" A little whiny man alongside of me, whose chin was on his breast bone, spake downward along his gray flannel shirt bosom: "Just wyte," he said; "just wyte till England 'ears wot they done to us, 'erdin' us about like cattle.

"You ought to stick to them dark, winy shades, Mrs. C. With your coloring and black hair and eyes, they bring you out like a gipsy.

Once the pink cast a winy smell, The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell, Light in effulgence of beauty fell: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone: It is winter.

" He lifts his voice yet louder, "What smell be this," says he, "My nose on the sharp morning air Snuffs up so greedily?" Says I, "It is wild roses Do smell so winsomely, And winy briar, too," says I, "That in these thickets be.