we certainly expected no such stuff as the following, addressed to his bride:
“At Dawlish, 'mid the pools of brine,
You stept from rock to rock,
One hand quick tightening upon mine,
One holding up your frock.
I thought, indeed, by magic chance,
A third [day] from Heaven to win,
But as, at dusk, we reach’d Penzance,
A drizzling rain set in.”