“Good morning, Sir.”
“The same to you, Miss! Very happy to meet you here; how far are you going?”
“Not far, Sir; but I should be proud of your company for a short time.”
“Thank you, Miss, I hope we shall be better acquainted e’re long.”
“I hope, Sir, you’re unmarried?”
“Happy to say at present—I am!”
“Very well, Sir, I am at present without a sweetheart who has possession of my heart.”
“My dear, I will endeavour to try to gain you.”
“Excuse me, Sir, I am poor.”
“My dear, I am only a theatrical gentleman, but very fond of the fair sex.”
“Do you think, my cherub, that you will be able to keep us when we are wed?”
“Yes, my dear, for I will feed you on oysters, beef-steaks, and all such fattening and strengthening things as are necessary for our conjugal happiness and comfort.”
“But, Sir, can I really depend upon you?”
“Yes, my dear, shall we name the day for our marriage?”
“Suppose we say, my love, the day after to-morrow.”
“Agreed; until that, adieu.”
On the morning appointed for the wedding, the young woman received the following epistle:—
“My Dearest Fanny.—I have thought on your proposal since last we met, but from circumstances that have transpired, I beg leave to postpone our marriage to a future day. I thought on our conversation and your delightful company ever since, and have enclosed a copy for your perusal.
“I am,
“Yours for ever,
“HENRY J.N.S.
“Light of my soul! by night and day,I’ll love thee ever;Light of my soul! list to my lay,I’ll leave thee never.Light of my soul! where’er I go,My thoughts on thee are hov’ring;Light of my soul! in weal or woe—Send by the bearer a sovereign!”
“Light of my soul! by night and day,I’ll love thee ever;Light of my soul! list to my lay,I’ll leave thee never.Light of my soul! where’er I go,My thoughts on thee are hov’ring;Light of my soul! in weal or woe—Send by the bearer a sovereign!”
“Light of my soul! by night and day,I’ll love thee ever;Light of my soul! list to my lay,I’ll leave thee never.Light of my soul! where’er I go,My thoughts on thee are hov’ring;Light of my soul! in weal or woe—Send by the bearer a sovereign!”
“Light of my soul! by night and day,
I’ll love thee ever;
Light of my soul! list to my lay,
I’ll leave thee never.
Light of my soul! where’er I go,
My thoughts on thee are hov’ring;
Light of my soul! in weal or woe—
Send by the bearer a sovereign!”
The young woman read this letter with disdain, and wrote back the following answer:—
“Sir,—I return your note with disgust, having been informed that you are a married man, and I hope you will bestow the trash you offered me upon your wife. So pray trouble me no more with your foolery.”
Poor H. took this so much to heart, that he went and drowned his senses in wine, and then returned home; undressing himself, the letter fell from his bosom, his wife picked it up, read it, and beat him about the head with a dish-cloth.
There are two ways of reading this to discover the parties. Henry —— lives inTHIS STREET, and Fanny —— at the —— shop round the corner, and is said to be no better than she should be. The child’s name we understand is to be Anthony.
Or the SECRET DISCOVERED,
After having been carried on in a curious manner for a long time.
“Most adorable Mary—
“Why have you left me, and deprived me of those pleasures of beholding the most charming face that nature ever made? How shall I find words to express the passion you have inspired me with? Since the day I first beheld your form I have felt the sharpest pangs of love, which have worked me up to the utmost pitch of distraction. But, alas! such a shock I felt as is impossible to express. The dearest object of my heart is locked in the embrace of Robert E—— that vile monster and decoyer of female innocence. Oh! never should I have thought that after so many pleasant hours we have passed together, and promises pledged on either side, that you would have slighted me in the manner you have, and find your heart callous to one who adores you, and even the ground your angelic form walks upon. Oh, my adorable angel, do not forsake me and the welfare of yourself; drop all connection with that vile deceiver, R. E., and once more reinstate me to that pleasure which none but lovers know. My fluctuation of fortune shall never abate my attachment, and I hope the day is not far distant, when I shall lead you to the altar of Hymen. Oh! soon may the time arrive when I may call thee, dearest Mary, my own. Oh! my dearest angel, consent to my request, and keep me no longer in suspense; nothing on my part shall ever be wanting to make you happy and comfortable. My engagement will expire in two months from hence, when I intend to open a shop in the small-ware line, and your abilities as a seamstress and self-adjusting crinoline maker, with the assistance of a few work girls, shall be able to realize an independence; and, moreover, I will indulge you in all things needful in the marriage state, and show my regard for you by cleaning your shoes, lighting the fire every morning, buying crumpets, new butter, and so forth; besides, my dear Mary, we will live merrily upon beef-steak, oysters, and other tasty articles necessary for our conjugal happiness, and upon my bended kness I pray for it, and may earthly friendship and confidence, with truest love, continue to the end.
“You are the first, I freely own,That raised love in my breast,Where now it reigns without control,But yet a welcome guest.Ah! must I drive the cherub hence,In sorrow to regret,And will you join to foster me,And me no more neglect.”
“You are the first, I freely own,That raised love in my breast,Where now it reigns without control,But yet a welcome guest.Ah! must I drive the cherub hence,In sorrow to regret,And will you join to foster me,And me no more neglect.”
“You are the first, I freely own,That raised love in my breast,Where now it reigns without control,But yet a welcome guest.Ah! must I drive the cherub hence,In sorrow to regret,And will you join to foster me,And me no more neglect.”
“You are the first, I freely own,
That raised love in my breast,
Where now it reigns without control,
But yet a welcome guest.
Ah! must I drive the cherub hence,
In sorrow to regret,
And will you join to foster me,
And me no more neglect.”
“Most adorable Mary,—I have to repeat my former request, that is, quit R. E.’s company, and place yourself under the protection of me, only in whom you will find all the comfort that wedded life can bestow.
“I remain, dear Mary, yours till death,
“JOHN S——
“P. S.—Favor me, my angel, with an answer by return of post; if not, I shall start off directly for Liverpool, and embark for America.”
PART I.—Showing how a noble Knight was riding by a farmer’s house, when his wife was in travail. The Knight knowing the signs and planets, and looking on a book, read that the farmer’s daughter that was born that hour was to be his lady and bride. And how the cruel Knight got the child from her parents, and flung it into a river; but by good fortune, the child was taken up by a poor fisherman alive, and brought home till she was eleven years old.
PART II.—How the fisherman was at an inn with some gentlemen, the cruel Knight being in the same company, and seeing the young girl come in, he asked the fisherman if she was his own daughter, who told the story of his taking her up, &c. How the cruel Knight got this poor girl away, and contrived her death a second time, and how he was prevented.
PART III.—How the Knight contrived her death a third time; but her life was saved, by showing the Knight a ring that he flung in the sea; when the Knight saw it, found it in vain to strive against his fortune, so he married her, and made her his lady; with other things worthy of note.
