The homely vices of their native land?
Give me an honest, home-spun country clown
Of our own growth; his dullness is but plain,
But their’s embroidered; they are sent out fools
But come back fops!’”
“God bless me!” said I uncomfortably; “what a memory you have! Who wrote that rubbish?”
“I forget. It was a school exercise, and that is how I happen to know it.”
“I hope you have no more pat quotations at your finger ends.”
“No. What other poetry I know is all sentimental.”
“Ah!” I exclaimed, “I am very fond of sentimental poetry—Moore’s for instance.”