The River , Corrected The Rat, It's

The Smell Of That Buttered Toast Simply Spoke To Toad, And With No Uncertain Voice; Talked Of Warm Kitchens, Of Breakfasts On Bright Frosty Mornings, Of Cozy Parlour Firesides On Winter Evenings, When One's Ramble Was Over And Slippered Feet Were Propped On The Fender; Of The Purring Of Contented Cats, And The Twitter Of Sleepy Canaries.

Footprints In The Snow Have Been Unfailing Provokers Of Sentiment Ever Since Snow Was First A White Wonder In This Drab-coloured World Of Ours.

There He Got Out The Luncheon-basket And Packed A Simple Meal, In Which, Remembering The Stranger's Origin And Preferences, He Took Care To Include A Yard Of Long French Bread, A Sausage Out Of Which The Garlic Sang, Some Cheese Which Lay Down And Cried, And A Long-necked Straw-covered Flask Wherein Lay Bottled Sunshine Shed And Garnered On Far Southern Slopes.

We Shall Creep Out Quietly Into The Butler's Pantry--" Cried The Mole. "--with Out Pistols And Swords And Sticks--" Shouted Ther Rat. "--and Rush In Upon Them," Said Badger. "--and Whack 'em, And Whack 'em, And Whack 'em!" Cried The Toad In Ecstasy, Running Round And Round The Room, And Jupming Over The Chairs.

For My Life, I Confess To You, Feels To Me Today Somewhat Narrow And Circumscribed.