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COMIN' THRO' THE RYE.

mutton is beaten off, and Dolly, very green about the dress, tangled about the head, and sore generally, is hustled out of the way.

"I hope that brute will break somebody's legs soon!" says Dolly, in tears, as we go back to the house, by by-ways and short-cuts, fearful of meeting the governor, "he will never be got rid of—else—till he has committed murder!"



CHAPTER IX.

"Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lips,
The trick of his frown, his forehead—nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, his smiles". . . .

A month has passed since Silvia came to see me, and now we are in May—fragrant, blossoming, voluptuous May; and the world is covered like a bride with the month's white flower of flowers, that here and there melts odorously into faintest, palest pink, or burns into vividest crimson and scarlet. You are very royal and sweet, you May-flowers, but I do not love you so well as my

"Daffodils
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty: violets dim
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eye
Or Cytherea's breath: pale primroses
That die unmarried ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength,"

and all the delicate army that your gorgeous coming has caused to fade away. They did not wait, like you, till the earth was warned and pranked to receive you; they grew with the grass, and crept up through the cold, hard ground, braving the lingering chilly winds and night frosts to bring us beautiful messages from the busy, teeming