7. A sausage of green rot-proof canvas.
8. A handbag.
9. A tea-basket (called Grandmama).
10. A fishing-creel.
11. A bundle of fishing-rods and other engines.
12. A roll of rugs.
13. A Rookee chair, in a bag of canvas (rot-proof).
All this crammed to bursting-point.
But no canary and no bicycle. Nor any dog.
Numbers 4 to 13 incommoded us within, or crowded the roof and the box seat. Numbers 2 and 3 travelled behind us in a luggage cart. The harp, in the harp-case, closed the procession on a milk-float.
Few people travel with a harp. This accounts for the prosperity of Mr. Cook, Dr. Lunn and other convenient gentlemen.
Harps are provided in Heaven. Otherwise there would be no orchestra.
The cost of appeasing porters when travelling with one of these instruments explains the dimensions of the Hebrew variety. This is an unworthy sneer at an admirable race. It is the fault of the harp. I am at my worst just after the thing has accompanied me on a journey. To-morrow it will be taken out and strung up and played, and then I shall love it again. In this—in nothing else—it