In York fair city a farmer did dwell,Who was belov’d by his neighbours full well;He had a good wife who was virtuous and fair,And by her he had a child every year.In seven years time six children they had,Which made both the father and mother’s heart gladBut a little time after as we do hear say,This farmer in money and stock did decay,Although at one time he had riches in store,But a little time after he quickly grew poor.He strove all he could, but alas! could not thrive,Nor hardly could keep his poor children alive.But children came faster than silver or gold,For his wife she conceived again as I’m told,And when her time came in hard travail she fell,But if you will mind, a strange wonder I’ll tell;A rich noble knight did chance to ride by,And hearing this woman to shriek and to cry,He being well learned in planets and signs,Did look on a book which much puzzled his mind.For the more he did look, still the more he did read,And found that fate this young child had decreed,Who was born in that house that same hour and tideHad found it was she that must be his sweet bride.But judge how the knight was disturbed in mind,When he in that book his own fortune did find;He quickly rode home, but was sorely oppressed,From that very moment he could not have rest.All night he did tumble and toss in his bed,And very strange projects did run in his head:Then he was resolved very quickly indeed,To alter that fortune he found was decreed.With murdering heart the next morning he rose,And to the house of the farmer he goes:Then asked the man with a heart full of spite,If the child was alive that was born last night.Worthy sir, said the farmer, although I am poor,I had one born last night, and six long before;Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,Which are all in good health and likely to thrive.The Knight then replied if that seven you have,Let me have the youngest, I’ll keep her most brave,For you very well with one daughter can spare,Which if you will grant, I will make her my heir.For I am a Knight of noble degree,And if you will part with your child unto me,Full three hundred pounds unto you I will give,When I from your hand your daughter receive.The father and mother with tears in their eyes,Did hear this fine proffer, and were in surprise,And seeing the Knight was so gallant and gay,Presented the infant unto him that day.But they spoke to him with words most mild,We beseech you, kind sir, be good to our child;You need not fear it, the Knight he did say,For I will maintain her most gallant and gay.Then with this sweet baby away he did rideUntil that he came to a broad river side,With cruelty bent, he resolved indeed,To drown the young infant that moment with speed.Says he if you live you must needs be my wife,But I am resolved to bereave you of live:For ’till you are dead I no other can have,Therefore you shall lie in a watery grave.In speaking these words, that moment, they say,He flung the sweet babe in the river straightway;And being well pleased when this he had done,Did leap on his horse and quickly ride home.But mind how good fortune did for her provide,For the child was drove safe on her back by the tide,There was a man fishing, as fortune would have,Who saw the child floating upon the salt wave.He soon took her up, but he was in amaze,He kissed her, and blessed her, and on her did gaze,And seeing he ne’er had a child in his life,He presently carried her home to his wife.His wife she was pleased the child for to see,And said, my dear husband, be ruled by me;Since we have no child, if you let me alone,We’ll keep this sweet baby, and call it our own.The good man consented, as I have been told,And spared nothing—neither silver nor gold;Until she was aged eleven full years,And then her sweet beauty began to appear.
In York fair city a farmer did dwell,Who was belov’d by his neighbours full well;He had a good wife who was virtuous and fair,And by her he had a child every year.In seven years time six children they had,Which made both the father and mother’s heart gladBut a little time after as we do hear say,This farmer in money and stock did decay,Although at one time he had riches in store,But a little time after he quickly grew poor.He strove all he could, but alas! could not thrive,Nor hardly could keep his poor children alive.But children came faster than silver or gold,For his wife she conceived again as I’m told,And when her time came in hard travail she fell,But if you will mind, a strange wonder I’ll tell;A rich noble knight did chance to ride by,And hearing this woman to shriek and to cry,He being well learned in planets and signs,Did look on a book which much puzzled his mind.For the more he did look, still the more he did read,And found that fate this young child had decreed,Who was born in that house that same hour and tideHad found it was she that must be his sweet bride.But judge how the knight was disturbed in mind,When he in that book his own fortune did find;He quickly rode home, but was sorely oppressed,From that very moment he could not have rest.All night he did tumble and toss in his bed,And very strange projects did run in his head:Then he was resolved very quickly indeed,To alter that fortune he found was decreed.With murdering heart the next morning he rose,And to the house of the farmer he goes:Then asked the man with a heart full of spite,If the child was alive that was born last night.Worthy sir, said the farmer, although I am poor,I had one born last night, and six long before;Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,Which are all in good health and likely to thrive.The Knight then replied if that seven you have,Let me have the youngest, I’ll keep her most brave,For you very well with one daughter can spare,Which if you will grant, I will make her my heir.For I am a Knight of noble degree,And if you will part with your child unto me,Full three hundred pounds unto you I will give,When I from your hand your daughter receive.The father and mother with tears in their eyes,Did hear this fine proffer, and were in surprise,And seeing the Knight was so gallant and gay,Presented the infant unto him that day.But they spoke to him with words most mild,We beseech you, kind sir, be good to our child;You need not fear it, the Knight he did say,For I will maintain her most gallant and gay.Then with this sweet baby away he did rideUntil that he came to a broad river side,With cruelty bent, he resolved indeed,To drown the young infant that moment with speed.Says he if you live you must needs be my wife,But I am resolved to bereave you of live:For ’till you are dead I no other can have,Therefore you shall lie in a watery grave.In speaking these words, that moment, they say,He flung the sweet babe in the river straightway;And being well pleased when this he had done,Did leap on his horse and quickly ride home.But mind how good fortune did for her provide,For the child was drove safe on her back by the tide,There was a man fishing, as fortune would have,Who saw the child floating upon the salt wave.He soon took her up, but he was in amaze,He kissed her, and blessed her, and on her did gaze,And seeing he ne’er had a child in his life,He presently carried her home to his wife.His wife she was pleased the child for to see,And said, my dear husband, be ruled by me;Since we have no child, if you let me alone,We’ll keep this sweet baby, and call it our own.The good man consented, as I have been told,And spared nothing—neither silver nor gold;Until she was aged eleven full years,And then her sweet beauty began to appear.
