performance which is accomplished by means seemingly inadequate to
its production. To be sure we met with a few accidents. First,
Lizzy spoiled nearly all her cowslips by snapping them off too
short; so there was a fresh gathering; in the next place, May
overset my full basket, and sent the blossoms floating, like so many
fairy favours, down the brook; then, when we were going on pretty
steadily, just as we had made a superb wreath, and were thinking of
tying it together, Lizzy, who held the riband, caught a glimpse of a
gorgeous butterfly, all brown and red and purple, and, skipping off
to pursue the new object, let go her hold; so all our treasures were
abroad again. At last, however, by dint of taking a branch of alder
as a substitute for Lizzy, and hanging the basket in a pollard-ash,
out of sight of May, the cowslip-ball was finished. What a
concentration of fragrance and beauty it was! golden and sweet to
satiety! rich to sight, and touch, and smell! Lizzy was enchanted,
and ran off with her prize, hiding amongst the trees in the very
coyness of ecstasy, as if any human eye, even mine, would be a
restraint on her innocent raptures.

In the meanwhile I sat listening, not to my enemy the cuckoo, but to
a whole concert of nightingales, scarcely interrupted by any meaner
bird, answering and vying with each other in those short delicious
strains which are to the ear as roses to the eye: those snatches of
lovely sound which come across us as airs from heaven. Pleasant
thoughts, delightful associations, awoke as I listened; and almost
unconsciously I repeated to myself the beautiful story of the Lutist
and the Nightingale, from Ford's 'Lover's Melancholy.' Here it is.
Is there in English poetry anything finer?

'Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales