They advanced….
And as I shut my eyes I seemed to see—no, not that old clay hut amid the wattles, nor yet the adobe edifice on the heights of Asiago, but Celia coming into the library with another paper announcing that yet another country was deaf to the call of art.
* * * * *
If anybody wants a really good story about the Peninsular War and will drop me a line, I shall be glad to enter into negotiations with him. The scene is laid in the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and the chief interest centres round an old—yes, you have guessed it—an old clay hut in the wattles.
THE TWO VISITS,
1888, 1919
("Dispersal Areas, 10a, 10b, 10c—Crystal Palace.")
It was, I think, in '88
That Luck or Providence or Fate
Assumed the more material state
Of Aunt (or Great-Aunt) Alice,
And took (the weather being fine,
And Bill, the eldest, only nine)
Three of us by the Brighton line
To see the Crystal Palace.
Observe us, then, an eager four
Advancing on the Western Door,
Or possibly the Northern, or—
Well, anyhow, advancing;
Aunt Alice bending from the hips,
And Bill in little runs and trips,
And John with frequent hops and skips,
While I was fairly dancing.
Aunt Alice pays; the turnstile clicks,
And with the happy crowds we mix
To gaze upon—well, I was six,
Say, getting on for seven;
And, looking back on it to-day,
The memories have passed away—
I find that I can only say
(Roughly) to gaze on heaven.