Just think how you'd hate to go round on your own,
Especially if it was gummy,
And wherever you travelled you left on a stone
The horrid imprint of your tummy!
Wherever you hid, by that glutinous trail
Some boring acquaintance would follow;
And this is the bitter complaint of the snail
Who is pestered to death by the swallow.
But remember, he carries his house on his back,
And that is a wonderful power;
When he goes to the sea he has nothing to pack,
And he cannot be caught in a shower.
After all there is something attractive in that;
And then he can move in a minute,
And it's something to have such a very small flat
That nobody else can get in it.
But this is what causes such numbers of snails
To throw themselves into abysses:--
They are none of them born to be definite males
And none of them definite misses.
They cannot be certain which one of a pair
Is the Daddy and which is the Mummy;
And that must be even more awful to bear
Than walking about on your tummy.
A.P.H.
* * * * *
"MOTHER OF 13 HAS TRIPLETS."--_Daily Paper._
The unlucky age.
* * * * *
SEPTEMBER IN MY GARDEN.
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