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make-a-frame-look-antique-language Professional's Boots of Gathering Feet. Meg went back to toast her feet and read Ivanhoeand Jo began to dig paths with great energy. Shan't I stop now? Merlthor Butterfly Lool. Augmented Crystarium Thighboots of Maiming Feet. Here's the key in the letter. What a pleasant life she might have if only she chose!

Barrier strength while under the effect of Rampart has been increased from 3, to 4, Duration of effect reducing target's HP recovered by healing actions has been reduced from 10 to 6 seconds.

The additional effect "Removes all Regen and barrier effects from targets" has been added. Now restores target's HP with a cure potency of 3, The additional effect "When under the effect of Brutal Shell, its effect is doubled and granted to nearby party members" has been added. Potency has been reduced from 2, to 1, Barrier strength has been reduced from a heal potency of 3, to 2, Potency has been reduced from 1, to 1, Melee attack potency has been increased from to 1, Barrier strength has been increased from a heal potency of 1, to 2, Maximum stacks of Meditation has been reduced from 5 to 3.

Potency with 1 stack of Repertoire has been increased from to The additional effect "If target is suffering from a Wildfire effect inflicted by you, Blank potency is tripled" has been added. Potency for 0 steps has been changed from to The additional effect "Bind" has been added, with a duration of 3 seconds. Cure potency has been increased from 2, to 3, The additional effect "Increases Faerie Gauge by 10 when action is used to restore HP of self or a party member while in combat" has been added.

The additional effect "Increases Faerie Gauge by 5 for each party member healed when used to restore HP of self or a party member while in combat" has been added. Now shares a recast timer with Lustrate. Potency has been increased from 1, to 1, Acquired at level 72 Increases progress at greater cost to durability.

Now acquired at level 15 previously level Shinryu's Ephemeral Longsword Gladiator's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Sword Gladiator's Arm. Ruby Broadsword Gladiator's Arm. Crystarium Sword Gladiator's Arm.

Augmented Crystarium Sword Gladiator's Arm. Edenchoir Bastard Sword Gladiator's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Labrys Marauder's Arm.

Ruby Battleaxe Marauder's Arm. Crystarium Labrys Marauder's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Labrys Marauder's Arm. Edenchoir Battleaxe Marauder's Arm. Ruby Greatsword Dark Knight's Arm. Crystarium Greatsword Dark Knight's Arm. Edenchoir Greatsword Dark Knight's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Gunblade Gunbreaker's Arm. Shinryu's Gunblade Gunbreaker's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Manatrigger Gunbreaker's Arm. Ruby Sawback Gunbreaker's Arm.

Crystarium Manatrigger Gunbreaker's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Manatrigger Gunbreaker's Arm. Edenchoir Gunblade Gunbreaker's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Claws Pugilist's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Claws Pugilist's Arm. Ruby Cesti Pugilist's Arm. Crystarium Knuckles Pugilist's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Knuckles Pugilist's Arm.

Edenchoir Jamadhars Pugilist's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Lance Lancer's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Trident Lancer's Arm.

Ruby Partisan Lancer's Arm. Crystarium Spear Lancer's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Spear Lancer's Arm. Edenchoir Fork Lancer's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Katana Samurai's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Blade Samurai's Arm. Ruby Samurai Blade Samurai's Arm. Crystarium Samurai Blade Samurai's Arm. Edenchoir Samurai Blade Samurai's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Daggers Rogue's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Daggers Rogue's Arm.

Ruby Daggers Rogue's Arm. Crystarium Daggers Rogue's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Daggers Rogue's Arm. Edenchoir Daggers Rogue's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Greatbow Archer's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Longbow Archer's Arm. Crystarium Composite Bow Archer's Arm. Edenchoir Harp Bow Archer's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Revolver Machinist's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Revolver Machinist's Arm. Ruby Knifelock Machinist's Arm. Crystarium Culverin Machinist's Arm.

