The mistletoe has an evil name in Scandinavian mythology. Baldur, the beautiful, the Sun-god, was made, like Achilles, invulnerable to spears and arrows cut from whatever tree grows on earth. All things had taken an oath not to hurt him, and the gods of Walhalla amused themselves by throwing all sorts of darts and clubs at him--none could hurt him. At last the blind god Höder, who loved the beautiful Baldur none the less because he himself was weakly and sightless, also ventured to throw a dart at his invulnerable friend. It sped home, pierced Baldur’s heart, and killed him. The dart was made of mistletoe, a tree that does not grow on earth, but lives as a parasite high up on other trees, and had taken no oath to spare Baldur. It had been put into the blind god’s hand in a friendly helpful sort of way by a designing female, who was really the evil spirit Loki in disguise. What is the allegory? Does the mistletoe dart stand for calumny? Is the mistletoe associated with calumny because it is a parasite in high places? If one must choose between the mistletoe myth of Norsemen and Briton--the latter, which survives in the power accorded to the mistletoe to license, even to command, by its mere overhead existence, the giving and taking of unexpected kisses and of expected ones, too, is certainly the more cheerful and suitable to the hopeful enterprise of New Year. 24. _The Cattle Show_ I always look upon the Christmas Cattle Show of the Smithfield Club as a scientific delight. Breeding is a most serious branch of scientific knowledge, held by many people (of whom I am one) to be of more importance to statesmen, politicians, and philanthropists than any other kind of knowledge, and yet almost absolutely neglected and completely ignored except by our farmers and horticulturists. When examining in turn the splendid animals at Islington I have felt indignant that it should be not improbable that, owing to ignorance and neglect in official quarters, the long matured traditions and built-up skill of our cattle-breeders will be destroyed, crushed out of existence by huge, devastating capitalist “combines.” Soon we shall not get the beef we wish for, but we shall have to take whatever inferior stuff the giant monopolist chooses to force on us--or go without! Our wonderful stock, so patiently and happily bred, the envy of the world, will disappear, and our breeders forget their art. We shall none of us in Britain know more about prime beef, roasts, grills, and marrow-bones than do the people of Europe or the eaters of terrapin and soft-shelled crabs.