ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 137 



Puss. I'm sending you on another sheet a rather 

 witty little poem I heard the other day from a man 

 who farms Terrapins for the market ! 



" Yours ever, 



" WILLIAM PERCY. 



" ' Oh, what becomes,' said Cloe fair, 

 ' Of all the pins that from my hair 

 I drop unheeded on the floor, 

 And never see or think of more ? ' 

 * My dear,' said Darwin, ' they all go 

 Into our Mother Earth below; 

 There their development begins, 

 And ending they are Terra-pins.' 



" I killed seventeen varieties of ducks at that 

 man's place, and ate Terrapin for dinner (five dollars 

 apiece) they are better eating than the Gulls were 

 in Labrador." 