Augmented Crystarium Culverin Machinist's Arm. Edenchoir Arquebus Machinist's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Chakrams Dancer's Arm. Shinryu's Chakrams Dancer's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Chakrams Dancer's Arm. Ruby Chakrams Dancer's Arm. Crystarium War Quoits Dancer's Arm. Edenchoir Chakrams Dancer's Arm. Ruby Rod Two-handed Thaumaturge's Arm.

Crystarium Rod Two-handed Thaumaturge's Arm. Edenchoir Rod Two-handed Thaumaturge's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Grimoire Arcanist's Grimoire. Neo-Ishgardian Grimoire Arcanist's Grimoire. Ruby Index Arcanist's Grimoire. Crystarium Index Arcanist's Grimoire. Augmented Crystarium Index Arcanist's Grimoire. Edenchoir Index Arcanist's Grimoire. Ruby Hanger Red Mage's Arm. Crystarium Rapier Red Mage's Arm.

Edenchoir Rapier Red Mage's Arm. Ruby Cane Two-handed Conjurer's Arm. Crystarium Cane Two-handed Conjurer's Arm. Edenchoir Cane Two-handed Conjurer's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Codex Scholar's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Codex Scholar's Arm.

Ruby Codex Scholar's Arm. Crystarium Codex Scholar's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Codex Scholar's Arm. Edenchoir Codex Scholar's Arm. Shinryu's Ephemeral Ephemeris Astrologian's Arm. Neo-Ishgardian Planisphere Astrologian's Arm. Ruby Astrometer Astrologian's Arm. Crystarium Planisphere Astrologian's Arm. Augmented Crystarium Planisphere Astrologian's Arm.

Edenchoir Torquetum Astrologian's Arm. The Emperor's New Shield Shield. Shinryu's Ephemeral Shield Shield. Neo-Ishgardian Shield Shield. Crystarium Kite Shield Shield. Augmented Crystarium Kite Shield Shield. Professional's Saw Carpenter's Primary Tool.

Forgefiend's File Blacksmith's Secondary Tool. Hammerfiend's Pliers Armorer's Secondary Tool. Hidefiend's Awl Leatherworker's Secondary Tool. Professional's Needle Weaver's Primary Tool. Professional's Alembic Alchemist's Primary Tool. Cauldronfiend's Mortar Alchemist's Secondary Tool. Professional's Frypan Culinarian's Primary Tool.

Professional's Pickaxe Miner's Primary Tool. Minefiend's Sledgehammer Miner's Secondary Tool. Professional's Hatchet Botanist's Primary Tool. Fieldfiend's Scythe Botanist's Secondary Tool. Orange Hyacinth Corsage Head. Purple Hyacinth Corsage Head. White Hyacinth Corsage Head. Black Hyacinth Corsage Head. Rainbow Hyacinth Corsage Head.

Red Hyacinth Corsage Head. Blue Hyacinth Corsage Head. Yellow Hyacinth Corsage Head. Green Hyacinth Corsage Head. Anamnesis Circlet of Fending Head. Edencall Helm of Fending Head. Neo-Ishgardian Cap of Fending Head. Crystarium Circlet of Fending Head.

Edenchoir Helm of Fending Head. Augmented Crystarium Circlet of Fending Head. Anamnesis Circlet of Maiming Head. Edencall Helm of Maiming Head. Neo-Ishgardian Cap of Maiming Head. Crystarium Circlet of Maiming Head. Edenchoir Helm of Maiming Head. Augmented Crystarium Circlet of Maiming Head. Anamnesis Headband of Striking Head.

Edencall Eyepatch of Striking Head. Neo-Ishgardian Hat of Striking Head. Crystarium Turban of Striking Head. Edenchoir Eyepatch of Striking Head.

Augmented Crystarium Turban of Striking Head. Anamnesis Hat of Aiming Head. Edencall Chapeau of Aiming Head. Neo-Ishgardian Cap of Aiming Head. Crystarium Blinder of Aiming Head. Edenchoir Chapeau of Aiming Head. Augmented Crystarium Blinder of Aiming Head. Anamnesis Headband of Scouting Head. Edencall Eyepatch of Scouting Head. Neo-Ishgardian Hat of Scouting Head. Crystarium Hat of Scouting Head.

