There are drawbacks, I grant, but one nowadays can’t
    Have perfection, as you are aware,
  And I’m sure you won’t grouse when I state that the house
    Is both damp and in need of repair. 
  I might add there’s a floor that shows traces of gore;
    I discovered the latter to be
  That of one Lady Jane, who was brutally slain
    By her husband in Sixteen-Two-Three.

  Years have passed since the time of that dastardly crime,
    But the victim’s intangible shade
  Can be seen to this day, so the villagers say,
    In diaphanous garments arrayed. 
  In the gloom of the room where she met with her doom
    She’s appearing once nightly, it seems,
  And the listener quails as lugubrious wails
    Are succeeded by agonised screams.

  But the trivial flaws I have mentioned need cause
    No concern; I am certain that you
  Will approve of my choice, Geraldine, and rejoice
    In the thought that our haven’s in view. 
  In the likely event of your mother’s descent
    There’s the warmest of welcomes in store,
  And a rug I’ll provide for her bedroom, to hide
    That indelible stain on the floor.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A PAUSE BEFORE RECONSTRUCTION.]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Small Bridesmaid (loudly, in middle of ceremony). “MUMMIE, ARE WE ALL GETTING MARRIED?”]

* * * * *

THE NEW ARM.

(On perceiving William in mufti again and carrying one.)

  What is this implement of warfare, Bill? 
    What seed of fire within its entrails slumbers? 
  Does it unfold at all?  Run through the drill,
    Doing it first by numbers.

  Not a grenade and not a parachute? 
    Some remnant rather of the ancient folly,
  Some touch of times before the Big Dispute? 
    I have it now!  A brolly.

  Yes, and it opens outwards like a tent,
    Guarding the sacred poll from skies injurious. 
  Up with it!  Let us see your tops’ls bent. 
    How splendid!  And how curious!

  Do it again, Bill.  I am better now;
    Only at first, perhaps, I slightly trembled. 
  Press on the little clutch and show me how
    The parts are reassembled.

  To think men poked these things into the sky,
    Fearing to face the storm’s minutest particles,
  Through four long hectic years, whilst you and I
    Forgot there were such articles.

  It brings the old times back to one again,
    The grim-eyed crowd that faced the morning’s dolours
  Doing their very best to drip the rain
    Down other people’s collars;

  The fond, fond pair beneath a single dome;
    The fight to ride on Hammersmiths and Chelseas;
  The rapture when you found on reaching home
    Your gamp was someone else’s.