"High was his comb, and coral red withal,
In dents embattled like a castle wall;
His bill was raven-black and shone like jet,
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;
White were his nails, like silver to behold!
His body glittering like burnished gold."
If you had been there, you would have wished to visit the little
orchard; to see the gentle cow, and the geese feeding on the common
beyond; to watch the young ducklings, dipping and ducking and enjoying
their watering sport in the pond.
If it be spring, the children would delight in gathering the
sweet-scented meadow flowers--the water ranunculus, with its golden
cups, the modest daisy, the pink cuckoo-flower, and the yellow cowslips;
while overhead the bees kept up a constant humming; they have found
their way from the straw hives in the garden and are diving into the
delicious blossoms of the apple and cherry trees, robbing many a one of
its sweets.
[Illustration: THE BEE HIVE.]
But now to my history of what did really happen to a countryman, who
very likely lived in such a pretty cottage as I have described.
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