_She._ Yes, I don't know what I should have done without my sense of humour.
_She_ (_confidentially_). You know, I think dogs should be treated _as_ dogs. They should be kept in their proper places. I like them best in the country, you know. Don't you?
_He._ Yes. I think the country is the place for all animals. One sees so many there--at least in some places.
_She._ I am so fond of the country. It is so restful. The old oaks and the buttercups and the village rector and the dear cows. I don't know what we should do without them.
_He._ That's what I say. Where would England be without the country?
_She._ Ah, yes. "Far from the madding crowd," as the poet says.
_He._ Yes. What a great poet MILTON is, to be sure.
_She._ Oh, delightful! And don't you like Miss WHEELER WILCOX?
_He._ Of course--ripping, yes, of course. Her poems of pleasure--her poems of passion, her--well, in fact, all her poems.
At this point the man broke down altogether and began to gibber. But he recovered in time to see the prize unanimously voted to the lady. This consisted of a volume of Mr. ----, but perhaps I had better not mention names; it might be liable to misconstruction. I hope I have said enough to show what a fascinating and delightful game it is. No appliances are required (as with dominoes), except one's own nimble brain; and I think Platitudes will soon sweep the country. Signs are not wanting that Clumps and Dumb Crambo are already becoming back numbers in the best circles.
"The military dirigible Koerting made the wound in the leg of Baron de Rothschild. It was found to have flattened itself against the bone."--_Egyptian Mail._
"The Koerting; so it is," said the Baron, when shown the X-ray photograph of his calf.
Tell me not of Western Islands Or some bonnie loch or ben Of those hustled haunts, the Highlands; I'm not going there again.
Cease from cackling so cocksurely Of some heavenly woodland dell Where the pipes of Pan blow purely; I have sampled these as well.
Do not harp upon your hollow Tales of Somewhere-by-the-Sea Patronised by Ph. Apollo; 'Tisn't good enough for me.
No, nor urge me, friend, to hasten To your "cloudless alien climes," Hungering for my Fleece like Jason-- I've been fleeced there many times.