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"This lazy maid demeriteth fifty rods!" was the pleasing answer. "I cry you mercy, but I think not so," said Bertram judicially. "An' you whipped the demeritous party, it should be Parnel. I saw all that chanced, by the lattice, but the maids saw not me." Parnel was not whipped, for her quickness made her a favourite; but neither was Maude, for Bertram's intercession rescued her.
The child looked up in astonishment, wondering how it came to pass that any one living in Langley Palace should not know her who, to Maude's apprehension, was monarch of all she surveyed inside the kitchen. "She is Mistress Ursula Drew, that is over me and Parnel." "Doth she cleanse pans?" said the lady smilingly. "Nay, verily! She biddeth us." "I see she is queen of the kitchen.
Parnel was the first to see where they were going, and at the last corner she stayed her pursuit, daring to proceed no further. But Maude did not know that Parnel was no longer on her track, and she fled wildly on, till her foot tripped at an inequality in the stone passage, and she came down just opposite an open door.
"Let be. If thou wilt not tell me, I will blandish some that will. It was little Maude, flying in frantic terror, with Parnel in hot pursuit, both too much absorbed to note in what direction they were running. The cause was not far to seek.
Friend, and the elegant Dr. Mead. Among the poets of this era, we number John Philips, author of a didactic poem, called Cyder, a performance of real merit; he lived and died in obscurity William Congreve, celebrated for his comedies, which are not so famous for strength of character and power of humour, as for wit, elegance, and regularity Vanburgh, who wrote with more nature and fire, though with less art and precision Steele, who in his comedies successfully engrafted modern characters on the ancient drama Farquhar, who drew his pictures from fancy rather than from nature, and whose chief merit consists in the agreeable pertness and vivacity of his dialogue Addison, whose fame as a poet greatly exceeded his genius, which was cold and enervate; though he yielded to none in the character of an essayist, either for style or matter Swift, whose muse seems to have been mere misanthropy; he was a cynic rather than a poet, and his natural dryness and sarcastic severity would have been unpleasing, had not he qualified them, by adopting the extravagant humour of Lueian and Rabelais Prior, lively, familiar, and amusing Rowe, solemn, florid, and declamatory Pope, the prince of lyric poetry; unrivalled in satire, ethics, and polished versification the agreeable Parnel the wild, the witty, and the whimsical Garth Gay, whose fables may vie with those of La Fontaine, in native humour, ease, and simplicity, and whose genius for pastoral was truly original.
Lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress. This valuable set of books came into the possession of my old friend Mr. Wontner, of the Minories, London; it descended at his decease, to his widow, who resided on Camberwell Green, and from her to a daughter, married to Mr. Parnel, an orange merchant in Botolph Lane. He was tempted to sell it to Mr.
"Parnel, do leave go!" supplicated the prisoner. "Mistress Maude is bidden lay out herbs!" sang the gaoler in amateur recitative. "Mistress Maude hath no shepherd's pouch! Mistress Maude is loth to go and pluck it!" "Parnel, do leave me go!" "Mistress Maude doth not her mistress' bidding! Mistr "
"Master Warine," said Hugh Calverley's voice behind him, "the day may come when thou and I would be full fain to creep into Heaven at the heels of the Lutterworth parson." The anointing at baptism, when a white cloth was always placed on the head. Bertram, Ursula, Parnel, Warine, and Maude and her family, are all fictitious persons.
"There is no shepherd's pouch in the closet," responded Parnel. "Then whither must I seek it?" asked Maude. "In the fields," said Parnel. "Ay me!" exclaimed the child. "And 'tis not in leaf, let be flower," added her tormentor. "What can I do?" cried Maude in dismay. Still keeping tight hold of her wrist, Parnel answered the query by the execution of a war-dance around Maude.
When they were sufficiently scrubbed, she pulled off the dirty apron in which she had been working, and went towards the dry herb closet. But she had not reached it, when her wrist was caught and held in a grasp like that of a vice. "Whither goest, Mistress Maude?" demanded an unwelcome voice. "Stay me not, I pray thee, Parnel!" said the child entreatingly.
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