A kiss too for Number Eleven,
The Newcome—the young Christmas berry—
My Alice!—who makes my girls seven,
And makes merry Christmas more merry.
Another good glass of Bucellas,
While I’ve the crown on my head;
Laugh on my good girls, and good fellows,
Till it’s off—then off to bed.
Hey!—now, for the Christmas holly,
Rosemary, ivy, and bays;
Gravity’s nothing but folly,
Till after the Christmas days.
December 30, 1825.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·47.
“The King drinks!”