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JOYFUL Spring is here once more,
After Winter's chilly reign,
Meadows, rich in fertile store,

Don their verdant hues again:
The woods are budding forth, and see!
Fruit is on my little tree.

Heat can banish frost and cold,
Sunny rays melt ice and snow,
All is young that erst was old,

E'en the fishes younger grow.
Pan with new-born pomp is here,
Dryads hail the blooming year.

Venus comes, and with her, lo!

Love appears to welcome you; Armed with quiver, darts, and bow,

Fain would he the world subdue. Both glad smiling hither stray, Hailing this auspicious day.

Love your hearts, your souls hath moved, He hath stirred the mutual flame, Mortal weakness he hath proved,

He hath won an easy game: Passion for a while may sleep, But its slumber is not deep.

Ye have chosen prudently

This enchanting month of May. He who lets the bright days flee

Must not hope that love will stay: Lovers' heat and wintry weather Never can agree together.

Youth is joy's befitting hour,

Age brings on a world of care; So should Spring's fresh blooming flower, Lovely May, your transports share. Zephyr breathes a perfumed gale, Flora's smiles your nuptials hail.

Oh! then choose the joyous hour

Granted by all-bounteous heaven; Let it with its soothing power

Heal the smart young Love has given. Hark the birds their welcome sing To the happy bride of Spring.

Born April 5, 1608; died January 8, 1667.





The Countess of Clarendale receives another lesson.

THE Earl did not return to the Countess that night; but on the following day, about noon, he went to the door of the European,' at which he thundered as well as he could,—the knocker being off, and the bellwire broken,-until he became so enraged, that he sent his stick clean through the drawing-room window.

The Countess and her mamma were in the drawing-room at the time, and were dreadfully alarmed by the crash; but they knew the Earl's stick in an instant; and while Mrs. Gills rushed in a fright to the window, the Countess mechanically flew to the door.

'You have kept me here long enough, I hope,' said the Earl, glancing fiercely at the Countess as he passed her. 'Are you deaf?'

The Countess, being too much alarmed then to speak, tremblingly followed her noble lord in silence.

'Well,' said he, on entering the drawing-room, and throwing himself carelessly upon a couch, a pretty mess you have got me into !—don't you think you have?'

'I'm sorry we've offended you, my lord,' replied the Countess.

'For my part,' observed her mamma, who had by this time recovered all her faculties, 'I don't see much to be sorry about! Other Countesses has jollifications, and why shouldn't you?'

"Jollifications!' echoed the noble Earl, sarcastically. 'I'll have no jollifications. Look at the position in which you have placed me by making fools of all those people!'

Well, you know, my lord, you know that was all your own fault, and nobody else's! Why disapp'int the company? Why didn't you let 'em come in? I'm sure there was everything nice pervided. It warn't as though we'd only a leg of mutton and trimmings!'

'Don't talk to me about legs of mutton and trimmings!

Leave the room

both of you. I want to be here alone.'

'Please don't be angry, my lord,' said the Countess. Indeed we'll not do so again.'

'No, I don't expect you will. I'll take care you do not.'


Upon my word and honour, my lord, I didn't know that we were doing any harm.'

'Did I not tell you I wished to be alone? Don't stand there chattering-be off!'

The Countess as she left the room wept; but her mamma, whose bosom swelled with indignation, looked at him as she followed, with an expression of contempt the most supreme, and, in order to convey to him an addi

tional idea of what she felt, she slammed the door after her as if she meant to split it.

'He's a brute!—an exorbitant monster!' she exclaimed, on entering the chamber to which the Countess had retired. But it serves you justly right for not having more sperit. I don't know who you take after, that's the real truth. You don't take after me! Do you 'magine if he was a husband of mine I'd put up with it? No: I'd see him blessed first! I wouldn't take it from the best man that ever stepped in shoe-leather. I told you how it would be. I told you from the first how he'd serve you, if you didn't stand up for your rights. I've no patience with you; I haven't. You pervoke me to such a degree, I don't know how to contain myself.'

What am I to do, ma ?-what can I do?'

'What can you do? Why, up and tell him at once what you mean. Fly into a passion. The ideor! I only just wish he was a husband of mine, I'd let him know what's what, I'll warrant. Do you think that I'd fret, and stew, and go on so? No! nor you don't ought to do it.'

'But how can I help it, ma?'

'How can you help it? Don't tell me! Presume a proper dignity and sperit. He'll tread upon you as if you was dirt, as they all will, if you let 'em; but you don't ought to suffer him to do it. And then the ideor!-did you ever in all your born days hear tell of such a thing as a husband being out all the whole blessed night, without even so much as mentioning on it! A pretty thing, indeed!—as if you had no right to know where he'd been!-as if you didn't ought to insist upon knowing where he'd been! Do you think I'd let him have a minute's peace till he told me? How do you know where he was! And not a word of exclamation! -the ideor! But I see how it is: he don't think that we are good enough for him; but I'd have him to know that you're as good as him any hour in the day, if he comes to that. Aint you a Countess? In course; and you're consequentially bound to act as Countesses does. What does he mean? A very pretty thing! There! if I was you, I'll tell you what I'd go and do at once. I'd go to him, and I'd say, "Now, I tell you what it is,-I'm not going to stand it, and so you needn't think it, and that's all about it. I'm 'solved to stand up for my dignity as a Countess; and if I can't live peaceable with you, I'll have a separate maintainance, and do what I like." That's the way to bring him to his senses, my precious! Whenever a woman talks about a separate main tainance, a man thinks she's in earnest, and draws in his horns. It's the only way, to up and tell 'em what you mean at once. Now, you take my advice: you go down and look fierce, and tell him bold you won't have it.' 'What, now, ma?'

'Yes, now. Make hay while the sun shines-strike while the iron is hot.'