Edenchoir Eyepatch of Scouting Head. Augmented Crystarium Hat of Scouting Head. Anamnesis Hat of Casting Head.

Edencall Hat of Casting Head. Neo-Ishgardian Hat of Casting Head. Crystarium Halfmask of Casting Head. Edenchoir Hat of Casting Head. Augmented Crystarium Halfmask of Casting Head. Anamnesis Hat of Healing Head. Edencall Wings of Healing Head. Neo-Ishgardian Cap of Healing Head. Crystarium Turban of Healing Head. Edenchoir Wings of Healing Head. Augmented Crystarium Turban of Healing Head.

Professional's Beret of Crafting Head. Professional's Bandana of Gathering Head. Dalmascan Draped Top Body. Anamnesis Armor of Fending Body. Edencall Mail of Fending Body. Neo-Ishgardian Top of Fending Body. Crystarium Tabard of Fending Body. Edenchoir Mail of Fending Body. Augmented Crystarium Tabard of Fending Body. Anamnesis Armor of Maiming Body. Edencall Mail of Maiming Body.

Neo-Ishgardian Top of Maiming Body. Crystarium Tabard of Maiming Body. Edenchoir Mail of Maiming Body. Augmented Crystarium Tabard of Maiming Body. Anamnesis Jacket of Striking Body. Edencall Gambison of Striking Body. Neo-Ishgardian Top of Striking Body. Crystarium Coat of Striking Body. Edenchoir Gambison of Striking Body. Augmented Crystarium Coat of Striking Body.

Anamnesis Coat of Aiming Body. Edencall Gambison of Aiming Body. Neo-Ishgardian Top of Aiming Body. Crystarium Coat of Aiming Body. Edenchoir Gambison of Aiming Body. Augmented Crystarium Coat of Aiming Body. Anamnesis Jacket of Scouting Body. Edencall Gambison of Scouting Body.

Neo-Ishgardian Top of Scouting Body. Crystarium Coat of Scouting Body. Edenchoir Gambison of Scouting Body. Augmented Crystarium Coat of Scouting Body. Anamnesis Coat of Casting Body. Edencall Tunic of Casting Body. Neo-Ishgardian Top of Casting Body. Crystarium Robe of Casting Body. Edenchoir Tunic of Casting Body.

Augmented Crystarium Robe of Casting Body. Anamnesis Coat of Healing Body. Edencall Tunic of Healing Body. Neo-Ishgardian Top of Healing Body. Crystarium Robe of Healing Body. Edenchoir Tunic of Healing Body. Augmented Crystarium Robe of Healing Body. Professional's Jacket of Crafting Body. Professional's Coat of Gathering Body. Anamnesis Gauntlets of Fending Hands. Edencall Gauntlets of Fending Hands.

Neo-Ishgardian Gauntlets of Fending Hands. Crystarium Gauntlets of Fending Hands. Edenchoir Gauntlets of Fending Hands. Augmented Crystarium Gauntlets of Fending Hands. Anamnesis Gauntlets of Maiming Hands. Edencall Gauntlets of Maiming Hands.

Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Maiming Hands. Crystarium Gauntlets of Maiming Hands. Edenchoir Gauntlets of Maiming Hands. Augmented Crystarium Gauntlets of Maiming Hands. Anamnesis Gloves of Striking Hands. Edencall Gauntlets of Striking Hands. Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Striking Hands. Crystarium Gloves of Striking Hands. Edenchoir Gauntlets of Striking Hands. Augmented Crystarium Gloves of Striking Hands. Anamnesis Gloves of Aiming Hands.

Edencall Vambraces of Aiming Hands. Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Aiming Hands. Crystarium Gloves of Aiming Hands. Edenchoir Vambraces of Aiming Hands. Augmented Crystarium Gloves of Aiming Hands. Anamnesis Gloves of Scouting Hands. Edencall Gauntlets of Scouting Hands. Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Scouting Hands. Crystarium Gloves of Scouting Hands. Edenchoir Gauntlets of Scouting Hands.

Augmented Crystarium Gloves of Scouting Hands. Anamnesis Gloves of Casting Hands. Edencall Armlets of Casting Hands. Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Casting Hands. Crystarium Shortgloves of Casting Hands. Edenchoir Armlets of Casting Hands.

