Drink deep, ye mighty host,
And let the bottle pass.
Begin, begin, the jovial strain,
Fill, fill, the mystic bowl,
And drink, and drink, and drink again,
For drinking fires the soul

But soon, too soon, with one accord they reel
Each on his seat begins to nod.
All conquering Bacchus' power they feel,
And pour libations to the jolly god.
At length with dinner, and with wine oppressed,
Down in their chairs they sink, and give themselves to rest.

HUGH DELMORE.


* * * * *





THE TOPOGRAPHER

VISIT TO MATLOCK BATHS.

(_For the Mirror._)