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At length, however, Genevieve meets her fate, and falls desperately in love; but her passion does not seem likely to be requited, as the object of it seems perfectly ignorant of his good fortune, till she gets some hints from her cousin, Lady Charlotte Orby, respecting the management of backward lovers.

This Lady Charlotte Orby is the third heroine of the book, and we think we like her best of the three. She is very pretty, very cunning, and very shrewd-which is surprising considering her parentage, for she is the daughter of Lord Budemere, and her noble parent, besides being a shocking rascal, is such a fool that we are told "if Old Crab had combed Lord Budemere's head with a three-legged stool, and combed out brains and all, pouring milk, eggs, and sugar, in the place of them to serve for understanding, it would have altered his lordship's intellects a world for the better, and his soul would have sat much more at her ease in the middle of a custard." This shrewd young lady rightly divines the object of Genevieve's affections to be the philosopher Acerbus, and though Genevieve attempts to deny it, and says she would " as lief marry the wonderful fish that was shown in Piccadilly for a shilling," yet lady Charlotte lays down some hints for entangling his heart in cunning meshes, which her friend acts upon. Here is one of the scenes between her and the philosophic Acerbus (a very handsome as well as very amiable man), in which it appears that, under Old Crab's guardianship, Genevieve has picked up a good smattering of that eccentric ecclesiastic's peculiar vocabulary. However, after the ultra sentiment of the love-scenes of most modern novelists, we find something racy in these, odd as they are-for the same reason that Old Weller liked his son's valentine-" because there

ain't no calling names in it—no angels

nor wenuses."

"A few days after this, and some more of the like advice, Genevieve began to open a new plan of works against the philosopher, and it came to pass that he dropt upon her unawares under a hedge

in one of Old Crab's meadows. She had a little basket in her hand, and his favourite pointer Ponto was lying by philosopher saw her very busy with her her side as she sat upon the grass. The fingers in her basket, and felt some curisently she gave Ponto a bit of sweet cake osity to see what she was doing; and preout of it, who put his two paws directly into her lap, and fell to licking her face as if it were something very savoury. She did not seem to take Ponto's kisses

much in anger, however, for she caught him in her arms and gave him some in return, and another piece of sweet cake, when the pointer curled himself round and lay down at her feet. Love me love self, and, plucking a leaf, put it between my dog, quoth the philosopher to himthe pages of a folio edition of Aristotle to keep his place, and then laid the old Stagirite down under an oak: having so done, he crept round the bush under which Genevieve sat, and saw her pick a great caterpillar off it and put it into her basket. Ponto, smelling his master, jumped up at that moment and began to whine and wag his tail; Genevieve standing behind the bush. jumped up too, and saw the philosopher blockhead,' said she, what are you come You great for? Come for!' said Acerbus, 'why, this is the way I usually walk in an evening-what makes Ponto and you so fond of one another all on a sudden? what have you got in that basket, Jenny?' 'What's that to you, you fool?' said she, 'nothing at all.' 'I see some leaves in it,' said he, poking his fingers under its lid. Keep your nasty fingers out of my basket, or I'll beat it about very cross this evening, Jenny,' said he your stupid pate,' said she. 'You are

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-'come, I know what is in it; there is some cake in it, for I saw you give Ponto a bit of cake out of it-and I saw

you put some leaves and a caterpillar into it.' "Then, if you know, why d'ye ask, ye great ass?' said she. To see if you made any secret of what it had in it,' said he; let me just look at your caterpillar, Jenny.' 'You shall not see it, so get along,' said she. 'I lost a very curious one in that very bush yesterday; it made its escape among the leaves; pray tell me, cousin, has it got a horn upon its tail?' The philosopher, a little too eager to see Genevieve's caterpillar, laid hold

on her basket, upon which she gave him a great push and rolled him upon the grass. Lady Charlotte, who had wandered from her friend in search of wildflowers, came round some trees just as the philosopher was tumbled upon the ground. She ran to him, and asked him kindly if he was hurt? Seeing him laugh, she said, 'I declare, if I were you, cousin, I would go and tumble her down out of pure revenge!'

'If the blockhead comes near me again,' said Genevieve with a haughty frown, I will break his neck.' Upon this Acerbus walked away."

While Genevieve is thus wooing the philosopher, and Lady Charlotte putting her own principles in practice with Harry Lamsbroke, who is such a shocking young fool that we will say nothing more about him, Old Crab, by way of effectually separating George and Julia, has brought a new lover to his daughter, one John Cartland, a country bumpkin, who comes a-courting; and all his family are invited to dinner. And this is the way that Old Crab deals with the subject, so interesting to parents and guardians, of marriage settlements.

