The Toad Beneath The Harrow Knows Exactly

They Shut The Road Through The Woods Seventy Years Ago. Weather And Rain Have Undone It Again, And Now You Would Never Know There Was Once A Road Through The Woods

In The Carboniferous Epoch We Were Promised Abundance For All, By Robbing Selected Peter To Pay For Collective Paul; But, Though We Had Plenty Of Money, There Was Nothing Our Money Could Buy, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings Said: 'if You Don't Work You Die.'

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening. They Emptied A Big Tin Dish Of Juicy Fragments Of Fish- The Blood-ends The Cook Had Collected Overnight. They Cleaned Up The Plates And Pans Of The Elder Mess, Who Were Out Fishing, Sliced Pork For The Midday Meal, Swabbed Down The Foc'sle, Filled The Lamps, Drew Coal And Water For The Cook, An Investigated The Fore-hold, Where The Boat's Stores Were Stacked. It Was Another Perfect Day - Soft, Mild And Clear; And Harvey Breathed To The Very Bottom Of His Lungs.

A Thin Grey Fog Hung Over The City, And The Streets Were Very Cold; For Summer Was In England.

The American Has No Language, He Has A Dialect, Slang, Provincialism, Accent And So Forth