[Motor-caps, we are informed, have created such a vogue in the Provinces, that ladies, women and factory girls may be seen wearing them on every occasion, though unconnected, in other respects, with modern methods of locomotion.]
A motor car I shall never afford
With a gay vermilion bonnet,
Of course I might happen to marry a lord,
But it's no good counting on it.
I have never reclined on the seat behind,
And hurtled across the map,
But my days are blest with a mind at rest,
For I wear a motor cap.
I am done with Gainsborough, straw and toque,
My dresses are bound with leather,
I turn up my collar like auto-folk,
And stride through the pitiless weather;
With a pound of scrag in an old string bag,
In a tram with a child on my lap,
Wherever I go, to shop or a show,
I wear a motor cap.
I don't know a silencer from a clutch,
A sparking-plug from a bearing,
But no one, I think, is in closer touch
With the caps the women are wearing;
I'm au fait with the trim of the tailor-made brim,
The crown and machine-stitched strap;
Though I've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, nor
The goggles--I wear the cap.
Illustration: No, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbes escaping from the congress; but merely the Montgomery-Smiths in their motor-car, enjoying the beauties of the country.