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"Now it came to pass, after the boiled beef and cabbage, the ham and the fowls were removed, and the wine, punch, pipes, and strong beer put upon the table, 'Look ye, Master Cartland,' quoth Old Crab, we will have no forcing and driving in this business; we shall be glad to see your son at a leisure hour at the farm, and if he and my wench can agree we'll have a wedding' And if so be that they cannot,' interrupted the old farmer, why, there's no harm done.' 'I loves Miss Julee rarely well,' quoth Madam Cartland, and if as why she can get the better of her heart and hankerings, for I have been told that the Squire don't care for a match betwixt her and his son, why, as I says, I hopes as how my son John, heaven bless him, may be her man after all, but yet, as why, as I says, I ban't for cramming force-meat into her mouth whether she wool or no.' 'Well, well,' quoth Old Crab, we shall see how matters will be; you and I understand one another, Master Cartland, BullocksHatch and the water-meads come with your son, if the thing take place, and three thousand pounds go with my wench. But the homestall must be repaired at your expense, I insist upon that, and I will keep the young folks until the farmhouse be got ready for them.' 'Look you, Master Decastro,'

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quoth the old farmer, 'you must bear me half in that matter, it will cost me three hundred pound.' 'Not a penny,' quoth Old Crab, 'I have put five hundred pounds to my wench's fortune in order to take a step towards you, Master Cartland, so now it is your turn to take a step towards me.' Come, come,' quoth the old farmer, 'you will build a cow-house!' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. 'A cart-house?' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. A fatting hogsty?' No,' quoth Old Crab. me tiles for the wheat-barn?' quoth Old Crab. Be something towards the furniture?' No,' quoth Old Crab. What, not a bed?' 'No,' quoth Old have feathers enough by me to make a Crab. Come,' said Mrs B. Decastro,' I bed, if my husband will allow me to make a little offer on my part.' 'Well, well,' quoth Old Crab, I shan't stick out for a few feathers; give us your hand, Master Cartland, if 'tis a bargain.' Upon which Old Crab and the old farmer shook

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'No,'

The bumpkin lover, however, dies by arisen, for Mr Grove has commandan accident; but another obstacle has ed George to marry Lady Charlotte Orby (who, not having at that time taken a fancy to the fool Lamsbroke, has no objection), and the worthy young man, in obedience to his parent, is actually at the church door, on his way to be married, when Genevieve, hearing of it, seizes him there, hustles him into her carriage, and makes off with the prize. Eventually, after other hindrances and distresses, Julia and George are happily united about the middle of the third volume. A less sentimental, though perhaps more diverting love-affair than any of the others, is that of Old Comical, whose inamorata is thus described :

:

"Now there was a lady in these days named Madam Frances Funstall, who had a duke for her father and a dairymaid for her mother, and lived at a neat little house in a village called Dilliespiddle: Her noble father, seeing she was not like to be a beauty, left her in his will a legacy of ten thousand pounds, part of which she had laid out in a purchase of a house and garden, and lived upon the interest of the remainder like a gentlewoman of figure: now this was very considerate in his grace, for a woman without beauty and without money may get up before sunrise and look for a husband till 'tis dark, and then go to bed without one. As for beauty, Madam

Funstall had not as much as she could cover with her hand, which was so small, and her fingers so short and thick, that she could not shut it; she had the duke's nose only, all the rest belonged to the dairy-wench."

Old Comical's brother dies and leaves him heir to £3000 a-year, and the manor of Cock-a-doodle. The good news has a singular effect upon him.

"It brought him trouble in his inward parts, however, and what might have turned another man's brains turned

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mouth, with the end thereof sticking out of the post-chaise window. Old Crab, hearing a great noise among the pigs, and a cracking of whips, as he sat in his little parlour, came forth at the moment Old Comical drove up to the back of the house, for he had too much modesty to come up to the grand entrance. Why, you scoundrel!' quoth Old Crab, ' I expected you to run mad, but this is not the way to Bedlam; what the plague d'ye come here for?' Upon which Old Comical, pulling his head and shoulders out of the tankard, for it was a monstrous jug, big enough for a man to bathe much your humble servant to command in it, said, Look you, master, I am as as ever, for all I am lord of the manor of Cock-a-doodle,' blowing a long pillar of smoke out of his mouth through the chaise window: 'you have been a noble master to me, took me in when I had nothing but rags upon my back and raw turnips in my belly, fed ine and clothed me, and 'sume my body if I ever leave your farm as long as you will let me work for you! no, no,-you were my friend when I had not a sixpence in my pocket, and 'sume me if I ever forsake you now I have three thousand pounds a-year and am lord of the manor of Cock-a-doodle !'

