178 BEGGARS ON HORSEBACK. 



The aristocratic but scarcely grammatical : 

 " Lord and Lady D for lunch. Very nice." 



With these panegyrics we have not been moved 

 to compete. Not even the glistening dawn of 

 our last day in Wales prevailed, with its silent 

 greeting, to make us emulate J. Brown or Welles- 

 ley Robinson in their valedictory " appreciations." 

 In vows and protestations let us rather play 

 Cordelia to their Goneril and Regan, reserving 

 ourselves for that possible future when Wales, 

 repudiated of its W^ellesley Robinsons, forsaken 

 as Lear, shall clamour for our support. Till then, 

 let the name of O'Flannigan and that other allied 

 with it, achieve in the Visitors' Book the distinc- 

 tion of beauty unadorned and verdict unvouch- 

 safed. 



If the truth must be told, the dawn that 

 heralded our exit from Wales suggested little to 

 the eyes that turned away from it into the pro- 

 found sleep that heralds the hot water, and that 

 little was exclusively connected with horse-boxes. 

 Tommy the elder, though much recovered of the 



