Abstract

In the 'nineties the Celtic philologist, Whitley Stokes, told us in Common-room, that he once awoke muttering an incomplete stanza: Like an ogress making progress Through the spare-ribs of a child. Could anyone complete it for him ? A former Newdigate prizeman, after reflexion, produced this: Stern endeavour will be ever By some welcome find beguiled, Like an ogress making progress Through the spare-ribs of a child