Look, Helen, that's the heather!
(Too late! Here come both Aunts together.)
Helen.
What heather, Sir?
(After a pause.)
And why ... "too late?"
—Aunt Dora, how you've made us wait!
Don't you agree that it's a pity
Portraits are hung by the Committee?
THE LAST DESPATCH.
Hurrah! the Season's past at last;
At length we've "done" our pleasure.
Dear "Pater," if you only knew
How much I've longed for home and you,—
Our own green lawn and leisure!
And then the pets! One half forgets
The dear dumb friends—in Babel.
I hope my special fish is fed;—
I long to see poor Nigra's head
Pushed at me from the stable!
I long to see the cob and "Rob,"—
Old Bevis and the Collie;
And won't we read in "Traveller's Rest"!
Home readings after all are best;—
None else seem half so "jolly!"
One misses your dear kindly store
Of fancies quaint and funny;
One misses, too, your kind bon-mot;—
The Mayfair wit I mostly know
Has more of gall than honey!