One pities them, looking and longing,
Aweary of waiting their turn
With those who are country wards thronging;
The "Voice of the Country" _they_'d learn.

The lay of the lark or the linnet?
The babble of brooklet or rill?
Nay, that "Voice," to their ears, hath more in it
Than sounds in the nightingale's trill.
There's a song, though to some it sounds raucous,
For them most seductively rolls;
'Tis the crow of a bird (the "Caw-Caw-Cus")
Whose song is _so_ like "_Pretty Poll's"!_

* * * * *

HENLEY REGATTA.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN ROWING MAN._)

_Henley, Monday_.

I have arrived, and Henley once more is Henley. Even the weather has
recognised me, and good old Plu himself came out to shake me by the
hand and talk of old times. The course is of the usual length, but a
slight alteration has been made in the breadth. Many house-boats are
moored along the Oxfordshire bank. The bridge has not changed its
position since I saw it last. The courteous Secretary of the Regatta
assured me, that my complaint with reference to the impediment
which this structure offers to rowing-boats had been laid before the