_Jack_. "NO, SIR."

_Gunner_. "NOR THE 'CELLO?"

_Jack_. "NO, SIR."

_Gunner_. "WELL, THE NEXT TIME YOU HEAR RUMOURS OF A BARBER JUST
FOLLOW THE MATTER UP."]

* * * * *

_DULCE DOMUM_.

The air is full of rain and sleet,
A dingy fog obscures the street;
I watch the pane and wonder will
The sun be shining on Boar's Hill,
Rekindling on his western course
The dying splendour of the gorse
And kissing hands in joyous mood
To primroses in Bagley Wood.
I wish that when old Phoebus drops
Behind yon hedgehog-haunted copse
And high and bright the Northern Crown
Is standing over White Horse Down
I could be sitting by the fire
In that my Land of Heart's Desire--
A fire of fir-cones and a log
And at my feet a fubsy dog