No more shall we behold, As in the days of old, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea; Or Mary, mid the foam, Calling her cattle home, Across the sands, the perilous sands o' Dee. Mourn, Alderney, and mourn, O maiden all forlorn, The cow with crumpled horn that filled thy pail; Mourn, damsels, mourn and sigh Who can no more reply, "I'm going a milking" to the curious male. Mourn too, for ye shall feel The change at every meal, Ye minions of the hearthrug; be not mute, Ye Persians, topaz-eyed, When mistresses provide This miserable Soya substitute. In legendary lore The cow was wont to soar With Daedalean art above the moon; But ah! the cardboard cows That by the railroad browse To no elopement prompt the modern spoon. On earth men owned thy sway From Lapland to Cathay; In heaven the Milky Way thy might confessed: Weaklings we saw become Strong, thanks to thee and rum, And Punch of all ingredients found milk best. But, heedless of a debt He never should forget, Ungrateful man is planning to replace By vegetable aid The kindly service paid By your mild-natured and sweet-breathing race. Yet, ere the Soya boom Achieves the dairy's doom, And rude bean-crushers oust the homely churn, Let one unworthy scribe Salute the vaccine tribe And lay his wreath upon their funeral urn. * * * * * The Trippers. "The native inhabitants produce all manner of curios, the great majority of which appear to command a ready sale among the visitors, crude and commonplace as these frequently are."--_Bulawayo Chronicle._ They are; but, bless their hearts, they seem to enjoy themselves. * * * * * "EXETER.--Young Cook-General, willing to learn; small family, no children; no basement. No religion preferred." _Western Morning News._ She forgot to add "No meals to serve." * * * * * MY GIRL CADDIE. As a matter of fact she was my gardener's chauffeur-son's girl. The junior parent having been living chiefly on my garden or in my kitchen, and now being at the end of his resources, it was suggested that I should give his Amy a job. The proposal came from my wife, who had been victualling Amy's mother and Amy's baby sister for some weeks. An illuminating correspondence in the Press had done the rest. For her first appointment at the tee Amy was nearly twenty minutes late, and when she arrived it was in a mauve skirt, green stockings, an ochre sporting coat and a hat which had once been my wife's. Seen against the background of the native boy caddies, Amy might have been described as picturesque. "Mother says," said Amy, as we introduced ourselves--"Mother says she's sorry you should be kep', but baby's used to going off, me rocking 'im, and she was that busy, it being the day what she mostly washes."