(The only baccy you can buy quite dripping.)
A happiness of resting after strife,
Where one forgets all worldly pain and sorrow,
And one contentedly could pass one's life.
(A telegram will take me home to-morrow.)
Scene: Margate Beach on Easter Monday.—First Lady. "Oh, here comes a steamer. How high she is out of the water."
Second Lady. "Yes, dear, but don't you see? It's because the tide's so low."
