Volume 150 — THE GOLDEN VALLEY.
Reading edition
(Herefordshire.)
Abbeydore, Abbeydore, Land of apples and of gold, Where the lavish field-gods pour Song and cider manifold; Gilded land of wheat and rye, Land where laden branches cry, "Apples for the young and old Ripe at Abbeydore!" Abbeydore, Abbeydore, Where the shallow river spins Elfin spells for evermore, Where the mellow kilderkins Hoard the winking apple-juice For the laughing reapers' use; All the joy of life begins There at Abbeydore. Abbeydore, Abbeydore, In whose lap of wonder teems Largess from a wizard store, World of idle, crooning streams— From a stricken land of pain May I win to you again, Garden of the God of Dreams, Golden Abbeydore.
A GERMAN HOLIDAY.
Child. "PLEASE, SIR, WHAT IS THIS HOLIDAY FOR?" Official. "BECAUSE OUR ZEPPELINS HAVE CONQUERED ENGLAND." Child. "HAVE THEY BROUGHT US BACK ANY BREAD?" Official. "DON'T ASK SILLY QUESTIONS. WAVE YOUR FLAG."