needle and thread here; towels and water, Mary. Come, girls, bustle about." Three or four buxom girls speedily dispersed in search of the different articles in requisition, while a couple of largeheaded, circular-visaged males rose from their seats in the chimney corner (for, although it was a May evening, their attachment for the wood fire appeared as cordial as if it were Christmas), and dived into obscure recesses, from which they speedily procured a bottle of blacking and some half dozen brushes. "Bustle," said the old gentleman again, but the admonition was quite unnecessary, for one of the girls poured out the cherry brandy, and another brought in the towels, and one of the men, suddenly seizing Mr. Pickwick by the leg, at the imminent hazard of throwing him off his balance, brushed away at his boot till his corns were red-hot; while the other shampoo'd Mr. Winkle with a heavy clothesbrush, indulging, during the operation, in that hissing sound, which hostlers are wont to produce when engaged in rubbing down a horse. Mr. Snodgrass, having concluded his ablutions, took a survey of the room while standing with his back to the fire, sipping his cherry brandy with heartfelt satisfaction. He describes it as a large apartment, with red brick floor, and a capacious chimney; the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions. The walls were decorated with several hunting whips, two or three bridles, a saddle and an old rusty blunderbuss, with an inscription below it, intimating that it was "loaded" as it had been, on the same authority, for half a century at least. An old eight-day clock, of solemn and sedate demeanor, ticked gravely in one corner; and a silver watch, of equal antiquity, dangled from one of the many hooks which ornamented the dresser. 66 Ready?" said the old gentleman inquiringly, when his guests had been washed, mended, brushed, and brandied. "Quite," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Come along then," and the party traversed several dark passages, and, being joined by Mr. Tupman, who had lingered behind to snatch a kiss from Emma, for which he had been rewarded with sundry pushings and scratchings, arrived at the parlor door. 66 Welcome," said the hospitable host, throwing it open and stepping forward to announce them, "Welcome, gentlemen, to Manor Farm." From Pickwick Papers. XXVIII. WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING?' BY JOSEPH E. CARPENTER. (1813 THAT are the wild waves saying, PAUL. WH Sister, the whole day long, That ever, amid our playing, I hear but their low, lone song? Not by the seaside only There it sounds wild and free; But at night, when 't is dark and lonely, 1 These verses embody a dialogue between a young brother and sister, Paul and Florence Dombey, characters in Dickens's novel, "Dombey and Son." Paul is an invalid, a delicate, dreamy boy, older than his years, and ever indulging in serious reflections and speculations. WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING? 15 FLORENCE. Brother, I hear no singing, "Tis but the rolling wave, Dashing against the shore, And the wind from some bleaker quarte: F thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance, IF To Modena, Stop at a Palace near the Reggio gate, Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini. Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, A summer sun Sets ere one half is seen; but, ere thou go, 'Tis a lady in her earliest youth, The very last of that illustrious race, Done by Zampieri - but by whom I care not. He who observes it ere he passes on Gazes his fill, and comes, and comes again, That he may call it up when far away. She sits, inclining forward as to speak, Her lips half-open, and her finger up, As though she said, "Beware!" her vest of gold Alone it hangs Over a moldering heirloom, its companion, That by the way it may be true or false But don't forget the picture; and thou wilt not, She was an only child; from infancy The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire. Her mother dying of the gift she gave, That precious gift, what else remained to him? |