But there are some things you have not laid
hands on yet; secrets that we all know somehow, but never utter, even
among ourselves, nor allude to. If I told you what Billy Tredegar did
to-day, and why he did it, I tell you frankly your article would
make some thousands of Constant Readers open wide eyes over their
breakfast-cups. But you won't know. Why, after all, should I say
anything to spoil Cornwall's prospects as a health-resort?"
My friend took this very quietly, merely observing that it was rather
late in the day to take sides against Hengist and Horsa. But he was
sorry, I could see, to lose his local colour. And as I looked down,
for the last time that night, upon Troy, this petition escaped me--
"O my country, if I keep your secrets, keep for me your heart!"
THE SPINSTER'S MAYING.
"_The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit;
In every street these tunes our ears do greet--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring_.
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