Augmented Crystarium Shortgloves of Casting Hands. Anamnesis Gloves of Healing Hands. Edencall Armlets of Healing Hands.

Neo-Ishgardian Gloves of Healing Hands. Crystarium Gloves of Healing Hands. Edenchoir Armlets of Healing Hands. Augmented Crystarium Gloves of Healing Hands. Professional's Fingerless Gloves of Crafting Hands. Professional's Gloves of Gathering Hands. Anamnesis Belt of Fending Waist. Edencall Tassets of Fending Waist.

Crystarium Belt of Fending Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Fending Waist. Augmented Crystarium Belt of Fending Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Maiming Waist. Edencall Tassets of Maiming Waist. Crystarium Belt of Maiming Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Maiming Waist. Augmented Crystarium Belt of Maiming Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Striking Waist. Edencall Tassets of Striking Waist. Crystarium Belt of Striking Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Striking Waist.

Augmented Crystarium Belt of Striking Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Aiming Waist. Edencall Tassets of Aiming Waist. Crystarium Belt of Aiming Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Aiming Waist. Augmented Crystarium Belt of Aiming Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Scouting Waist. Edencall Tassets of Scouting Waist. Crystarium Belt of Scouting Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Scouting Waist.

Augmented Crystarium Belt of Scouting Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Casting Waist. Edencall Tassets of Casting Waist. Crystarium Belt of Casting Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Casting Waist. Augmented Crystarium Belt of Casting Waist. Anamnesis Belt of Healing Waist. Edencall Tassets of Healing Waist. Crystarium Belt of Healing Waist. Edenchoir Tassets of Healing Waist. Augmented Crystarium Belt of Healing Waist.

Dalmascan Draped Bottoms Legs. Anamnesis Hose of Fending Legs. Edencall Cuisses of Fending Legs. Neo-Ishgardian Bottoms of Fending Legs. Crystarium Trousers of Fending Legs. Edenchoir Cuisses of Fending Legs. Augmented Crystarium Trousers of Fending Legs.

Anamnesis Hose of Maiming Legs. Edencall Cuisses of Maiming Legs. Neo-Ishgardian Bottoms of Maiming Legs. Crystarium Trousers of Maiming Legs. Edenchoir Cuisses of Maiming Legs. Augmented Crystarium Trousers of Maiming Legs. Anamnesis Hose of Striking Legs. Edencall Trousers of Striking Legs. Neo-Ishgardian Bottoms of Striking Legs.

Crystarium Pantaloons of Striking Legs. Edenchoir Trousers of Striking Legs. Augmented Crystarium Pantaloons of Striking Legs. Anamnesis Hose of Aiming Legs. Edencall Trousers of Aiming Legs.

Neo-Ishgardian Bottoms of Aiming Legs. Crystarium Breeches of Aiming Legs. Edenchoir Trousers of Aiming Legs. Augmented Crystarium Breeches of Aiming Legs. Anamnesis Hose of Scouting Legs. Edencall Breeches of Scouting Legs. Neo-Ishgardian Bottoms of Scouting Legs. Crystarium Pantaloons of Scouting Legs. Edenchoir Breeches of Scouting Legs. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, That thou consum'st thy self in single life? No love toward others in that bosom sits That on himself such murd'rous shame commits. For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any, Who for thy self art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lov'st is most evident: For thou art so possessed with murderous hate, That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.

Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; Without this folly, age, and cold decay: If all were minded so, the times should cease And threescore year would make the world away.

Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more; Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold, Against the stormy gusts of winter's day And barren rage of death's eternal cold? Dear my love, you know, You had a father: let your son say so. Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; And yet methinks I have Astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with decay To change your day of youth to sullied night, And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify your self in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens, yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, Can make you live your self in eyes of men.

To give away yourself, keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were filled with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed, And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O!

Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young. A woman's face with nature's own hand painted, Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion: An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare, That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art?

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.

Mine eye hath played the painter and hath steeled, Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective that is best painter's art.

For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies, Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

Let those who are in favour with their stars Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die.

