hy of
more attention than he has ever received from the poets of our age. I
have been unable to find in the literature of Greece, Egypt or the
Orient, any reference to this wonderful insect who embodies in his
frail physique so much of the truest philosophy of life, and who,
despite the obstacles that seem so persistently to obstruct his path,
buzzes blithely ever onward, singing his lovely song and uttering no
complaints.

[Illustration: Noah brings disgrace upon the family.]

In the line of what I may call calendar poetry, which has always been
popular since the art of rhyming began, none of the months escaped my
attention, but of all of my efforts in that direction I never wrote
anything that excelled in descriptive beauty my

ODE TO FEBRUARY

Hail to thee, O Februeer!
It is sweet to have you here,
Lemon-time of all the year!
Making all our noses gay
With the influenziay;
Flinging sneezes here and yon,
Rich and poor alike upon;
Clogging up the bronchial tubes
Of the Urbans and the Roobs;
Opening for all your grip
With its lavish stores of pip;
Scattering along your route
Little gifts of Epizoot;
Time of slush and time of thaw,
Time of hours mild and raw;
Blowing cold and blowing hot;
Stable as a Hottentot;
Coaxing flowers from the close
Just to nip them on the nose;
Calling birdies from their nests
For to freeze their little chests;
Springtime in the morning bright,
With a blizzard on at night;
Chills and fever through the day
Like a sort of pousse cafe;
Time of drift and time of slosh!
Season of the ripe golosh;
Running rivers in the street,
Frozen toes, and soaking feet;
Take this wreath of Poesie
Dedicated unto thee,
Undiluted stream of mush
To the Merry Month of Slush!

I preferred always, of course, to be original, not only in the matter
of my thought, but in the manner of my expression as well, but like
all the rest of the poetizing tribe, I sooner or later came under the
Greek influence. This is shown most notably in a little bit written
one very warm day in midsummer, back in my 278th year. It was
entitled

TO PAN IN AUGUST

I don't wish to flout you, Pan.
Tried to write about you, Pan.
Tried to tell the story, Pan,
Of your wondrous glory, Pan;
But I can't begin it, Pan,
For this very minute, Pan,
All my thoughts are t