THE EXILE.
Now I return to my own land and people,
Old familiar things so to recover,
Hedgerows and little lanes and meadows,
The friendliness of my own land and people.
I have seen a world-frieze of glowing orange,
Palms painted black on a satin horizon;
Palm-trees in the dusk and the silence standing
Straight and still against a background of orange;
A gorgeous magical pomp of light and colour,
A dream-world, a sparkling gem in the sunlight,
The minarets and domes of an Eastern city;
And, in the midst of all the pomp of colour,
My heart cried out for my own land and people,
My heart cried out for the lush meadows of England,
The hedgerows and the little lanes of England,
And for the faces of my own people.
"The Viceroy, fishing in the Kabini river yesterday, caught a mahseer weighing 77 pounds. This is the best fish so far caught in one day."—Weekly Rangoon Times.
We gather that the giant would not have allowed any less august angler to land it except by instalments.
"Splendidly written."
"Yes, I've read it."
"Rattling good book this, Courtship and Crime."
"Yes, I've read it."
"There's one thrilling bit where—"
"Yes, I've—"
"By Jove, it's exciting!"
"I've read it."
"—but I must read it to you."
"I've read it."
"—the hero—"
"—read it."
"—enjoy it."
"I've read it."
"I know you'll—"
"I've read it."