The Beachcombers Farewell to His District
p. 72 · Read in the full issue
(With apologies to the Hon. Mrs. Norton.)
by “KOJO.”
My Beautiful! My Beautiful! that stretchest far and wide, With thy sun-bright days and savage ways, I took thee for my bride.
But now Promotion’s horn has honked, and 1 must face the fuss And frenzy of Great Smith Street—or I shall miss the bus.
Farewell to arms that wav'd salute as through the bush I tore. (Farewell to Arms, Fire, Transfer of. Farewell to section four).
Farewell to market gossip ’neath the great silk cotton tree. (Farewell to quarterly returns, submitted annually).
Yes, I must go. The carefree life, the brilliant sun and sky, That status quo—from all of these thy exiled boss must fly A last farewell, my sweet, to . . . WHAT! Relieving me, . . . Clubb-Chatt? (The fellow’s sound of course, I know, but not as sound as that).
No, no, it cannot be. Away! The fever’d dream is o'er: They tempted me, my Beautiful, in vain. I love thee more Than Pomp’s strong call. Enough of that! Let those who wish it comb A beach from ten to six each day (and take the six-five home)!
-From Corona.