VII.

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung
So light to the saddle before her he sprung: 
“She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.

VIII.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee;
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

* * * * *

EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.

1.  “DAY.”

Day! 
Faster and more fast;
O’er night’s brim, day boils at last: 
Boils, pure gold, o’er the cloud-cup’s brim
Where spurting and suppressed it lay,
For not a froth-flake touched the rim
Of yonder gap in the solid gray,
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
But forth one wavelet, then another curled,
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world.

Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee,
A mite of my twelve hours’ treasure,
The least of thy gazes or glances,
(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure)
One of thy choices or one of thy chances,
(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure)
—­My day, if I squander such labor or leisure,
Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!

ROBERT BROWNING.

II.  “THE YEAR’S AT THE SPRING.”

The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn: 
God’s in his heaven—­
All’s right with the world!

ROBERT BROWNING.

* * * * *

THE FEZZIWIG BALL.

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven.  He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:  “Yo ho, there!  Ebenezer!  Dick!”

A living and moving picture of Scrooge’s former self, a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.

“Yo ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig.  “No more work to-night.  Christmas eve, Dick.  Christmas, Ebenezer!  Let’s have the shutters up, before a man can say Jack Robinson!  Clear away, my lads, and let’s have lots of room here!”