With a sweet kernel-to set budding, more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

2. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twinèd
flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

3. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them,-thou hast thy music too While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly

bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden croft ;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

1. Maturing, conspiring, gourd, granary, winnowing, drowsed, oozings, wailful, choir.

2. Are there four seasons everywhere? Why are the sun and autumn spoken of as friends? How is wind pronounced in the fourth line of the second stanza? Why? What is meant by “sound asleep on a half-reaped furrow"?

XCI. TOWN LIFE IN EARLY ENGLAND.

1. As the mercantile community had now acquired a first-rate importance, the peculiar manners of those who bought and sold are worthy of particular attention. The aristocracy still looked down on traffickers with disdain, and elbowed them from the wall.

2. But, in spite of the ridicule of court and theater, the merchants and the shopkeepers went on and prospered. The London shops of the seventeenth century were still little booths or cellars, generally without doors or windows; and in lieu of gilded sign or tempting show-glass, the master took short turns before his door, crying, "What d'ye lack, sir?" "What d'ye lack, madam?" "What d'ye please to

lack?" and then rehearsed a list of commodities in which he dealt.

3. This task, when he became weary, was assumed by his 'prentice, and thus a London street was a Babel of strange sounds by which the wayfarer

was dinned at every step. The articles of a dealer were often of a very heterogeneous description: these were huddled in bales or heaps within the little shop, and in the midst of them might sometimes be seen the wife or daughters of the master, plying the needle or knitting-wires and eying the passing crowd.

4. But although the shops and warehouses of the London traffickers were of such a humble description, the houses were very different; so that even as early as the reign of James, the dwelling of a chief merchant rivaled the palace of a nobleman in the splendor of its furniture, among which cushions and window-pillows of velvet and damask had become common. At the hour of twelve the merchant usually repaired to the Exchange, and again at six in the evening. At nine o'clock the Bow-bell rang, which was a signal for the servants to leave off work, and repair to supper and bed,-"a bell," says Fuller, "which the masters thought rang too soon, and the apprentices too late."

5. It is amusing, however, to observe the jealous distinctions that still prevailed among the different classes. Only a great magnifico or a royal merchant was worthy to prefix Master or Mr. to his name; and if he was addressed as the "worshipful," it was only when a soothing compliment was necessary; but the addition of "gentleman" or "esquire"

would have thrown the whole court into an uproar. Even in such a trifling matter as a light in the dark streets at night the same scrupulous distinctions were observed: the courtiers were lighted with torches, merchants and lawyers with links, and mechanics with lanterns.

6. The elbowing of crowds and the rivers of mud were not the only obstacles to be encountered in the streets of London. If the peaceful pedestrian eschewed a quarrel by universal concession, and gave the wall to every comer, he might still run the risk of being tossed by a half-baited bull, or hugged by a runaway bear.

7. A sudden rush and encountering between the factions of Templars and 'prentices, or of butchers and weavers, might sweep him unawares into the throng of battle, where, although he espoused neither party, he might get well cudgeled by both. If he sought to avoid all these mischances by the expensive protection of a coach, he might suddenly find himself and his vehicle sprawling in the kennel, through the rude wantonness of the mob.

8. In the hatred of everything aristocratic, which took possession of the multitude after the commencement of the civil war, noblemen, when they made their appearance in public, were cursed and reviled, and apt to be mobbed, and several who once belonged to this privileged class were obliged