Then went I forth on my right hand, Down by a little path I found, Of Mintës full, and Fennel greene. Sir Mirth I found, and right anon Unto Sir Mirth gan I gone, There, where he was, him to solace: And with him, in that happy place, So fair folke and so fresh, had he, That when I saw, I wondered me From whence such folke might come, So fair were they, all and some; For they were like, as in my sight To angels, that be feathered bright. These folke, of which I tell you so, Upon a karole wenten tho, [35] A Ladie karoled them, that hight [36] Gladnesse, blissful and light. She could make in song such refraining It sate her wonder well to sing, Her voice full clear was, and full sweet, She was not rude, nor unmeet, But couth [37] enough for such doing, As longeth unto karolling; For she was wont, in every place, To singen first, men to solace. For singing most she gave her to, No craft had she so lefe [38] to do. Mr. Stuart Mill would have set her to another craft, I fancy (not but that singing is a lucrative one, now-a-day, if it be shrill enough); but you will not get your wives to sing thus for nothing, if you send them out to earn their dinners (instead of earning them yourselves for them), and put their babies summarily to sleep. It is curious how our English feeling seems to be changed also towards two other innocent kind of creatures. In nearly all German pictures of the Nativity, (I have given you an Italian one of the Magi for a frontispiece, this time,) the dove is one way or other conspicuous, and the little angels round the cradle are nearly always, when they are tired, allowed by the Madonna to play with rabbits. And in the very garden in which Ladie Gladness leads her karol-dance, "connis," as well as squirrels, are among the happy company; frogs only, as you shall hear, not being allowed; the French says, no flies either, of the watery sort! For the path among the mint and fennel greene leads us into this garden:--