Practice Book | Page 6

Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose.
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.
But if they had been twice as many,--four times,--old Fezziwig would have been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance,--advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,--Fezziwig "cut,"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs.
When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.

THE BROOK.
I.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,?I make a sudden sally,?And sparkle out among the fern,?To bicker down a valley.
II.
By thirty hills I hurry down,?Or slip between the ridges;?By twenty thorps, a little town,?And half a hundred bridges.
III.
I chatter over stony ways,?In little sharps and trebles,?I bubble into eddying bays,?I babble on the pebbles.
IV.
With many a curve my banks I fret?By many a field and fallow,?And many a fairy foreland set?With willow-weed and mallow.
V.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow?To join the brimming river;?For men may come, and men may go,?But I go on forever.
VI.
I wind about and in and out,?With here a blossom sailing,?And here and there a lusty trout,?And here and there a grayling.
VII.
And here and there a foamy flake?Upon me as I travel?With many a silvery water-break?Above the golden gravel.
VIII.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,?I slide by hazel covers,?I move the sweet forget-me-nots?That grow for happy lovers.
IX.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,?Among my skimming swallows;?I make the netted sunbeam dance?Against my sandy shallows.
X.
I murmur, under moon and stars?In brambly wildernesses,?I linger by my shingly bars,?I loiter round my cresses.
XI.
And out again I curve and flow?To join the brimming river;?For men may come, and men may go,?But I go on forever.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
A LAUGHING CHORUS.
[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company.]
Oh, such a commotion under the ground?When March called, "Ho, there! ho!"?Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,?Such whispering to and fro.?And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked;?"'Tis time to start, you know."?"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied;?"I'll follow as soon as you go."?Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came?Of laughter soft and low?From the millions of flowers under the ground--?Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said,?"When I hear the bluebirds sing."?And straight thereafter Narcissus cried,?"My silver and gold I'll bring."?"And ere they are dulled," another spoke,?"The Hyacinth bells shall ring."?And the violet only murmured, "I'm here,"?And sweet grew the breath of spring.?Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came?Of laughter soft and low?From the millions of flowers under the ground--?Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,?Imprisoned in walls of brown,?They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud,?And the sleet and the hail came down,?But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress,?Or fashioned her beautiful crown;?And now they are coming to brighten the world,?Still shadowed by winter's frown;?And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!"?In a chorus soft and low,?The millions of flowers hid under the ground--?Yes--millions--beginning to grow.

CAVALIER TUNES.
1. GIVE A ROUSE.
King Charles, and who'll do him right now??King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now??Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,?King Charles!
Who gave me the goods that went since??Who raised me the house that sank once??Who helped me to gold I spent since??Who found