Explore "The Babe, B. A" by E.F. Benson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thy warrior comes in regal state, What words of welcome for him, wife? The lips of love, the heart of hate, The bath, the net, the knife. STORIES OF MYCENÆ.
Between his own tripos work, which he stuck to steadily and grimly, and found by mere force of routine less disagreeable than he expected, Rugby football, the storm and stress of social duties, as he called them -- which meant dining out or having people to dinner five nights out of the seven -- and constant rehearsals for the Greek play, the Babe's time was very fully taken up. Furthermore, on Mr. Gladstone's principle, though otherwise their principles had nothing in common, he always slept for eight and a half hours every night, and if, as often happened, he did not go to bed till two, the hours of the morning were somewhat curtailed. The Babe, however, did not object to this, as the morning seemed to him the really disagreeable part of the day. There was something crude and raw about the air until lunch-time, which made itself felt, whatever one was doing.