Verena in the Midst: A Kind of a Story

by E. V. Lucas

I don’t often send you anything really wicked, but the temptation to-day is too great to be resisted. You are fond, I know, of those lines by T. E. Brown called “My Garden.” Well, in the magazine of Dartmouth Royal Naval College some irreverent imp once wrote a parody which I can no longer keep to myself. By what right an embryonic admiral should also be a humorous poet I can’t determine; but there is no logic in life. Here is his mischief:—

A garden is a loathsome thing—eh, what?

Blight, snail,

Pea-weevil,

Green-fly such a lot!

My handiest tool

Is powerless, yet the fool

(Next door) contends that slugs are not.

Not slugs! in gardens! when the eve is cool?

Nay, but I have some brine;