Old Comical's stomach into confusion, uproar, and astonishment. Adszooks, what a rumbling and grumbling, what a piping, what a squalling of the bowels! what a quarrelling and noise, what a piece of work there was in his inside! he felt as if he had swallowed a great rebellion and they were fighting for a new constitution in his belly! but he had no mind to run mad for all that; for then he would have been put into a dark room and had his money taken away. 'Now,' said he, shutting Old Crab's garden-door, I will see if I can get in time to be chief mourner at my brother's funeral, but as for crying, everybody knows how little water I-Upon which Old Comical gave his tank

have to spare that way; folks will be disappointed if they take my eyes for a pair of water squirts: what! come into three thousand a year, and put my finger in my eye! A very small bottle will hold all my flittings. No,- -as for weeping, we will leave all that to be done by all such as come in for nothing by the death of the departed, they may weep with a better grace, and never be suspected of hypocrisy no, no,-no weeping, tears have nothing to do in the matter, for my brother is better off, and so am 1; then what occasion is there for crying when there is no harm done on either side? A good friend is gone, it is true; but when he has done us all the good he can do, and left a world of troubles for a better, he would call me a fool if he saw me fall a-crying, and tell me so to my face, if he could speak his mind. Upon which Old Comical shut C Crab's garden-door, as aforesaid, put

qa is best suit, and set off for the manor Cock a doodle. Now having settled almers to his mind, paid his legacies,

the widow in her jointure house, uning a good tenant into Cock-a-doodle forthwith into a post- und zuloped into Old Crab's swyses win bur horses and two posasar of strong beer in his Lipe of sobacco in his

ard to the post-boys, and a crown apiece to comfort their constitutions, on the road, as he told them, threw off his coat and waistcoat and went afield with the next empty waggon, for Old Crab was in the middle of his wheat harvest. And this brings us down, as it were by a regular flight of steps, to Old Comical's first visit, as a lover, at Dillies-piddle : It was a Sunday morning, and Madam Funstall sat tackled out in her best apparel at her breakfast-table, when Old Comical rang at her gate with a calf's heart in his hand, a great skewer stuck in it, and the blood all trickling through his fingers: Madam Funstall cast her radiant eyes through her window, as she sat sipping her tea and brandy, saw, and knew him in a moment: for Old Comical, long since her ardent lover, used to stick her pigs and singe her bacon and never told his love: and how should he

dare, when he was a day-labourer on Old Crab's farm at a shilling a-day and his victuals?"

ical arrive at her gate, and not knowMadam Funstall, seeing Old Coming of the marvellous change in his fortunes, imagines he has come to be paid for the last pig he stuck for her, and sends him, by her maid Keziah, a shilling's worth of halfpence, and a

horn of ale. The lord of Cock-adoodle, indignant at such treatment of a gentleman of his degree, has a scolding-match, rather too racy for extracting, though highly humorous, with Keziah; the noise of which brings Madam Funstall into the kitchen, whereupon Old Comical, after declaring his passion, as he knelt upon his wig at her feet, " forthwith laid his bald pate upon her foot and groaned." Madame Funstall is at first highly indignant, till Old Comical announces that he is lord of the manor of Cock-a-doodle, whereupon "he soon became as sweet to Madam Funstall as a roll of pomatum," and his advances, including the present of the calf's heart, are most graciously accepted.

We will give one more little scene, because it has the double effect of showing how far Genevieve's affection was returned by Acerbus, and how a philosopher proposes to a lady.

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"What d'ye mean by that, sir?' said Genevieve in confusion. Mean!' quoth he, 'why, I saw you throw your glove on the walk after you looked which way I was coming, and then hide yourself in the bush-now, prythee, my pretty cousin, what could you mean by this?' Genevieve was in a pucker, and bit her lips till the blood dropt upon her bosom.

Well, well,' continued he, I will answer the question for you, my pretty kinswoman: you are willing to be my mate, and make signs of what you cannot speak: come, pretty Jenny, for indeed I think you pretty, you shall be my mate, and I will be your mate, my pretty kinswoman, and we will be man and wife together. I found out your love, and will give you love for love: I have broken the matter to my father and my mother, and my good uncle Bartholomew, and my good aunt, and all think well of a wedding between us; and so my sweet pretty Jenny, I will kiss your sweet lips, if you please, upon the bar gain. Upon which he made a mark with his thumb-nail in Plato, lest he lose his place where he left off reading, and shutting up the folio, put it upon a little bench, then folding his arms round Genevieve's waist gave her a hearty kiss upon her lips; after which, taking up Plato, and opening the book, he walked off reading Greek, and left Genevieve to her meditations."