'I'm a good mind, but-'

'Do it! Men is cowards when a woman's blood's up. If you cringe to 'em, they trample upon you; but if you presume a proper dignity, they'll come down to you. Therefore do it, and make no bones about the matter.'

'But I'm afeared, ma.'

'Afeared! Don't tell me about being afeared. What have you to be afeared on? Give it him at once. Make believe to be in

a tremendious passion. Speak loud, my precious; there's nothing like that they're sure to get over them as doesn't speak loud. When you speak loud, men is quite safe to speak soft; in fact, they seems then to be almost afeared to speak at all. Throughout life, my love, there's nothing like giving it to 'em loud.'

'But what am I to say, ma?' whined the Countess.

'What are you to say!' echoed her anxious mamma in despair. Why, aint I told you what to say! Give it to him well. Tell him you won't have it at no price, and so he needn't think it. As true as I'm alive, there aint a bit of the Countess in you.'

'Well, ma, I can't help it.'

Can't help it? Rubbish! I've no patience with such ways. Don't tell me you can't help it!-it 's enough to make one sick to see so much affectation. Go to him at once, and tell him flat that you're 'solved to stick up for your rights.'

'Well, ma, I will go,' said the Countess.

I'm determined I will. I'll tell him it's unbearable, I will; and he needn't think I'm going to put up with it.'


'Do, my precious. Be a woman of sperit. It's the only way in the world to get over the men. And don't forget the separate maintainance.' 'I won't, ma. I'll tell him plump; see if I don't.'

'That's right, my darling-give it him home! And don't forget to give him an 'int about stopping out all the blessed night neither. Hit him hard upon that p'int ; and if you don't frighten him out of his wits, it'll be very strange to me. Therefore don't forget that.'

I won't, ma. I'll tell him he treats me very cruel, and that I don't care a single bit about him.'

'And very proper neither. I shall make a woman of dignity on you yet.'

Thus encouraged, the Countess boldly descended; but on entering the drawing-room in which the Earl sat, she was seized with so violent a palpitation of the heart, that she was perfectly unable to give utterance to a word.

'Well!' said the Earl, frowning ferociously at her, 'what do you want here?'

The Countess tried to say that she felt that she was treated very cruelly; but as she couldn't, she burst into tears and left the room.

"Why, what's the matter now?' cried her mamma, on her return. 'Has the monster been at it again? What does he say for himself?'

'He asked me what I wanted there,' replied the Countess, sobbing bitterly,' what I wanted there!'

'Well, I never! And didn't you up and tell him?'
'I-couldn't-speak:-he looked-as if-he'd-eat me!'

'And what if he did? Why didn't you look as if you'd eat him, and then go ding dong at it with dignity? But I'll soon settle this-I'll soon let him know a piece of my mind, I'll warrant. He don't quite so easily get over me!'

'Oh! pray, ma, don't go: he looks, oh! so fierce!'

'Fierce!-the ideor! Do you think I'm afeared of a man! The ridiculousness of it pervokes me!'

Whereupon she bounced out of the chamber, and the next moment stood before the Earl.

'Now I tell you what it is now, plump, my lord,' she observed, with a dignified air: "If this here's the way you 're a-going to treat the Countess, my daughter, it won't do, my lord, I can tell you: we aint a-going to stand it.'

"Am I to be under the necessity of turning you out of the house, Mrs. Gills?' said the Earl, with perfect calmness.

'Turn me out of the house! Well, I'm sure!'

'You will compel me to do so, if you do not conduct yourself with greater propriety."

'I'd have you to know that I'm not to be 'timidated, my lord. Where the Countess my daughter is, there will I be.'

'You had better be silent. I believe that I contracted no marriage with you.'

'No; I only just wish that you had!' 'Heaven forbid!' exclaimed the Earl.

'You'd have had a very different person to deal with, I can tell you.' 'I know it. I do not require to be told.'

'I wouldn't have put up with one twentieth part of the treatment that she has put up with, poor thing.'

'It is of no importance to me, Mrs. Gills, what proportion you would have put up with.'

'But is it proper treatment? Let me ask you that.'
'Will you do me the favour to leave the room, Mrs. Gills?'

'If she aint treated better, she shall sue for a separate maintainance.' 'Leave the room, madam!' cried the Earl, starting up, and pointing fiercely to the door. If I hear another word, I'll have you instantly turned out of the house!'

At this particular moment it struck Mrs. Gills with great force that, as she was not the absolute mistress of that house, he had the power to carry his threat into execution; and as she felt it to be therefore inexpedient to provoke the tyrannical exercise of that power, she most reluctantly held her peace, and left the room, as she subsequently expressed it, 'fit to bust.'


Well, ma,' cried the Countess, who was naturally anxious to know the result, how did you get on? What on earth did he say?'

'He's a brute! I'm putrified, my precious! I never in all my days heared of such a monster! Would you believe it ?-why, he threatened to turn me out of the house, he did!-actually neck and crop out of the house!'

'Lor, ma! you don't say so!'

'It's a fact! But I'd have him to know that I'm as good as him, if he comes to that, and aint a-going to tolerate such ways with impunity.'

'But how did it come about, ma?'

'I'll tell you--but I feel so wild, I scarce know how to contain myself. Turn me out of the house, indeed!-a very fine ideor! "In the first place," says I," my lord, this is all about it: the Countess, my daughter," says I, "aint a-going to stand any more of your nonsense, and so," says I, 66 'you needn't try it on."


Lor, ma! reely you shouldn't have said that.'

'Oh! there's nothing like giving 'em as good as they send. I aint lived all these years without knowing what I'm about. Howsever, says he, "What do you mean?" says he. "What do I mean!" says I, "I'll tell you what I mean: I mean what I say," says I, "neither bet

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