Johnnie was saying last week that it was not at all hard to turn poetry into Latin, and Val said he should have the machine if he could translate some that Cray wrote the other day.

Do you think the Romans had any buttons and buttonholes ?" "I don't know.

Why ?" "Because there are buttons in one of the poems.

Cray says it is a tribute--a tribute to this donkey that father has, just given us.

He was inspired to write it when he saw him hanging his head over the yard gate." Thereupon the verses, copied in a large childish hand, were produced and read aloud:-- A TRIBUTE.
The jackass brayed; And all his passionate dream was in that sound Which, to the stables round And other tenements, told of packs that weighed On his brown haunches; also that, alas! His true heart sighed for Jenny, that fair ass Who backward still and forward paced With panniers and the curate's children graced.
Then, when she took no heed, but turned aside Her head, he shook his ears As much as to say "Great are--as these--my fears." And while I wept to think how love that preyed On the deep heart not worth a button seemed To her for whom he dreamed; And while the red sun stained the welkin wide, And summer lightnings on the horizon played, Again the jackass brayed.
"And here's the other," said Gladys.