In York fair city a farmer did dwell,Who was belov’d by his neighbours full well;He had a good wife who was virtuous and fair,And by her he had a child every year.In seven years time six children they had,Which made both the father and mother’s heart gladBut a little time after as we do hear say,This farmer in money and stock did decay,Although at one time he had riches in store,But a little time after he quickly grew poor.He strove all he could, but alas! could not thrive,Nor hardly could keep his poor children alive.But children came faster than silver or gold,For his wife she conceived again as I’m told,And when her time came in hard travail she fell,But if you will mind, a strange wonder I’ll tell;A rich noble knight did chance to ride by,And hearing this woman to shriek and to cry,He being well learned in planets and signs,Did look on a book which much puzzled his mind.For the more he did look, still the more he did read,And found that fate this young child had decreed,Who was born in that house that same hour and tideHad found it was she that must be his sweet bride.But judge how the knight was disturbed in mind,When he in that book his own fortune did find;He quickly rode home, but was sorely oppressed,From that very moment he could not have rest.All night he did tumble and toss in his bed,And very strange projects did run in his head:Then he was resolved very quickly indeed,To alter that fortune he found was decreed.With murdering heart the next morning he rose,And to the house of the farmer he goes:Then asked the man with a heart full of spite,If the child was alive that was born last night.Worthy sir, said the farmer, although I am poor,I had one born last night, and six long before;Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,Which are all in good health and likely to thrive.The Knight then replied if that seven you have,Let me have the youngest, I’ll keep her most brave,For you very well with one daughter can spare,Which if you will grant, I will make her my heir.For I am a Knight of noble degree,And if you will part with your child unto me,Full three hundred pounds unto you I will give,When I from your hand your daughter receive.The father and mother with tears in their eyes,Did hear this fine proffer, and were in surprise,And seeing the Knight was so gallant and gay,Presented the infant unto him that day.But they spoke to him with words most mild,We beseech you, kind sir, be good to our child;You need not fear it, the Knight he did say,For I will maintain her most gallant and gay.Then with this sweet baby away he did rideUntil that he came to a broad river side,With cruelty bent, he resolved indeed,To drown the young infant that moment with speed.Says he if you live you must needs be my wife,But I am resolved to bereave you of live:For ’till you are dead I no other can have,Therefore you shall lie in a watery grave.In speaking these words, that moment, they say,He flung the sweet babe in the river straightway;And being well pleased when this he had done,Did leap on his horse and quickly ride home.But mind how good fortune did for her provide,For the child was drove safe on her back by the tide,There was a man fishing, as fortune would have,Who saw the child floating upon the salt wave.He soon took her up, but he was in amaze,He kissed her, and blessed her, and on her did gaze,And seeing he ne’er had a child in his life,He presently carried her home to his wife.His wife she was pleased the child for to see,And said, my dear husband, be ruled by me;Since we have no child, if you let me alone,We’ll keep this sweet baby, and call it our own.The good man consented, as I have been told,And spared nothing—neither silver nor gold;Until she was aged eleven full years,And then her sweet beauty began to appear.
In York fair city a farmer did dwell,
Who was belov’d by his neighbours full well;
He had a good wife who was virtuous and fair,
And by her he had a child every year.
In seven years time six children they had,
Which made both the father and mother’s heart glad
But a little time after as we do hear say,
This farmer in money and stock did decay,
Although at one time he had riches in store,
But a little time after he quickly grew poor.
He strove all he could, but alas! could not thrive,
Nor hardly could keep his poor children alive.
But children came faster than silver or gold,
For his wife she conceived again as I’m told,
And when her time came in hard travail she fell,
But if you will mind, a strange wonder I’ll tell;
A rich noble knight did chance to ride by,
And hearing this woman to shriek and to cry,
He being well learned in planets and signs,
Did look on a book which much puzzled his mind.
For the more he did look, still the more he did read,
And found that fate this young child had decreed,
Who was born in that house that same hour and tide
Had found it was she that must be his sweet bride.
But judge how the knight was disturbed in mind,
When he in that book his own fortune did find;
He quickly rode home, but was sorely oppressed,
From that very moment he could not have rest.
All night he did tumble and toss in his bed,
And very strange projects did run in his head:
Then he was resolved very quickly indeed,
To alter that fortune he found was decreed.
With murdering heart the next morning he rose,
And to the house of the farmer he goes:
Then asked the man with a heart full of spite,
If the child was alive that was born last night.
Worthy sir, said the farmer, although I am poor,
I had one born last night, and six long before;
Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,
Which are all in good health and likely to thrive.
The Knight then replied if that seven you have,
Let me have the youngest, I’ll keep her most brave,
For you very well with one daughter can spare,
Which if you will grant, I will make her my heir.
For I am a Knight of noble degree,
And if you will part with your child unto me,
Full three hundred pounds unto you I will give,
When I from your hand your daughter receive.
The father and mother with tears in their eyes,
Did hear this fine proffer, and were in surprise,
And seeing the Knight was so gallant and gay,
Presented the infant unto him that day.
But they spoke to him with words most mild,
We beseech you, kind sir, be good to our child;
You need not fear it, the Knight he did say,
For I will maintain her most gallant and gay.
Then with this sweet baby away he did ride
Until that he came to a broad river side,
With cruelty bent, he resolved indeed,
To drown the young infant that moment with speed.
Says he if you live you must needs be my wife,
But I am resolved to bereave you of live:
For ’till you are dead I no other can have,
Therefore you shall lie in a watery grave.
In speaking these words, that moment, they say,
He flung the sweet babe in the river straightway;
And being well pleased when this he had done,
Did leap on his horse and quickly ride home.
But mind how good fortune did for her provide,
For the child was drove safe on her back by the tide,
There was a man fishing, as fortune would have,
Who saw the child floating upon the salt wave.
He soon took her up, but he was in amaze,
He kissed her, and blessed her, and on her did gaze,
And seeing he ne’er had a child in his life,
He presently carried her home to his wife.
His wife she was pleased the child for to see,
And said, my dear husband, be ruled by me;
Since we have no child, if you let me alone,
We’ll keep this sweet baby, and call it our own.
The good man consented, as I have been told,
And spared nothing—neither silver nor gold;
Until she was aged eleven full years,
And then her sweet beauty began to appear.
The fisherman was one time at an inn,And several gentlemen drinking with him,The wife sent this girl to call her man home.But when she did into the drinking room come,The gentlemen all were amazed to seeThe fisherman’s daugter so full of beauty,They presently ask’d him if she was his own,So he told the whole story before he went home:As I was a fishing within my own bound,One Monday morn this sweet baby I found;’Tis a eleven years past since her life I did save,Or she would have found then a watery grave.The cruel Knight was in this company,And hearing the fisherman telling his story,Was vexed at his heart for to see her alive,And how to destroy her again did contrive;Then spoke to the good man, and to him he said,If that you will part with this pretty young maid,I’ll give you whatever your heart can devise,For she, in good time, to great riches will rise.The fisherman answered with modest grace,I cannot unless my dear wife is in place;Get first her consent—you shall have her for me,And then to go with you, dear sir, she is free.He got his wife’s leave, and the girl with him went,But little they thought of his cruel intent:He kept her a month, very bravely, they say,And then he contrived to make her away.For he had a brother in fair Lancashire,A noble rich man, worth two thousand a year;He sent this young girl unto him with speed,In hopes he would act a most barbarous deed.He sent a man with her, likewise they did say,But as they did lodge at an inn by the way,A thief in the house with an evil intent,To rob the portmanteau immediately went.But the thief was amazed, when he could not find,Clothes, gold or silver, or ought to his mind;But only a letter, the which he did read,And then put an end to this desperate deed.The cruel Knight wrote to his brother that day,To take this young innocent girl’s life awayWith sword or with poison, that very same night,And not let her live till the next morning light.When the thief read the letter, he had the grace,As to tear it, and write in the very same place:—Dear brother, receive this young maiden from me,And bring her up well as a lady should be.Let her be esteemed, dear brother, I pray.Let servants attend her by night and by day,For she is a lady of noble great worth,A more noble lady ne’er lived in the north.Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,And you for the same I’ll sufficiently pay;So loving brother, my letter I end,Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.The maid and the servant were both innocent,And onward next morning their journey they went,Before the sun set, to the Knight they did come,When the servant did leave her, and turned home,The girl was attended most bravely indeed,With men and with maidens to serve her at need,Where she did continue a whole twelve-month’s space,Till this cruel Knight came to the place.As he and his brother together did talk,He spied the fair maid in the garden to walk,She looked most beautiful, pleasant and gay,Like to fair Aurora, the goddess of May.He was in a passion when her he did spy,And said very angrily, Brother, O why,Pray did you not do as in the letter I wrote?His brother replied, It is done every whit.No, no, said the Knight, it is not I see,Therefore she shall back again go with me;But his brother did show him the letter that day,Then he was amazed, but nothing did say.
