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Hemans Behold! they come those sainted forms, Unshaken through the strife of storms; Heaven's winter cloud hangs coldly down, And earth puts on its rudest frown; But colder, ruder, was the hand That drove them from their own fair land; Their own fair land Refinement's chosen seat, Art's trophied dwelling, Learning's green retreat; By Valor guarded and by Victory crowned, For all but gentle Charity renowned.
The past rushed back on me the familiar feel of the knife almost banished my dyspepsy I lived I breathed I vas a oysterman again. Did I ever show you them lines I wrote into my darter's album? No. Vell, then, 'ere goes: But beauties such as yourn and hern Were never born unseen to waste; Like her, you're bound to come to light, To gratify refinement's taste.
A lad with a spotted face and a bulldog pipe between his teeth supplied a Biblical word. "That's shag," said Dunkerley, "I was going to say 'a harem of one'" The youngster was puzzled for a moment. "I smoke Perique," he said. "It will make you just as sick," said Dunkerley. "Refinement's so beastly vulgar," was the belated answer of the smoker of Perique.
"Bert Chester, when you make your dying speech from the scaffold you're going to say something original and funny. You can't help it. Now can you?" The smile broke again on Bertram's face. "Well, it has its funny side," he admitted. "All right. If refinement's the game, me to it." His smile had caught Kate's laugh, and there came between them a kind of mental click.
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