headway, one tried to harpoon the leaping fish, another hauled in the struggling catch on baited hooks. Then some sea-birds alighted upon the yard-arms and a skillful fowler touched them with his jointed rods: they were brought down to our hands, stuck fast to the limed segments. The breeze caught up the down, but the wing and tail feathers twisted spirally as they fell into the sea-foam. Lycas was already beginning to be on good terms with me, and Tryphaena had just sprinkled Giton with the last drops in her cup, when Eumolpus, who was himself almost drunk, was seized with the notion of satirizing bald pates and branded rascals, but when he had exhausted his chilly wit, he returned at last to his poetry and recited this little elegy upon hair: "Gone are those locks that to thy beauty lent such lustrous charm And blighted are the locks of Spring by bitter Winter's sway; Thy naked temples now in baldness mourn their vanished form, And glistens now that poor bare crown, its hair all worn away Oh! Faithless inconsistency! The gods must first resume The charms that first they granted youth, that it might lovelier bloom! Poor wretch, but late thy locks did brighter glister Than those of great Apollo or his sister! Now, smoother is thy crown than polished grasses Or rounded mushrooms when a shower passes! In fear thou fliest the laughter-loving lasses. That thou may'st know that Death is on his way, Know that thy head is partly dead this day!" CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TENTH.