The fisherman was one time at an inn,And several gentlemen drinking with him,The wife sent this girl to call her man home.But when she did into the drinking room come,The gentlemen all were amazed to seeThe fisherman’s daugter so full of beauty,They presently ask’d him if she was his own,So he told the whole story before he went home:As I was a fishing within my own bound,One Monday morn this sweet baby I found;’Tis a eleven years past since her life I did save,Or she would have found then a watery grave.The cruel Knight was in this company,And hearing the fisherman telling his story,Was vexed at his heart for to see her alive,And how to destroy her again did contrive;Then spoke to the good man, and to him he said,If that you will part with this pretty young maid,I’ll give you whatever your heart can devise,For she, in good time, to great riches will rise.The fisherman answered with modest grace,I cannot unless my dear wife is in place;Get first her consent—you shall have her for me,And then to go with you, dear sir, she is free.He got his wife’s leave, and the girl with him went,But little they thought of his cruel intent:He kept her a month, very bravely, they say,And then he contrived to make her away.For he had a brother in fair Lancashire,A noble rich man, worth two thousand a year;He sent this young girl unto him with speed,In hopes he would act a most barbarous deed.He sent a man with her, likewise they did say,But as they did lodge at an inn by the way,A thief in the house with an evil intent,To rob the portmanteau immediately went.But the thief was amazed, when he could not find,Clothes, gold or silver, or ought to his mind;But only a letter, the which he did read,And then put an end to this desperate deed.The cruel Knight wrote to his brother that day,To take this young innocent girl’s life awayWith sword or with poison, that very same night,And not let her live till the next morning light.When the thief read the letter, he had the grace,As to tear it, and write in the very same place:—Dear brother, receive this young maiden from me,And bring her up well as a lady should be.Let her be esteemed, dear brother, I pray.Let servants attend her by night and by day,For she is a lady of noble great worth,A more noble lady ne’er lived in the north.Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,And you for the same I’ll sufficiently pay;So loving brother, my letter I end,Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.The maid and the servant were both innocent,And onward next morning their journey they went,Before the sun set, to the Knight they did come,When the servant did leave her, and turned home,The girl was attended most bravely indeed,With men and with maidens to serve her at need,Where she did continue a whole twelve-month’s space,Till this cruel Knight came to the place.As he and his brother together did talk,He spied the fair maid in the garden to walk,She looked most beautiful, pleasant and gay,Like to fair Aurora, the goddess of May.He was in a passion when her he did spy,And said very angrily, Brother, O why,Pray did you not do as in the letter I wrote?His brother replied, It is done every whit.No, no, said the Knight, it is not I see,Therefore she shall back again go with me;But his brother did show him the letter that day,Then he was amazed, but nothing did say.
The fisherman was one time at an inn,And several gentlemen drinking with him,The wife sent this girl to call her man home.But when she did into the drinking room come,The gentlemen all were amazed to seeThe fisherman’s daugter so full of beauty,They presently ask’d him if she was his own,So he told the whole story before he went home:As I was a fishing within my own bound,One Monday morn this sweet baby I found;’Tis a eleven years past since her life I did save,Or she would have found then a watery grave.The cruel Knight was in this company,And hearing the fisherman telling his story,Was vexed at his heart for to see her alive,And how to destroy her again did contrive;Then spoke to the good man, and to him he said,If that you will part with this pretty young maid,I’ll give you whatever your heart can devise,For she, in good time, to great riches will rise.The fisherman answered with modest grace,I cannot unless my dear wife is in place;Get first her consent—you shall have her for me,And then to go with you, dear sir, she is free.He got his wife’s leave, and the girl with him went,But little they thought of his cruel intent:He kept her a month, very bravely, they say,And then he contrived to make her away.For he had a brother in fair Lancashire,A noble rich man, worth two thousand a year;He sent this young girl unto him with speed,In hopes he would act a most barbarous deed.He sent a man with her, likewise they did say,But as they did lodge at an inn by the way,A thief in the house with an evil intent,To rob the portmanteau immediately went.But the thief was amazed, when he could not find,Clothes, gold or silver, or ought to his mind;But only a letter, the which he did read,And then put an end to this desperate deed.The cruel Knight wrote to his brother that day,To take this young innocent girl’s life awayWith sword or with poison, that very same night,And not let her live till the next morning light.When the thief read the letter, he had the grace,As to tear it, and write in the very same place:—Dear brother, receive this young maiden from me,And bring her up well as a lady should be.Let her be esteemed, dear brother, I pray.Let servants attend her by night and by day,For she is a lady of noble great worth,A more noble lady ne’er lived in the north.Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,And you for the same I’ll sufficiently pay;So loving brother, my letter I end,Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.The maid and the servant were both innocent,And onward next morning their journey they went,Before the sun set, to the Knight they did come,When the servant did leave her, and turned home,The girl was attended most bravely indeed,With men and with maidens to serve her at need,Where she did continue a whole twelve-month’s space,Till this cruel Knight came to the place.As he and his brother together did talk,He spied the fair maid in the garden to walk,She looked most beautiful, pleasant and gay,Like to fair Aurora, the goddess of May.He was in a passion when her he did spy,And said very angrily, Brother, O why,Pray did you not do as in the letter I wrote?His brother replied, It is done every whit.No, no, said the Knight, it is not I see,Therefore she shall back again go with me;But his brother did show him the letter that day,Then he was amazed, but nothing did say.
The fisherman was one time at an inn,
And several gentlemen drinking with him,
The wife sent this girl to call her man home.
But when she did into the drinking room come,
The gentlemen all were amazed to see
The fisherman’s daugter so full of beauty,
They presently ask’d him if she was his own,
So he told the whole story before he went home:
As I was a fishing within my own bound,
One Monday morn this sweet baby I found;
’Tis a eleven years past since her life I did save,
Or she would have found then a watery grave.
