Hurrying on busy wing;
Thinking to gain the honied prize,
He strove the insect to surprise,
But quickly felt its sting.

Fired with revenge, he flew away
To where asleep my Julia lay,
On mossy bank reclin'd;
And while he sought relief to sip,
By kisses from her balmy lip,
He left the sting behind.

Thus if I now, in hours of bliss,
From her sweet mouth should steal a kiss,
I after feel the smart;
For when her rosy lips I've press'd,
And think myself supremely blest,
I bear the sting at heart!

E.L.J.


* * * * *

TOTTENHAM HIGH CROSS.

(_For the Mirror_.)


On entering Tottenham, on the right from London, is to be seen the