but, Francesca, I'm boiling over with indignation."

"So am I," she said, "but--"

"But me no buts," I said. "Let's boil over together and trounce Mr.
Hutchinson. Let us write a model letter for the use of season-ticket
holders who have mislaid their tickets. We'll pack it full of sarcasm
and irony. We will make an appeal to the nobler sentiments of the
Board of Directors. We will remind them that they too are subject to
human frailty, and--"

"--we will not send the letter, but will put it away until we've
finished our boiling-over and have simmered down."

"Francesca," I said, "am I not going to be allowed to communicate to
this so-called railway company my opinion of its conduct? Are all the
pearls of sarcasm with which my mind is teeming to be thrown away?"

"Well," she said, "it would be useless to cast them before the Railway
Executive."

"Mayn't I hint a hope that the penny-halfpenny will come in useful in
a time of financial stress?"

"No," she said decisively, "you are to do none of these things. Of
course they've behaved in a mean and shabby way, but they've got you
fixed, and the best thing you can do is to get a postal order and send
it off to Mr. Hutchinson."

"Mayn't I--"

"No, certainly not. Write a short and formal note and enclose the
P.O.; and next time don't forget your ticket."

"If you'll tell me how to make sure of that," I said, "I'll vote for
having a statue of you put up."

"Does everybody," she said, "forget his season-ticket?"

"Yes," I said, "everybody, at least once a year."

R.C.L.

* * * * *

HERBS OF GRACE.

VIII.

SOUTHERNWOOD.

Some are for Camphor to put with their dresses,
"Lay Russia-leather between 'em," say some;
Some are for Lavender sprinkled in presses,
Some are for Woodruff, that moths may not come;
I am for Southernwood, Southernwood, Southernwood
(_Gardy-robe_ called, they do say, by the French),
Whisper of summertime, summertime, summertime,
Southernwood, laid wi' the clothes of a wench.

Some are for Violets, some are for Roses,
Some for Peniriall, some for Bee Balm,
When they go church-along carrying posies
(Smell 'em and glance at the lads in the psalm);
I am for Southernwood, Southernwood, Southernwood
(_Lad's Love_ 'tis called by the home-folk hereby),
All in the summertime, summertime, summertime--
_Lad's Love_ 'tis called, and for lad's love am I.

W.B.