The cruel Knight was in this company,
And hearing the fisherman telling his story,
Was vexed at his heart for to see her alive,
And how to destroy her again did contrive;
Then spoke to the good man, and to him he said,
If that you will part with this pretty young maid,
I’ll give you whatever your heart can devise,
For she, in good time, to great riches will rise.
The fisherman answered with modest grace,
I cannot unless my dear wife is in place;
Get first her consent—you shall have her for me,
And then to go with you, dear sir, she is free.
He got his wife’s leave, and the girl with him went,
But little they thought of his cruel intent:
He kept her a month, very bravely, they say,
And then he contrived to make her away.
For he had a brother in fair Lancashire,
A noble rich man, worth two thousand a year;
He sent this young girl unto him with speed,
In hopes he would act a most barbarous deed.
He sent a man with her, likewise they did say,
But as they did lodge at an inn by the way,
A thief in the house with an evil intent,
To rob the portmanteau immediately went.
But the thief was amazed, when he could not find,
Clothes, gold or silver, or ought to his mind;
But only a letter, the which he did read,
And then put an end to this desperate deed.
The cruel Knight wrote to his brother that day,
To take this young innocent girl’s life away
With sword or with poison, that very same night,
And not let her live till the next morning light.
When the thief read the letter, he had the grace,
As to tear it, and write in the very same place:—
Dear brother, receive this young maiden from me,
And bring her up well as a lady should be.
Let her be esteemed, dear brother, I pray.
Let servants attend her by night and by day,
For she is a lady of noble great worth,
A more noble lady ne’er lived in the north.
Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,
And you for the same I’ll sufficiently pay;
So loving brother, my letter I end,
Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.
The maid and the servant were both innocent,
And onward next morning their journey they went,
Before the sun set, to the Knight they did come,
When the servant did leave her, and turned home,
The girl was attended most bravely indeed,
With men and with maidens to serve her at need,
Where she did continue a whole twelve-month’s space,
Till this cruel Knight came to the place.
As he and his brother together did talk,
He spied the fair maid in the garden to walk,
She looked most beautiful, pleasant and gay,
Like to fair Aurora, the goddess of May.
He was in a passion when her he did spy,
And said very angrily, Brother, O why,
Pray did you not do as in the letter I wrote?
His brother replied, It is done every whit.
No, no, said the Knight, it is not I see,
Therefore she shall back again go with me;
But his brother did show him the letter that day,
Then he was amazed, but nothing did say.
Soon after the Knight took this maiden away,And with her did ride till they came to the sea,Then looking upon her with anger and spite,He spoke to the virgin and made her alight.The maid from the horse immediately went,And trembled to think what it was that he meant;Ne’er tremble, said he, for this hour is your last,Then pull off your clothes. I command you in haste.The virgin, with tears in her eyes, did reply,O! what have I done that now I must die?O! let me but know how I did you offend,I’ll study each hour for to make you amends.Oh! spare but my life and I’ll wander the earth,And never come near you while I have breath.He hearing the pitiful moan she did make,Then from his own finger a ring he did takeAnd unto this maiden in anger did say.This ring to the water I’ll now throw away;Pray look on it well, the poesy is plain,And when you see it you may know it again.I charge you for life, ne’er come more in my sight,For if you do, I shall owe you a spite;Unless that you bring the same ring unto me,With that he let the ring drop into the sea.Which when he had done, from the maid he did goAnd left her to wander in sorrow and woe;She rambled all night, and at last did espy,A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie.Being hungry and cold, with a heart full of grief,She went to the cottage, and asked for relief.The people relieved her, and the very next day,They got her a service, as I hear people say,At a nobleman’s house, not far from that place,Where she behaved herself with modest grace;She was a cook maid, and forgot all things past,But here is a wonder, now comes at the last.When she a fish dinner was dressing one day,And opening the head of a Cod, as they say,She found a rich ring, and was struck in amaze,And then she with wonder upon it did gaze.At viewing it well she found it to beThe very same ring the Knight threw in the sea,She smiled when she saw it, and blest her kind fate,But she did to no creature the secret relate.The maid in her place did all others excel,That the lady took notice, and liked her so well;Said she was born of a noble degree,And took her, her own fair companion to be.The hard-hearted Knight unto this place he came,A little time after, with persons of fame,But was struck to the heart when he there did beholdThis charming young virgin in trappings of gold.Then he asked the lady to grant him a boon,And said ’twas to talk with that virgin alone;The lady consented, and the young maid,Who quickly agreed, but was sorely afraid.When he did meet her, you strumpet, said he,Pray did not I charge you to never meet me;This hour is your last, to the world bid good night,For being so bold as to appear in my sight.Said she, in the sea, sir, you flung your own ring,And bid me not see you, unless I could bringThat ring unto you, and I have it, said she,Behold, ’tis the same that was thrown in the sea.When the Knight saw the ring he did fly to her armsHe kissed her and swore she’d a million of charms,Said he, charming creature, I pray pardon me,Who so often contrived the ruin of thee.’Tis in vain for to alter what fate does decree,For I find thou wast born my dear bride to be;Then married they were, as I hear people say,And now she’s a lady both gallant and gay.Then quickly he to her parents did haste,Where the Knight told the story of all that was past,But asked both their pardons upon his bare knee,Which they gave, and rejoiced their daughter to see.Then he for the fisherman and his wife sent,And for their past trouble did give them content,But there was great joy by all those that did see,The farmer’s young daughter a lady to be.
Soon after the Knight took this maiden away,And with her did ride till they came to the sea,Then looking upon her with anger and spite,He spoke to the virgin and made her alight.The maid from the horse immediately went,And trembled to think what it was that he meant;Ne’er tremble, said he, for this hour is your last,Then pull off your clothes. I command you in haste.The virgin, with tears in her eyes, did reply,O! what have I done that now I must die?O! let me but know how I did you offend,I’ll study each hour for to make you amends.Oh! spare but my life and I’ll wander the earth,And never come near you while I have breath.He hearing the pitiful moan she did make,Then from his own finger a ring he did takeAnd unto this maiden in anger did say.This ring to the water I’ll now throw away;Pray look on it well, the poesy is plain,And when you see it you may know it again.I charge you for life, ne’er come more in my sight,For if you do, I shall owe you a spite;Unless that you bring the same ring unto me,With that he let the ring drop into the sea.Which when he had done, from the maid he did goAnd left her to wander in sorrow and woe;She rambled all night, and at last did espy,A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie.Being hungry and cold, with a heart full of grief,She went to the cottage, and asked for relief.The people relieved her, and the very next day,They got her a service, as I hear people say,At a nobleman’s house, not far from that place,Where she behaved herself with modest grace;She was a cook maid, and forgot all things past,But here is a wonder, now comes at the last.When she a fish dinner was dressing one day,And opening the head of a Cod, as they say,She found a rich ring, and was struck in amaze,And then she with wonder upon it did gaze.At viewing it well she found it to beThe very same ring the Knight threw in the sea,She smiled when she saw it, and blest her kind fate,But she did to no creature the secret relate.The maid in her place did all others excel,That the lady took notice, and liked her so well;Said she was born of a noble degree,And took her, her own fair companion to be.The hard-hearted Knight unto this place he came,A little time after, with persons of fame,But was struck to the heart when he there did beholdThis charming young virgin in trappings of gold.Then he asked the lady to grant him a boon,And said ’twas to talk with that virgin alone;The lady consented, and the young maid,Who quickly agreed, but was sorely afraid.When he did meet her, you strumpet, said he,Pray did not I charge you to never meet me;This hour is your last, to the world bid good night,For being so bold as to appear in my sight.Said she, in the sea, sir, you flung your own ring,And bid me not see you, unless I could bringThat ring unto you, and I have it, said she,Behold, ’tis the same that was thrown in the sea.When the Knight saw the ring he did fly to her armsHe kissed her and swore she’d a million of charms,Said he, charming creature, I pray pardon me,Who so often contrived the ruin of thee.’Tis in vain for to alter what fate does decree,For I find thou wast born my dear bride to be;Then married they were, as I hear people say,And now she’s a lady both gallant and gay.Then quickly he to her parents did haste,Where the Knight told the story of all that was past,But asked both their pardons upon his bare knee,Which they gave, and rejoiced their daughter to see.Then he for the fisherman and his wife sent,And for their past trouble did give them content,But there was great joy by all those that did see,The farmer’s young daughter a lady to be.
