Some of my monarchs had the most excellent characters.  EDWARD I. was “just,” GEORGE IV. “courteous,” OLIVER CROMWELL “noble”—­a sad blow for the White Rose Club.  Our younger monarchs were particularly attractive persons, and it is a pity that they did not live long enough to display their qualities.  EDWARD VI. was “amiable,” while EDWARD V., like all with expectations from their uncle, was “hopeful.”  Poor child! he had need to be.

I am pained however that CHARLES II. was “dissolute.”  It was what HENRY VIII. dissolved the monasteries for being—­the impertinent old polygamist!  For my part I love CHARLES for the affection that he bore little dogs, for the chance saying on Sussex hills that this England was a country well worth fighting for.  Alas! that he should have been dissolute.

Best of all my friends is GEORGE III.  He is portrayed with a jolly red nose and a mouth that positively yawns for pudding.  His character, which is his chief glory, is “benevolent.”  Who would not rejoice to have been the object of his regal philanthropy?  SAMUEL JOHNSON himself did not hesitate to accept the bounty of this kindly monarch, though, while his predecessor reigned, the great lexicographer had defined a pensioner as “a state hireling” paid “for treason to his country.”

Such are my friends the kings and queens of England.  Happy the child who has such majesty to be his guardian spirit.  To him life will be a pomp, where vulgar democracy can have no part, and death a trysting-place with old comrades—­the child for whom

  “The kings of England, lifting up their swords,
  Shall gather at the gates of Paradise.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  The Super-Tramp. “MADAM, IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE OF THAT PIE YOU GAVE ME THIS MORNING I SHOULD BE PLEASED TO PAY FOR IT.”]

* * * * *

A HOME FROM HOME.

(An actual incident.)

  My fancy sought no English field,
    What time my holiday drew near;
  I felt no fond desire to wield
    The shrimping net of yesteryear;
  I found it easy to eschew
    All wish to hear a pierrot stating
  His lust to learn the rendezvous
    Of flies engaged in hibernating.

  Beyond the Channel I would range
    (I called it “cross the rolling main”)
  And there achieve the thorough change
    Demanded by my jaded brain;
  It might be that an alien clime
    Would jog a failing inspiration,
  Buck up a bard and render rhyme
    Less difficult of excavation.

  A thorough change?  Ah, barren quest,
    Foredoomed to fail ere half begun! 
  Though left behind, my England pressed
    In hot pursuit of me, her son;
  London was brought again to view
    By hordes of maidens out for pillage,
  When from the train I stepped into
    A flag day in an Alpine village.