66

The wonderful incidents contained in the third and fourth volumes-how Julia and Genevieve were spirited away-how they were recovered miraculously, both through the agency of Old Comical-how Genevieve came back such a figure, that if the crows had got sight of her they would have left the kingdom"-how Frederick and his confederate miscreants all meet the end they merit-how, finally, all the lovers, Old Comical included, are made happy-with much other interesting matter, we refrain from touching on the end we proposed to ourself in this paper being now answered.

Reader, did you never, in the circle of your acquaintance, know or hear of a man of original talent and excellent heart, whose good qualities were rendered nugatory by some illhabit-tippling, bad language, or some such evil propensity, and who, after being pitied through life by his friends as 66 nobody's enemy but his own," finally hides in an obscure grave, talents which might have made the fortunes of half his generation? Even such is the character of our dear friend John Decastro-one who, full as he is of kindliness and humour, we can only venture to introduce to society in his most guarded moments. His humour is often of a cast belonging to the age of Squire Western and Commodore Trunnion, rather than to ours; and in these times, when even my Uncle Toby is known to the rising generation only through the medium of elegant extracts, sorely emasculated and worse mutilated than he was in the trenches before Dendermond, John-our good friend John-could scarcely expect a full hearing. But in thus reproducing some of the matter that so won our fancy in infancy, and held it in youth and manhood, we are executing a pleasant duty. The work is virtually defunct, and will not probably rise from its ashes; we, like Old Mortality, have been working lovingly on a tombstone, and we shall be glad to think that this frail memorial may perchance prevent the memory of the Decastros from perishing utterly from

the earth.

MAID BARBARA.

Of all the maids of Dynevor, maid Barbara is most fair;
There's none hath lily cheeks like hers, and none such golden hair :
Her tread is scarcely heavier, amid the garden flowers,

Than dew-drops of the morning, or the gentle summer-showers.

Beside the Dame of Dynevor six maidens ever dwell--
Six maids whose gallant fathers with her lord in battle fell:
There be some for dance and music, and some beguile the time,
Ever chaunting warlike actions in minstrel's warlike rhyme.

But the task of maiden Barbara is from the flowers to choose
Which give out the sweetest fragrance, and which have loveliest hues ;
That with these her master's chamber she fitly may adorn,
She gathers some at sunset, and some at early morn.

The first spring-blown anemone she in his doublet wove,
To keep him safe from pestilence wherever he should rove
St John's-wort and fresh cyclamen she in his chamber kept,
From the power of evil angels to guard him while he slept.
The ancient lands of Dynevor spread many a league afar,
Famous were its knights at council, and valiant all in war;
This young lord is daily longing the king should cross the sea,
And his father's fall avenge upon the Frankish chivalry.

Now knightly deeds and martial tales Dame Dynevor fill with dread,
And to her son she often prays some lady fair to wed;

But of love he spoke too lightly, and laughed at Beauty's glance,

Aye keeping bright his amour for the battle-fields of France.

Once on a summer evening, his mother, passing by,

Within her young lord's chamber heard many a heavy sigh

Ah! who should there with tears deplore the cruelty of fate

That made her love too fondly whom she ne'er might hope to mate?

'Twas gentle maiden Barbara, with hands across her breast,

That there alone unto herself her hopeless love confessed;

She slowly through the chamber paced, and many a tear she shed,
Oft stopping to kiss the pillow upon her master's bed.

Then angry waxed Dame Dynevor at son and maiden both;

She straight before her summoned him, and spake to him in wrath :
"What have ye done, Lord Dynevor, to my maid Barbara,
That she should kiss your pillow, and sigh and weep all day?"

Up started young Lord Dynevor, with face fast flushing red,
No love showed I to Barbara by word or look," he said.

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A simple esquire's daughter, son, were never wife for

you"

But in his ire he answered not, and from her straight withdrew.

To his horses and his hounds he betook him from her sight,

To his dogs he whistled loud, and his sword he rubbed more bright;
Oh! were the king but ready for the French shores to set forth,
In other than the lists of love he might approve his birth.

But when unconscious Barbara he on the morrow met,
He doubted if those lily cheeks had e'er with tears been wet;
So, through the day much marvelling at what his mother told,
That in a maid so modest love should show itself so bold,

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