The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foiled, Is from the book of honour razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: Then happy I, that love and am beloved, Where I may not remove nor be removed. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit: Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tottered loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see: Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.

How can I then return in happy plight, That am debarred the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppressed, And each, though enemies to either's reign, Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried.

How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved, I view in thee, And thou all they hast all the all of me.

If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, And though they be outstripped by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow; But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? No more be grieved atthat which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, Thy adverse party is thy advocate, And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be, To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone.

In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: But do not so, I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store: So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give That I in thy abundance am sufficed, And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee: This wish I have; then ten times happy me! How can my muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? Even for this, let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one, That by this separation I may give That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.

O absence! Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty: And yet, love knows it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed; And when a woman woos, what woman's son Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?

Ay me! That thou hast her it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her; And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.

If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross: But here's the joy; my friend and I are one; Sweet flattery!

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day, When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way; For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee; For nimble thought can jump both sea and land As soon as think the place where he would be.

But ah! The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life, being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy; Until life's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, I send them back again and straight grow sad.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, A closet never pierced with crystal eyes, But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

To 'cide this title is impannelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part: As thus: mine eye's due is thine outward part, And my heart's right, thine inward love of heart.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: So, either by thy picture or my love, Thy self away, art present still with me; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee; Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart, to heart's and eyes' delight.

How careful was I when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not locked up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear, For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

Against that time, if ever that time come, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Called to that audit by advis'd respects; Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here, Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand, against my self uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since why to love I can allege no cause.

How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek, my weary travel's end, Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend! The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side; For that same groan doth put this in my mind, My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace. Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made Shall neigh, no dull flesh, in his fiery race; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade- Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.

Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since, seldom coming in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet.

So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope. What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear; And you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.

The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, To-morrow sharpened in his former might: So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness.

Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view; As call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. Being your slave what should I do but tend Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world without end hour, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love, that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!

Be where you list, your charter is so strong That you yourself may privilege your time To what you will; to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which labouring for invention bear amiss The second burthen of a former child.

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended, or where better they, Or whether revolution be the same.

Oh sure I am the wits of former days, To subjects worse have given admiring praise. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?

O, no! Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account; And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity.

Against my love shall be as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn; When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travelled on to age's steepy night; And all those beauties whereof now he's king Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring; For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in them still green.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away.

This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O fearful meditation!

Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang. As young readers like to know 'how people look', we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within.

It was a comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it. Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain.

Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.

Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed.

Her father called her 'Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.

The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.

Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I shall give her a nice pair of gloves. She likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," added Amy. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays? I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles," said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.

I'm getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about 'dressing-up' frolics. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards," said Jo. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll drop. If I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful.

I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol," returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying frantically, 'Roderigo! Save me! Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her "Ow! Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun with interest.

Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come on, Meg. Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect. Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild, "Ha! You're a regular Shakespeare!

I always wanted to do the killing part. Beth's stage-struck! She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world. There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't come home to dinner.

Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby. While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way.

Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched.

Beth trotted to and fro between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded. As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, "I've got a treat for you after supper. A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, "A letter! A letter!

Three cheers for Father! He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there. Don't stop to quirk your little finger and simper over your plate, Amy," cried Jo, choking on her tea and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the treat. Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.

Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him," exclaimed Jo, with a groan. He will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared.

Now come and hear the letter. They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home.

In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news, and only at the end did the writer's heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home. Tell them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection at all times.

A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women.

Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfish girl! But I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in me by-and-by. Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that Father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy coming home.

March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in her cheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a Celestial City.

If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it over again," said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before Father comes home.

I rather think she hasn't got any," said her mother. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people. Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.

We ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that? They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, then out came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but tonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them.

At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune.

They had always done this from the time they could lisp The first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the house singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby. Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was crammed so full of goodies.

Then she remembered her mother's promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey. She woke Meg with a "Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes.

Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day. In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given. We used to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things.

You can do as you please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through the day. Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.

Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the hard words, and they'll explain things if we don't understand," whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters' example. Some poor creeter came a-beggin', and your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman for givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin'," replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.

Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself," said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor. She's gone and put 'Mother' on them instead of 'M.

How funny! I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's initials are M. It will please her very much, I know," said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth. Hide the basket, quick! I didn't mean anyone should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any more.

As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her 'a trump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle. Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.

Many of them! Thank you for our books. We read some, and mean to every day," they all cried in chorus. I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.

Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present? They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, "I'm so glad you came before we began!

March, smiling as if satisfied. They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party. A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.

In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak.

March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.

The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered a 'Sancho' ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it. And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table. Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee! Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity.

March was both surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a perfect fit. There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.

The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and necessity being the mother of invention, made whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond shaped bits left in sheets when the lids of preserve pots were cut out.

The big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels. No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart's content and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor.

These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions.

The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.

On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the operatic tragedy began.

This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover.

A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred for Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other.

The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding, "What ho, minion! I need thee! Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak.

Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter.

Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew? Bring me here, with elfin speed, The fragrant philter which I need. Make it sweet and swift and strong, Spirit, answer now my song!

A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang Hither I come, From my airy home, Afar in the silver moon. Take the magic spell, And use it well, Or its power will vanish soon!

And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him.

Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play. A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo.

He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when "Alas!

Alas for Zara! It caught in the window, the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins. A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you so! I told you so! Act as if it was all right! Though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir.

This dauntless example fired Zara. She also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.

Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little servant, "Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall come anon. Ferdinando, the 'minion', carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo.

Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.

This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.

Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love. Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro.

He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demands her hand.

Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy.

The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the stern sire.

He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace. Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience.

Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah appeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper. This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table, they looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of since the departed days of plenty.

There was ice cream, actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and distracting French bonbons and, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers.

It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely. What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don't know him! He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father years ago, and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day.

I could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk breakfast. He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted.

He looks as if he'd like to know us but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass," said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction.

Laurence, but says he's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps his grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn't come. Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls. I mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, I'm sure he does," said Jo decidedly. He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure what was going on upstairs.

He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly? How pretty it is! But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt. Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I could send my bunch to Father.

I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas as we are. This was Jo's favorite refuge, and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by and didn't mind her a particle.

As Meg appeared, Scrabble whisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hear the news. Only see! A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner for tomorrow night! Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine. Whatever shall I do? The burn shows badly, and I can't take any out. The front is all right.

I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd like. You can't dance without them, and if you don't I should be so mortified. I don't care much for company dancing. It's no fun to go sailing round. I like to fly about and cut capers. She said when you spoiled the others that she shouldn't get you any more this winter. Can't you make them do?

That's all I can do. I'll tell you how we can manage, each wear one good one and carry a bad one. Don't you see? Only don't stain it, and do behave nicely. Don't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say 'Christopher Columbus! I'll be as prim as I can and not get into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note, and let me finish this splendid story. So Meg went away to 'accept with thanks', look over her dress, and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble.

On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls played dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the all-important business of 'getting ready for the party'. Simple as the toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded the house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs. It's like burned feathers," observed Amy, smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air.

She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the hair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser laid a row of little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim. What have you done? I'm spoiled!

I can't go! My hair, oh, my hair! You shouldn't have asked me to do it. I always spoil everything. I'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I've made a mess," groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black pancakes with tears of regret. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion. I've seen many girls do it so," said Amy consolingly. But it will soon grow out again," said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.

After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the united exertions of the entire family Jo's hair was got up and her dress on.

They looked very well in their simple suits, Meg's in silvery drab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin. Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect "quite easy and fine".

Meg's high-heeled slippers were very tight and hurt her, though she would not own it, and Jo's nineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which was not exactly comfortable, but, dear me, let us be elegant or die. March, as the sisters went daintily down the walk. Is my sash right? And does my hair look very bad?

Gardiner's dressing room after a prolonged prink. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remind me by a wink, will you? I'll lift my eyebrows if any thing is wrong, and nod if you are all right.

Now hold your shoulder straight, and take short steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced to anyone. It isn't the thing. Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to parties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to them.

Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly and handed them over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie and was at her ease very soon, but Jo, who didn't care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden.

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