barter come,
Who recognised the old West-country speech,
And touched thee, reverent, whispering each to each--
'She comes from far--from very far--from home.'"

I have a special reason for remembering _The Cornish Magazine_, because it
so happened that the first number (containing these hopeful verses) was
put into my hands with the morning's letters as I paced the garden below
this Cornish Window, careless of it or of anything but a doctor's verdict
of life or death in the house above. The verdict was for life. . . .

Years ago as a child I used to devour in that wonderful book _Good Words
for the Young_, the _Lilliput Levee_ and _Lilliput Lyrics_ of the late
William Brighty Rands: and among Rands' lyrics was one upon "The Girl that
Garibaldi kissed." Of late years Rands has been coming to something like
his own. His verses have been republished, and that excellent artist Mr.
Charles Robinson has illustrated them. But I must tell Mr. Robinson that
his portrait of the Girl that Garibaldi kissed does not in the least
resemble her. I speak with knowledge--I the child who have lived to meet
and know the child whom Garibaldi kissed and blessed as the sailors were
weighing anchor to carry him out of this harbour and away from England.
Wild horses shall not drag from me the name of that young person; because
it happened--well, at an easily discoverable date--and she may not care
for me to proclaim her age (as certainly she does not look it).

"He bowed to my own daughter,
And Polly is her name;
She wore a shirt of slaughter,
Of Garibaldi flame--

"Of course I mean of scarlet;
But the girl he kissed--who knows?--
May be named Selina Charlotte,
And dressed in yellow clothes!"

But she isn't; and she wasn't; for she wore a scarlet pelisse as they
handed her up the yacht's side, and the hero took her in his arms.

"It would be a happy plan
For everything that's human,
If the pet of such a man
Should grow to such a woman!

"If she does as much in her way
As he has done in his--
Turns bad things topsy-turvy,
And sad things into bliss--

"O we shall not need a survey
To find that little miss,
Grown to a woman worthy
Of Garibaldi's kiss!"

Doggrel? Yes, doggrel no doubt! Let us pass on.

In the early numbers of our _Cornish Magazine_ a host of contributors
(some of