Volume 147 — THE STEEPLE.
Reading edition
There's mist in the hollows, There's gold on the tree, And South go the swallows Away over sea.
They home in our steeple That climbs in the wind, And, parson and people, We welcome 'em kind.
The steeple was set here In 1266; If William could get here He'd burn it to sticks.
He'd burn it for ever, Bells, belfry and vane, That swallows would never Come home there again.
He'd bang down their perches With cannon and gun, For churches is churches, And William's a Hun.
So—mist in the hollow And leaf falling brown— Ere home comes the swallow May William be down!
And high stand the steeples From Lincoln to Wells, For parsons and peoples, For birds and for bells!
"It makes things clearer, for example, if one knows that a howitzer gun drops its shells, while an ordinary field gun fires them to all intents and purposes vertically."
Weekly Dispatch.
Much clearer.
Youthful Patriot. "Oh, mummy, you must speak to baby: he's most awfully naughty. He won't let nurse take his vest off, and (in an awe-struck voice) he keeps on screaming and yelling that he likes the Germans! Anybody might hear him."