a front gate."

"I am all at sea," said the lady plaintively. Then she brightened. "Is
there no prominent landmark visible from the new house?" she asked. "It is
so high there must be."

Our hostess said that by cutting down two trees it would be possible to see
Windsor Castle.

"Oh, then, do cut them down," said the lady, "and call it 'Castle View.'
That would be perfect."

During the panic that followed I made a suggestion. "The best name for it,"
I said, "is 'Buckler's.' That is what the country people will call it, and
so you may as well forestall them and be resigned to it. Besides, it's the
right kind of name. It's the way most of the farms all over England once
were named--after their owners, and where the owner was a man of character
and force the name persisted. Call it 'Buckler's' and you will help
everyone, from the postman to the strange guest who might otherwise tour
the neighbourhood for miles searching for you long after lunch was
finished."

"But isn't it too practical?" the first lady asked. "There's no poetry in
it."

"No," I said, "there isn't. The poetry is in its owner. Any man who can
stand in an open field under a July rainstorm and show another man where
his bedroom is to be in a year's time is poet enough."

E.V.L.

* * * * *

TO ISIS.

Isis, beside thine ambient rill
How oft I've snuffed the Berkshire breezes,
Or, prone on some adjoining hill,
Thrown off with my accustomed skill
The weekly fytte of polished wheezes;
How oft in summer's languorous days,
With some fair creature at the pole, I
Have thrid the Cherwell's murmurous ways
And dared with lobster mayonnaise
The onslaughts of Bacillus Coli?

Once--it was done at duty's call--
My labouring oar explored thy reaches;
They said I was no good at all
And coaches noting me would bawl
Things about "angleworms and breeches;"
But oh! the shouts of heartfelt glee
That rang on thine astonished marges
As we bore (rolling woundily)
Full in the wake of Brasenose III.
And bumped them soundly at the barges.

That night on Oxenford there burst
A sound of strong men at their revels,
And stroke, in vinous lore unversed,
Retired, if you must know the worst,
On feet that swam at different levels,
Nor knew till morning brought its cares
That, while the cup was freely flowing,
He'd scaled a flight of moving stairs
And comman