And pregnant violet; which done,

His kitling eyes begin to run

Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery butterflies :

Of which he eats, and tastes a little

Of what we call the cuckoo-spittle.2
A little fuz-ball3 pudding stands

By, yet not blessed by his hands,
That was too coarse; but then forthwith
He ventures boldly on the pith

Of sugared rush, and eats the sag
And well bestrutted bee's sweet bag:
Gladding his palate with some store
Of Emmet's 6 eggs: what would he more?
But beards of mice, a newt's' stewed thigh,
A bloated ear-wig, and a fly;

With the red-capped worm, that's shut
Within the concave of a nut,

Brown as his tooth. A little moth,

Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth:

With withered cherries; mandrakes' ears;

Moles' eyes; to these, the slain-stag's tears;
The unctuous dewlaps of a snail;

1 Eyes like kittens (green).

2 The white froth which encloses the larva of the cicàda spumarià. 3 Puff-balls, or fungus.

4 "Sag" means "heavy," so as to hang down. The meaning here is He eats the pith of the sweet" Rush" and the bag of the bee. The flight of a bee to her hive is thus graphically described-i. e., "sagged down" with the weight of her spoils. The word bestrutted is equally descriptive of the laden bee labouring along, with legs stuck out, like "struts," or props.

5 Pleasing, i. e., tickling.

6 Ant.

7 Small lizard.

The broke-heart of a nightingale
O'ercome in musick; with a wine,
Ne'er ravish'd from the flatt'ring vine,
But gently pressed from the soft side
Of the most sweet and dainty bride,
Brought in a dainty daisy, which
He fully quaffs up to bewitch

His blood to height; this done, commended
Grace by his Priest; the feast is ended.

UNKNOWN.

A CHRISTMAS SONG.

The old almanacks occasionally contained carols. The following is from "Poor Robin's Almanack" for 1695.

N

OW thrice welcome Christmas,
Which brings us good cheer,
Minc'd pies and plum-porridge,
Good ale and strong beer;
With pig, goose, and capon,
The best that can be,
So well doth the weather
And our stomachs agree.

Observe how the chimnies
Do smoke all about,
The cooks are providing

For dinner, no doubt;
But those on whose tables

No victuals appear,
O may they keep Lent

All the rest of the year!

With holly and ivy

So green and so gay; We deck up our houses As fresh as the day, With bays and rosemary And laurel complete, And every one now

Is a king in conceit.

ROBERT HERRICK, 1591-1674.

TO DAFFODILS.

Surely there is no flower-poem at once so weighty and so sweet, so lovely and also impressive, so consummate in its art and enduring in its charm as this one of Herrick's.

FAIR

AIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:

As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a Spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay,

As you or any thing.

We die,

As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.