(_PATERFAMILIAS IN NORTH CORNWALL._)
[Illustration]
Oh! how delightful now at last to come
Away from town--its dirt, its degradation,
Its never-ending whirl, its ceaseless hum.
(A long chalks better, though, than sheer stagnation.)
For what could mortal man or maid want more
Than breezy downs to stroll on, rocks to climb up,
Weird labyrinthine caverns to explore?
(There's nothing else to do to fill the time up.)
Your honest face here earns an honest brown,
You ramble on for miles 'mid gorse and heather,
Sheep hold athletic sports upon the down
(Which makes the mutton taste as tough as leather).
The place is guiltless, too, of horrid piers,
And likewise is not Christy-Minstrel tooney;
No soul-distressing strains disturb your ears.
(A German band has just played "_Annie Rooney_.")
The eggs as fresh as paint, the Cornish cream
The boys from school all say is "simply ripping,"
The butter, so the girls declare, "a dream."
(The only baccy you can buy quite dripping.)
A happiness of resting after strife,
Where one forgets all worldly pain and sorrow,
And one contentedly could pass one's life.
(A telegram will take _me_ home to-morrow.)
* * * * *
[Illustration]
CANINE SAGACITY.--Numerous instances of this have been quoted in the
_Spectator_ and other papers. Our _Toby_ would like to be informed
how one clever dog would communicate with another clever dog, if the
former were in a great hurry? The reply from a great authority in the
K9 Division, signing himself "DOGBERRY," is that "the clever dog would
either tailegraph or tailephone; but that, anyhow, in the strictest
confidence, he would tell his own tail."
* * * * *