kens of
affection and of triumph at her return, forgot all the morbid fancies
that had given rise to her dream, and was as light-hearted, and as
light-footed, as in days of yore. All gave themselves up to the reality
of present gladness; every voice trembled with the music of joy; every
eye looked and reflected love. There was no happier homestead that
evening in Lisbon, nor in the world.

But ere many hours, Lisbon itself was tossing and heaving with the
throes of dissolution. The sea arose tumultuously against the tottering
city; the ground breathed fire, and quaked, and burst asunder; the
houses reeled and fell, and thousands of inhabitants perished in the
fall. Among them, at one dire swoop, the tenants of that happy cottage
home. Together did these mortals put on immortality.

And thus was the dream fulfilled.

THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THO'S MORE.[7]

LIBELLUS A MARGARETA MORE, QUINDECIM ANNOS NATA, CHELSEIAE INCEPTVS.

"Nulla dies sine linea."

This morn, hinting to Bess that she was lacing herselfe too straightlie,
she brisklie replyed, "One w'd think 'twere as great meritt to have a
thick waiste as to be one of y'e earlie Christians!"

These humourous retorts are ever at her tongue's end; and, albeit, as
Jacky one day angrilie remarked, when she had beene teazing him, "Bess,
thy witt is stupidnesse;" yet, for one who talks soe much at random, no
one can be more keene when she chooseth. Father sayd of her, half
fondly, half apologeticallie to Erasmus, "Her wit has a fine subtletie
that eludes you almoste before you have time to recognize it for what it
really is." To which, Erasmus readilie assented, adding, that it had
y'e rare meritt of playing less on persons than things, and never on
bodilie defects.

Hum!--I wonder if they ever sayd as much in favour of me. I know,
indeede, Erasmus calls me a forward girl. Alas! that may be taken in two
senses.

* * * * *

Grievous work, overnighte, with y'e churning. Nought w'd persuade
Gillian but that y'e creame was bewitched by Gammer Gurney, who was
dissatisfyde last Friday with her dole, and hobbled away mumping and
cursing. At alle events, y'e butter w'd not come; but mother was
resolute not to have soe much goode creame wasted; soe sent for Bess and
me, Daisy and Mercy Giggs, and insisted on our churning in turn till
y'e butter came, if we sate up all nighte for't. 'Twas a hard saying;
and mighte have hampered her l