Since Alfred (if ’twas he) began it;
But more than all the welcomes warm,
Thrown thick as lavish hands could toss ’em,
Why, they’d have wooed in winter-storm
One’s very umbrella-stick to blossom!
Bring me a cup of All Souls’ ale,
Better than e’er was bought with siller,
To drink (Oh, may the vow prevail)
The health of Max[[13]] and Mrs. Müller!
Abundant as was his wit in the true sense of that word, his kindness was equally so. After he had written the above verses for my wife, my young daughter Beatrice (now Mrs. Colyer Fergusson) asked him, as young ladies are wont to do, for a few lines for herself. He at once resumed his pen and wrote:—