Soon after the Knight took this maiden away,And with her did ride till they came to the sea,Then looking upon her with anger and spite,He spoke to the virgin and made her alight.The maid from the horse immediately went,And trembled to think what it was that he meant;Ne’er tremble, said he, for this hour is your last,Then pull off your clothes. I command you in haste.The virgin, with tears in her eyes, did reply,O! what have I done that now I must die?O! let me but know how I did you offend,I’ll study each hour for to make you amends.Oh! spare but my life and I’ll wander the earth,And never come near you while I have breath.He hearing the pitiful moan she did make,Then from his own finger a ring he did takeAnd unto this maiden in anger did say.This ring to the water I’ll now throw away;Pray look on it well, the poesy is plain,And when you see it you may know it again.I charge you for life, ne’er come more in my sight,For if you do, I shall owe you a spite;Unless that you bring the same ring unto me,With that he let the ring drop into the sea.Which when he had done, from the maid he did goAnd left her to wander in sorrow and woe;She rambled all night, and at last did espy,A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie.Being hungry and cold, with a heart full of grief,She went to the cottage, and asked for relief.The people relieved her, and the very next day,They got her a service, as I hear people say,At a nobleman’s house, not far from that place,Where she behaved herself with modest grace;She was a cook maid, and forgot all things past,But here is a wonder, now comes at the last.When she a fish dinner was dressing one day,And opening the head of a Cod, as they say,She found a rich ring, and was struck in amaze,And then she with wonder upon it did gaze.At viewing it well she found it to beThe very same ring the Knight threw in the sea,She smiled when she saw it, and blest her kind fate,But she did to no creature the secret relate.The maid in her place did all others excel,That the lady took notice, and liked her so well;Said she was born of a noble degree,And took her, her own fair companion to be.The hard-hearted Knight unto this place he came,A little time after, with persons of fame,But was struck to the heart when he there did beholdThis charming young virgin in trappings of gold.Then he asked the lady to grant him a boon,And said ’twas to talk with that virgin alone;The lady consented, and the young maid,Who quickly agreed, but was sorely afraid.When he did meet her, you strumpet, said he,Pray did not I charge you to never meet me;This hour is your last, to the world bid good night,For being so bold as to appear in my sight.Said she, in the sea, sir, you flung your own ring,And bid me not see you, unless I could bringThat ring unto you, and I have it, said she,Behold, ’tis the same that was thrown in the sea.When the Knight saw the ring he did fly to her armsHe kissed her and swore she’d a million of charms,Said he, charming creature, I pray pardon me,Who so often contrived the ruin of thee.’Tis in vain for to alter what fate does decree,For I find thou wast born my dear bride to be;Then married they were, as I hear people say,And now she’s a lady both gallant and gay.Then quickly he to her parents did haste,Where the Knight told the story of all that was past,But asked both their pardons upon his bare knee,Which they gave, and rejoiced their daughter to see.Then he for the fisherman and his wife sent,And for their past trouble did give them content,But there was great joy by all those that did see,The farmer’s young daughter a lady to be.
Soon after the Knight took this maiden away,
And with her did ride till they came to the sea,
Then looking upon her with anger and spite,
He spoke to the virgin and made her alight.
The maid from the horse immediately went,
And trembled to think what it was that he meant;
Ne’er tremble, said he, for this hour is your last,
Then pull off your clothes. I command you in haste.
The virgin, with tears in her eyes, did reply,
O! what have I done that now I must die?
O! let me but know how I did you offend,
I’ll study each hour for to make you amends.
Oh! spare but my life and I’ll wander the earth,
And never come near you while I have breath.
He hearing the pitiful moan she did make,
Then from his own finger a ring he did take
And unto this maiden in anger did say.
This ring to the water I’ll now throw away;
Pray look on it well, the poesy is plain,
And when you see it you may know it again.
I charge you for life, ne’er come more in my sight,
For if you do, I shall owe you a spite;
Unless that you bring the same ring unto me,
With that he let the ring drop into the sea.
Which when he had done, from the maid he did go
And left her to wander in sorrow and woe;
She rambled all night, and at last did espy,
A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie.
Being hungry and cold, with a heart full of grief,
She went to the cottage, and asked for relief.
The people relieved her, and the very next day,
They got her a service, as I hear people say,
At a nobleman’s house, not far from that place,
Where she behaved herself with modest grace;
She was a cook maid, and forgot all things past,
But here is a wonder, now comes at the last.
When she a fish dinner was dressing one day,
And opening the head of a Cod, as they say,
She found a rich ring, and was struck in amaze,
And then she with wonder upon it did gaze.
At viewing it well she found it to be
The very same ring the Knight threw in the sea,
She smiled when she saw it, and blest her kind fate,
But she did to no creature the secret relate.
The maid in her place did all others excel,
That the lady took notice, and liked her so well;
Said she was born of a noble degree,
And took her, her own fair companion to be.
The hard-hearted Knight unto this place he came,
A little time after, with persons of fame,
But was struck to the heart when he there did behold
This charming young virgin in trappings of gold.
Then he asked the lady to grant him a boon,
And said ’twas to talk with that virgin alone;
The lady consented, and the young maid,
Who quickly agreed, but was sorely afraid.
When he did meet her, you strumpet, said he,
Pray did not I charge you to never meet me;
This hour is your last, to the world bid good night,
For being so bold as to appear in my sight.
Said she, in the sea, sir, you flung your own ring,
And bid me not see you, unless I could bring
That ring unto you, and I have it, said she,
Behold, ’tis the same that was thrown in the sea.
