n fun!"

IN A VISITOR'S BOOK
[Sidenote: _J.K. Stephen._]

Within the bounds of this Hotel,
Which bears the name of Pen-y-Gwryd,
A black and yellow hound doth dwell,
By which my friend and I were worried.

Our object is not to imply
That he assaulted, bit, or tore us;
In fact he never ventured nigh
Except when food was set before us.

But when the scent of ham and eggs
Announced the breakage of our fast,
He came and twined about our legs,
And interrupted our repast.

We drove him from us through the door;
He reappeared; we tried the casement;
He seemed to rise out of the floor,
And importuned us as before,
To our unspeakable amazement.

But timely succour Fortune brought us;
One word of Welsh we chanced to know,
And that a fellow-guest had taught us;
It meant "Unpleasant creature, go!"

Stranger! If you should chance to meet him,
Oh do not pull, or kick, or push,
Or execrate, or bribe, or beat him,
But make a sound resembling "Cwsh"!

LETTERS OF FITZ
[Sidenote: _Edward FitzGerald_]

Mazzinghi tells me that November weather breeds blue devils--so that
there is a French proverb, "In October de Englishman shoot de pheasant;
in November he shoot himself." This, I suppose, is the case with me: so
away with November, as soon as may be....

Have you got in your "Christian Poet" a poem by Sir H. Wotton--"How
happy is he born or taught, that serveth not another's will"? It is very
beautiful, and fit for a Paradise of any kind. Here are some lines from
old Lily, which your ear will put in the proper metre. It gives a fine
description of a fellow walking in spring, and looking here and there,
and pricking up his ears, as different birds sing: "What bird so sings,
but doth so wail? Oh! 'tis the ravished nightingale: 'Jug, jug, jug,
jug, terue,' she cries, and still her woes at midnight rise. Brave
prick-song! who is't now we hear? It is the lark so shrill and clear:
against heaven's gate he claps his wings, the morn not waking till he
sings. Hark, too, with what a pretty note poor Robin Redbreast tunes his
throat: Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing, 'Cuckoo' to welcome in the
spring: 'Cuckoo' to welcome in the spring.'" This is very English, and
pleasant, I think: and so I hope you will. I could have sent you many a
more sentimental thing, but nothing better. I admit nothing into my
Paradise, but such as breathe content, and virtue....