherefore hast thou done this, to shame the beauty of the Discobolus ? " 



But the Lord had hardened the heart of the man of skins. 



And he answered, " My brother-in-law is haberdasher to Mr. Spurgeon." 



Oh God ! oh Montreal ! 