When the Knight saw the ring he did fly to her arms
He kissed her and swore she’d a million of charms,
Said he, charming creature, I pray pardon me,
Who so often contrived the ruin of thee.
’Tis in vain for to alter what fate does decree,
For I find thou wast born my dear bride to be;
Then married they were, as I hear people say,
And now she’s a lady both gallant and gay.
Then quickly he to her parents did haste,
Where the Knight told the story of all that was past,
But asked both their pardons upon his bare knee,
Which they gave, and rejoiced their daughter to see.
Then he for the fisherman and his wife sent,
And for their past trouble did give them content,
But there was great joy by all those that did see,
The farmer’s young daughter a lady to be.
W. & T. FORDYCE, PRINTERS, 48, DEAN STREET, NEWCASTLE.
““Will you remember me, Jane?”
“Yes!”
“Will you keep your hand for me for a year?”
“Yes!”
“Will you answer me when I write to you?”
“Yes!”
“One request more—O Jane, reflect that my life depends upon your acquiescence—should I succeed, will you marry me, in spite of your uncle?”
“Yes!” answered Jane.
There was no pause—reply followed question, as if it were a dialogue which they had got by heart—and by heart indeed they had got it; but I leave you to guess the book they had conned it from.
’Twas in a green lane, on a summer’s evening, about nine o’clock, when the west, like a gate of gold, had shut upon the retiring sun, that Jane and her lover, hand in hand, walked up and down. His arm was the girdle of her waist; hers formed a collar for his neck, which a knight of the garter—aye, the owner of the sword that dubbed him—might well have been proud to wear. Their gait was slow, and face was turned to face; near were their lips while they spoke; and much of what they said never came to the ear, though their souls caught up every word of it.
Jane was upwards of five years the junior of her lover. She had known him since she was a girl in her twelfth year. He was almost eighteen then; and, when she thought far more about a doll than a husband, he would set her upon his knee, and call her his little wife. One, two, three years passed on, and still, whenever he came from college, and as usual went to pay his first visit at her father’s, before he had been five minutes in the parlour, the door was flung open, and in bounded Jane, and claimed her accustomed seat. The fact was, till she was fifteen, she was a girl of a very slow growth, and looked the girl when many a companion of hers of the same age began to appear the woman.
When another vacation, however, came round, and Alfred paid his customary call, and was expecting his little wife, as usual, the door opened slowly, and a tall young lady entered, and, courtseying, coloured and walked to a seat next the lady of the house. The visitor stood up and bowed, and sat down again, without knowing that it was Jane.
“Don’t you know Jane?” exclaimed her father.
“Jane!” cried Alfred, in an accent of surprise; and approached his little wife of old, who rose and half gave him her hand, and courtseying, coloured again, and sat down again without hardly interchanging a word with him. No wonder—she was four inches taller than when he had last seen her; and her bulk had expanded correspondingly, while her features, that half a year before gave one the idea of a sylph that would bound after a butterfly, had now mellowed in their expression, into the sentiment, the softness, and the reserve of the woman.
Alfred felt absolutely disappointed. Five minutes before, he was all volubility. No sooner was one question answered than he proposed another—and he had so many capital stories for Jane, when she came down—and yet, when Jane did come down, he sat as though he had not a word to say for himself. In short, everything and everybody in the house seemed to have changed along with its young mistress; he felt no longer at home in it, as was his wont; and, in less than a quarter of an hour he made his bow and departed,AND WAS NEVER NEVER HEARD OF MORE.
Printed by J. Catnach, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.—Primers and Battledores Sold Cheap.
Which took place Last Night between a Husband and Wife in this Neighbourhood.
Husband.Woman—aye!
Wife.You are always railing at our sex.
Husband.And without reason?
Wife.Without either rhyme or reason; you’d be miserable beings without us, for all that.
Husband.Sometimes: there is no general rule without an exception; I could name some very good women—
Wife.Without the head, I suppose.
Husband.With a head, and with a heart too.
Wife.That’s a wonder!
Husband.It would be still greater if I could not; for instance, there is Mrs Dawson, the best of wives; always at home, whenever you call, always in good humour, always neat and clean, sober and discreet.
Wife.I wish you were tied to her. Always at home! the greatest gossiper in the parish; she may well smile, she has nothing to ruffle her temper; neat and clean—she has nothing else to do;—sober—she can take a glass as well as her neighbours; discreet—that’s another word, she can tip a wink: but I detest scandal; I am surprised you didn’t say she was handsome?
Husband.So she is, in my eye.
Wife.You have a fine eye, to be sure; you’re an excellent judge of beauty; what do you think of her nose?
Husband.She’s a fine woman in spite of her nose.
Wife.Fine feathers make fine birds; she can paint her withered cheeks, and pencil her eyebrows.
Husband.You can do the same, if you please.
Wife.My cheeks don’t want paint, nor my eyebrows pencilling.
Husband.True; the rose of youth and beauty is still on your cheeks, and your brow the bow of Cupid.
Wife.You once thought so; but that moving mummy, Molly Dawson, is your favourite. She’s, let me see, no gossip, and yet she’s found in every house but her own; and so silent too, when she has all the clack to herself; her tongue is as thin as a sixpence with talking; with a pair of eyes burned into the socket, and painted panels into the bargain; and then as to scandal—but her tongue is no scandal.
Husband.Take care, there’s such a thing as standing in a white sheet!
Wife.Curse you! you would provoke a saint.
Husband.You seem to be getting into a passion.
Wife.Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be tossed in a blanket. Handsome! I can’t forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you.
Husband.The charms of your tongue.
Wife.Don’t provoke me, or I’ll fling this dish at you head.
Husband.Well, I have done.
Wife.But I haven’t done: I wish I had drowned myself the first day I saw you.
Husband.It’s not too late.
Wife.I’d see you hung first.
Husband.You’d be the first to cut me down.
Wife.Then I ought to be tied up in your stead.
Husband.I’d cut you down.
Wife.You would?
Husband.Yes, but I’d be sure you were dead first.
Wife.I cannot bear this any longer.
Husband.Then ’tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your eyes that the storm is collecting.
Wife.And it shall burst on your head.
Husband.I’ll save my poor head, if I can. A good retreat is better than a bad battle.
(Husband flies, the dish flies after him.)
“We understand that a small hamper was left by a Railway porter, this morning, directed to the Husband, which was found to contain a full grown boy, about three weeks old, with a strawberry mark upon his left arm.
The wife, we are informed, has just ran away along with the Policeman with the big whiskers.
Printed by T. Birt, 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Wholesale and Retail, Seven Dials, London.—Every Description of Printing on Reasonable Terms.
That appeared last night to Henry —— in this street, of Mary ——, the shopkeeper’s daughter round the corner, in a shroud, all covered in white.
