“THE SOUTH-WEST TRAINS AND THE SPEAKER’S CLOCK.――(To the Editor of the _Daily News_.)――Sir,――The writer of an article in your edition of to-day, in quoting these lines of Kingsley’s: ‘Oh, blessed south-west train; Oh, blessed, blessed Speaker’s clock, All prophesying rain,’ describes them as being ‘rather mysterious.’ As it is quite unusual to see anything of Kingsley’s thus characterised, it may perhaps be instructive to your writer, and interesting to your readers, to know that these lines simply have reference to the sounds which were wafted towards Eversley Rectory from the South-Western Railway and the clock at Heckfield Place, the residence of the then Speaker of the House of Commons, when the ‘bless’d southwind’ was blowing; always welcome to Kingsley as heralding a day’s fishing, when―― I’m off at eight to-morrow morn To bring such fishes back. ――Faithfully yours, FRED. W. GILL.――Dartford, Kent.”―― _The Daily News_, April, 1885. ――――:o:―――― A HUSBAND’S LAMENT. AIR――“_I once had a sweet little Doll, dears._” (_Kingsley’s Words, set by A. Cecil._) I once saw a sweet pretty face, boys: Its beauty and grace were divine. And I felt what a swell I should be, boys, Could I boast that such charms were all mine! I wooed. Every man I cut out, boys, At my head deep anathemas hurled:―― But I said as I walked back from church, boys, “I’m the luckiest dog in the world!” As doves in a cot we began, boys, A cosy and orthodox pair: Till I found at my notable wife, boys, The world was beginning to stare. She liked it. At first so did I, boys, But, at length, when all over the place She was sketched, hunted, photo’d and mobbed, boys, I cried, “Hang her sweet pretty face!” Still, we went here and there,――right and left, boys;―― We were asked dozen’s deep,――I say “we,” Though wherever I went not a soul, boys, Could have pointed out Adam from _me_. But we had a rare social success, boys, Got mixed with the noble and great, Till one’s friends, who say kind and nice things, boys, Talked of me as “the man come to wait!” So, I’ve no more a sweet pretty wife, boys; For the one that I once hoped to own, Belongs, as I’ve found to my cost, boys, To the great British public alone. So until they’ve got tired of her face, boys, And a rival more touzled or curled, Drives her home to her own proper place, boys―― I’m the dullest dull dog in the world! _Punch_, January 7, 1882. ――――:o:――――