I'll seek it in “Fmo,”--the pleasantest way! Let temperance, twankay, teetotallers trump; Your sad, sober swiggers at “_Veritas_” pump! If water flow hither, so crystal and clear, To mix with our wine--'tis humanity's tear. When Venus is crusty, and Mars in a miff, Their tipple is prime nectar-toddy and stiff,-- And shall we not toast, like their godships above, The lad we esteem, and the lady we love? Be goblets as sparkling, and spirits as light, Our next merry meeting! A bumper--good night! CHAPTER II. “The flow'ry _May_, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.” 'Tis Flora's holiday, and in ancient times the goddess kept it with joyous festivity. Ah! those ancient times, they are food for melancholy. Yet may melancholy be made to “discourse most eloquent music,”-- “O why was England 'merrie' called, I pray you tell me why?-- Because Old England merry was in merry times gone by! She knew no dearth of honest mirth to cheer both son and sire, But kept it up o'er wassail cup around the Christmas fire. When fields were dight with blossoms white, and leaves of lively green, The May-pole rear'd its flow'ry head, and dancing round were seen A youthful band, join'd hand in hand, with shoon and kirtle trim, And softly rose the melody of Flora's morning hymn. Her garlands, too, of varied hue the merry milkmaid wove, And Jack the Piper caprioled within his dancing grove; Will, Friar Tuck, and Little John, with Robin Hood their king, Bold foresters! blythe choristers! made vale and moun tain ring. On every spray blooms lovely May, and balmy zephyrs breathe-- Ethereal splendour all above! and beauty all beneath! The cuckoo's song the woods among sounds sweetly as of old; As bright and warm the sunbeams shine,--and why should hearts grow cold?” * * This ballad has been set to very beautiful music by Mr. N. I. Sporle. It is published by T. E. Purday, 50, St. Paul's Church Yard. “A sad theme to a merry tune! But had not May _another_ holiday maker? when the compassionate Mrs. Montague walked forth from her hall and bower to greet with a smile of welcome her grotesque visitor, the poor little sweep.”