t is necessary or proper for the complaints to go further."

"I fancy we have a legal right to take the matter up," said Blackstone,
wearily; "though I don't know of any precedent for such action. In all
the clubs I have known the house committees have invariably taken the
ground that the complaint-book was established to guard them against the
annoyance of hearing complaints. This one, however, has been forced upon
us by our secretary, and in view of the age of the complainants I think
we cannot well decline to give them a specific answer. Respect for age
is _de rigueur_ at all times, like clean hands. I'll second the motion."

"I think the Poets' Corner entirely unnecessary," said Confucius. "This
isn't a class organization, and we should resist any effort to make it or
any portion of it so. In fact, I will go further and state that it is my
opinion that if we do any legislating in the matter at all, we ought to
discourage rather than encourage these poets. They are always littering
the club up with themselves. Only last Wednesday I came here with a
guest--no less a person than a recently deceased Emperor of China--and
what was the first sight that greeted our eyes?"

"I give it up," said Doctor Johnson. "It must have been a catacornered
sight, whatever it was, if the Emperor's eyes slanted like yours."

"No personalities, please, Doctor," said Sir Walter Raleigh, the
chairman, rapping the table vigorously with the shade of a handsome gavel
that had once adorned the Roman Senate-chamber.

"He's only a Chinaman!" muttered Johnson.

"What was the sight that greeted your eyes, Confucius?" asked Cassius.

"Omar Khayyam stretched over five of the most comfortable chairs in the
library," returned Confucius; "and when I ventured to remonstrate with
him he lost his temper, and said I'd spoiled the whole second volume of
the Rubaiyat. I told him he ought to do his rubaiyatting at home, and he
made a scene, to avoid which I hastened with my guest over to the
billiard-room; and there, stretched at full length on the pool-table, was
Robert Burns trying to write a sonnet on the cloth with chalk in less
time than Villon could turn out another, with two lines start, on the
billiard-table with the same writing materials. Now I ask you,
gentlemen, if these things are to be tolerated? Are they not rather to
be reprehended, whether I am a Chinaman or not?"

"What would you have us do, then?" asked Sir Walter Raleigh, a