And after thousands and thousands and thousands of years, and
after Hieroglyphics and Demotics, and Nilotics, and Cryptics, and
Cufics, and Runics, and Dorics, and Ionics, and all sorts of
other ricks and tricks (because the Woons, and the Neguses, and
the Akhoonds, and the Repositories of Tradition would never leave
a good thing alone when they saw it), the fine old easy,
understandable Alphabet--A, B, C, D, E, and the rest of 'em--got
back into its proper shape again for all Best Beloveds to learn
when they are old enough.

But I remember Tegumai Bopsulai, and Taffimai Metallumai and
Teshumai Tewindrow, her dear Mummy, and all the days gone by. And
it was so--just so--a little time ago--on the banks of the big
Wagai!

OF all the Tribe of Tegumai
Who cut that figure, none remain,--
On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry
The silence and the sun remain.

But as the faithful years return
And hearts unwounded sing again,
Comes Taffy dancing through the fern
To lead the Surrey spring again.

Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds,
And golden elf-locks fly above;
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
And bluer than the skies above.