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Give them to the king
And queen wassailing;
Yet part ye from hence,
As free from offence,
END OF CHRISTMAS.
Partly work, and partly play
Down with the rosemary, and so
ST. AGNES' EVE.
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
and while his frosted breath,
Seem'd taking a flight for heaven without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Farewell rewards and Fairies !
Good housewives now may say ;
Do fare as well as they :
Than maids were wont to do,
Finds sixpence in her shoe?
Lament, lament, old abbies,
The fairies' lost command;
But some have changed your land :
Are now grown Puritans,
For love of your domains.
At morning and at evening both,
You merry were and glad,
These pretty ladies had.
Or Ciss to milking rose,
And nimbly went their toes.
Of theirs, which yet remain,
On many a grassy plain.
And, later, James came in,
As when the time hath bin. By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession: Their songs were Eve Maries,
Their dances were procession. But now, alas ! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease. A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure; And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punished sure:
To pinch such black and blue;
Such justices as you!
A Register they have,
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks,
By one that I could name,
To William for the same.
To William Churne of Staffordshire
Give laud and praises due,
With tales both old and true :
And pray ye for his noddle,
Were lost, if it were addle.
362.—THE VOLUBLE LADY.
JANE AUSTEN. [Of the hundreds of Novels that have been published since the beginning of the present century, who can remember even the names of a twentieth part? The larger number are quietly sleeping on the shelves of the circulating libraries of the country towns, destined only to see the light when some voracious spinster has exhausted all that is new of a teeming press, and in desperation plunges into the antiquities of a past generation. But there are kix novels that can never be old-the works of the inimitable Jane Austen. No dust will ever settle on them even in the libraries of the least tasteful of communities. Old and young, learned and unlearned, equally delight in the productions of the marvellous young woman, who drew the commonest incidents and characters of the most ordinary domestic life, with a skilfulness that manifests more than anything we know, the surpassing power of that Art which makes realities more true than the thing itself beheld through a common medium. This is, indeed, genius. Jane Austen, the daughter of the rector of Steventon, in Hampshire, was born in 1775; died 1817.]
Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentleman, walked into the room. Everybody's words were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who came in talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes after her being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened she was heard,
“ So very obliging of you !—No rain at all. Nothing to signify.
I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares
-Well! (as soon as she was within the door), well! This is brilliant indeed! This is admirable. Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could not have imagined it. So well lighted up! Jane, Jane, look! did you ever see anything? Oh! Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as I came in; she was standing in the entrance. Oh! Mrs. Strokes,' said 1-but I had not time for more.” She was now met by Mrs. Weston. “Very we I, I thank you, ma’am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headache ! seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed.—Ah! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage; excellent time; Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage. Oh! and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should have been. But two such offers in one day! Never were such neighbors. I said to my mother, Upon my word, ma’am.' Thank you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl,—for the evenings are not warm,—her large new shawl, Mrs. Dixon's wedding-present. So kind of her to think of my mother! Bought at Weymouth, you know; Mr. Dixon's choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an oliye.--My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet your feet? It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid: but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely—and there was a mat to step upon. I shall never forget his extreme politeness. Oh! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since ; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of your good-nature : does not she, Jane? Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill ? Ah! here's Miss Woodhouse. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do? Very well, I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite in fairy-land. Such a transformation! Must not compliment, I know (eyeing Emma most complacently)—that would be rude; but upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look