DOWN CHANNEL.
The chime of country steeples,
The scent of gorse and musk,
The drone of sleepy breakers
Come mingled with the dusk;
A ruddy moon is rising
Like a ripe pomegranate husk.
The coast-wise lights are wheeling
White sword-blades in the sky,
The misty hills grow dimmer,
The last lights blink and die;
Oh, land of home and beauty,
Good-bye, my dear, good-bye!
Patlander.
How to be Lonely though Married.
"Lonely Officer (married, with three children) wants Sealyham Terrier Dog."—Times.
Golfer. "Let's see—what's bogey for this hole?"
Caddie (fed up). "Dinna fash yersel' aboot bogey. Ye've played fufteen an' ye're no deid yet— (aside) worse luck."