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UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.

seem inclined to hurry off just at that moment. Shinar went on singing,

'"The miller was drown'd in his pond,
The weaver was hung in his yarn,
And the d— ran away with the little tailór,
With the broadcloth under his arm."'

'That's a terrible crippled rhyme, if that's your rhyme!' said Dick, with a grain of superciliousness in his tone, and elevating his nose an inch or thereabout.

'It's no use your complaining to me about the rhyme!' said Mr. Shinar. 'You must go to the man that made it.'

Fancy by this time had acquired confidence.

'Taste a bit, Mr. Dewy,' she said, holding up to him a small circular piece of honeycomb that had been the last in the row of lobes, and remaining still on her knees, and flinging back her head to look in his face; 'and then I'll taste a bit too.'

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