A plain tilt-bonnet on her head She took the path across the leaze.

- Her spouse the vicar, gardening, said, "Too dowdy that, for coquetries, So I can hoe at ease.

But when she had passed into the heath, And gained the wood beyond the flat, She raised her skirts, and from beneath Unpinned and drew as from a sheath An ostrich-feathered hat.

And where the hat had hung she now Concealed and pinned the dowdy hood, And set the hat upon her brow, And thus emerging from the wood Tripped on in jaunty mood.

The sun was low and crimson-faced As two came that way from the town, And plunged into the wood untraced . . .

When separately therefrom they paced The sun had quite gone down.

The hat and feather disappeared, The dowdy hood again was donned, And in the gloom the fair one neared Her home and husband dour, who conned Calmly his blue-eyed blonde.

"To-day," he said, "you have shown good sense, A dress so modest and so meek Should always deck your goings hence Alone." And as a recompense He kissed her on the cheek.