Before necessity, that knows no ruth,
  Ordained thy frugal use in tea and coffee,
  Some Stoics banned thee—­men who in their youth
  Showed an unnatural dislike of toffee;
  For sweetness charms the normal human tooth,
  Sweetness inspires the singer’s tenderest strophe,
  Since old LUCRETIUS musically chid
  The curse of life—­amari aliquid.

Eau sucree, I admit, is rather tame Compared with beer or whisky blent with soda; But gallant Frenchmen, experts at this game, Commend it highly either as a coda Or prelude to their meals, and much the same Is sherbet, which the Gaekwar of Baroda And other Oriental satraps quaff In preference to ale or half-and-half.

  Nor must I fail, O potent saccharin! 
  Thou chemic offspring of by-products coaly,
  Late comer on the culinary scene,
  To hail thy aid, although it may be lowly
  Even compared with beet; for thou hast been
  Employed in sweetening my roly-poly—­
  Thou whom I once regarded as a dose
  And now the active rival of glucose!

  But still I hear some jaundiced critic say,
  Some rigid self-appointed censor morum,
  “Why harp upon the pleasures of a day
  When freely sweetened was each cup and jorum,
  Ere stern controllers had begun to stay
  The genial outflow of the fons leporum?
  Now sugar’s scarce, and we must do without it,
  Why let regretful fancy play about it?”

  True, yet it greatly goes against the grain,
  Unless one has the patience of Ulysses,
  Wholly and resolutely to refrain
  From dwelling on the memory of past blisses;
  Forbidden fruits allure the strong and sane;
  Joys loved but lost are what one chiefly misses;
  This is my best excuse if I deplore
  “So sad, so sweet, the days that are no more.”

* * * * *

’TATERS.

SCENE:  At “The Plough and Horses.”

“You seen Parson lately, George?”

“Not lately I ain’t, Luther.”

“Not since ’is ‘taters be out o’ ground?”

“No.  Finest crop in village, some do say.”

“That be right—­sev’ral ton of ’em there be.”

“What to goodness do ’e want ’em all for, then?  ‘Im an’ ‘s wife an’ a maid ’ll never eat all them ’taters.”

“I’ll tell you what ’e says to me, for ’appen ’e’ll say it to you, George, when ’e comes acrost you next.  ’E says to me, ’I’ve growed as many potatoes as I’ve had strength to grow, an’ they’ve prospered exceedin’ly,’ ’e says, ‘thank God!  So if any deservin’ folk in my parish gets through wi’ their own crop an’ wants more later on they ’as only to come to me, for I’ve growed more ’an my ’ouse’old ’ll eat if they was to eat all day.’”

“‘E be proud o’ that?”

“Fine an’ proud ’e be.”

“An’ yet it be some’at unfort’nate too.  For all of us as is left in this ’ere parish ’as growed as many ’taters as they’ll be like to need, same as ‘e.  So I don’t see nought but disappointment for Parson an’ a lot o’ good ‘taters lyin’ to rot in their pies.”