LXXII
“Well, let us see—tenth book and chapter nine,”—
Thus Crafticant pursues his diary:—
“ ’Twas twelve o’clock at night, the weather fine,
Latitude thirty-six; our scouts descry
A flight of starlings making rapidly
Towards Thibet. Mem.:—birds fly in the night;
From twelve to half-past—wings not fit to fly
For a thick fog—the Princess sulky quite:
Call’d for an extra shawl, and gave her nurse a bite.