The castle clock struck one—the night was dark, drear, and tempestuous.—Henry set in an antique chamber of it, over a wood fire, which, in the stupor of contemplation, he had suffered to decrease into a few lifeless embers; on the table by him lay the portrait of Mary—the features of which were not very perfectly disclosed by a taper, that just glimmered in the socket. He took up the portrait, however, and gazing intensely upon it, till the taper, suddenly burning brighter, discovered to him a phenomenon he was not less terrified than surprised at.—The eyes of the portrait moved;—the features from an angelic smile, changed to a look of solemn sadness; a tear stole down each cheek, and the bosom palpitated as with sighing.
Again the clock struckone—it had struck the same hour but ten minutes before.—Henry heard the castle gate grate on its hinges—it slammed too—the clock struck one again—and a deadly groan echoed through the castle. Henry was not subject to superstituous fears—neither was he a coward;—yet a hero of romance might have been justified in a case like this, should he have betrayed fear.—Henry’s heart sunk within him—his knees smote together, and upon the chamber door being opened, and his name uttered in a hollow voice, he dropped the portrait to the floor; and sat, as if rivitted to the chair, without daring to lift up his eyes. At length, however, as silence again prevailed, he ventured for a moment to raise his eyes, when—my blood freezes as I relate it—before him stood the figure of Mary in a shroud—her beamless eyes fixed upon him with a vacant stare; and her bared bosom exposing a most deadly gash. “Henry, Henry, Henry!” she repeated in a hollow tone—“Henry! I am come for thee! thou hast often said that death with me was preferable to life without me; come then, and enjoy with me all the ecstacies of love these ghastly features, added to the contemplation of a charnel-house, can inspire;” then, grasping his hand with her icy fingers, he swooned; and instantly found himself——stretched on the hearth of his master’s kitchen; a romance in his hand, and the house dog by his side, whose cold nose touching his hand, had awaked him.
Pitts, Printer and Toy Warehouse, Great St. Andrew Street, 7 Dials.
George Williams was the son of a merchant of some eminence, by whom, at the age of twenty-two, he was admitted to a share of the business, and, in a few months afterwards, was rendered completely happy by obtaining the hand of Susan Halts, a beautiful and accomplished girl, to whom he had been attached from the earliest dawn of passion in his breast.
A delightful cottage, elegantly furnished, with grounds laid out according to the most approved rules of modern art, and heightened into affection by the exquisite taste of Susan, received the happy pair. Doting on each other, loving and beloved by their parents, respected by a numerous circle of friends, easy in their circumstances, elegant in their tastes, congenial in their pursuits, their bliss knew no alloy. George’s daily absence from town was but for a few hours, and the pleasure of meeting amply repaid the affectonate Susan for the pain of separation.
Thus smoothly did their lives glide on during three years and a half, and a boy and girl, beautiful as cherubs, had crowned their loves; when one afternoon George returned to their beloved home, and hastily sought the apartment in which his Susan was accustomed to lay out their simply-elegant repast, intrusting to no one the pleasing task of providing for the refreshment of her bosom lord.
He opened the door—he beheld her at the table, and ran forward to imprint his welcome kiss upon her ruby lips; but what words can describe his sensation on beholding her eyes’ accustomed brilliancy quenched in tears, and pearly drops chasing each other in quick succession down her lovely cheeks!
“Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed, “what is the cause of this? Tell me, dear Susan, tell me, I beseech you, what dire calamity has visited our hitherto-happy roof. Speak, I entreat you!”
She was all silent, and her tears continued to flow.
“O Heaven!” he exclaimed, in mental agony of apprehension, “has anything befallen our lovely infants? Is Henry—is Maria—speak—are—they—can they be—oh, I feel a father’s pangs—ah, beloved infants! Tell me, for pity’s sake, tell me, dear Susan; strike me dead at once with dire intelligence, but do not let me die by the protracted agonies of uncertainty!”
She became violently convulsed, and George, in the greatest excitement, rang the bell violently. A servant entered, and to his broken interrogations of “Where are the children?—what has happened to your mistress?—tell me this instant what has befallen your mistress!—what dreadful accident has occurred?” Answer—
“Lawk, sir, you are so passionate and hasty; you won’t give a body time to speak.”
“Death and fury, idiot!” exclaimed the exasperated George; “tell me this instant what to think, or by Heaven——
“Lawk-a-daisey, sir, why, if you must know, then, missus has beenpeeling some onions to fry with the steak, and it is so strong it’s got into herEYES, that’s all sir!”
Batchlar, Printer, Long Alley.
“’Tis from high life high characters are drawn.”—Pope.
My Lord and Lady, who reside not a hundred miles from this neighbourhood, sat by the fireside in the drawing room; his Lordship on the right hand—her Ladyship on the left. The fire was dull, so was his Lordship; the weather was dull, so was her Ladyship. His Lordship moved the poker from the right hand side of the fireplace to that of the left: her Ladyship moved it back again. His Lordship scratched his left ear; her Ladyship scratched her right—violently too—and then quitted the room. His Lordship rang the bell. A footman entered. He was clad for a journey.
“John,” said his Lordship, “has Tattersall sent the horses?”
“Yes, your Lordship,” said John, “they are at the door?”
“Four of them?”
“Yes, your honour.”
“Do they look creditable?”
“Perfect, your honour! Full of flesh and rampart spirit, pawing up the stones.”
“What colour?”
“Bay, my Lord.”
“Ah! the right colour, Bays, for a poet; and I am a poet: that is, I used to rhyme when I was in love. Is the lumber ready, John?”
“Right, my Lord.”
“Ah! then tell Her Honourable Ladyship I wait her presence in the water—. No! no! in the—the—library, I mean. Yes, the library, John—mind—the library.”
John disappeared. Presently her Ladyship’s little feet—orpettitoes, as his Lordship was wont to call them—were heard pit-pat-pat-pit on the stairs. Her Ladyship was attired in a fashionably made riding-habit, with no ornament but a plain gold chain suspended round the neck, to which was attached a massive eye-glass.
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my duck—my dove,” said his Lordship, “are you ready?”
“At your Lordship’s service—yougoose—I mean duck o’diamonds.”
“Your Ladyship’s slave is proud to see you look so well. As you are ready, I am ready—I am ready, my duck—but one kiss before we go.”
“Has your Lordship determined where we shall go?”
“Why, yes—into the country.”
“But the country has points, parts, places. To which?”
“Oh, any one! the country is all the same, love! Hedges, ditches, cows, rustics, crows, and mile-stones. It’s all the same—all one—here or there. Where would you like to go?”
“Right: let me see. The sea? aye, the sea-side. John, which side is the sea-side?”
“Really, my Lord, I can’t de-cide!”
“Where’s Tattersall? O Tattersall, my Lady and I are going to sea. Are thosesea horses?”
“No my Lord, regular cockneys, that won’t go further than one stage from London; them that takes you the last stage arehorse marines.”
“Tattersall, you are a wag.”
“Your Lordship’s wit is catching.”
“Tattersall—to the point; where’s the sea?”
“All round the world, my Lord.”
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, we are going all round the world. Pshaw! John, why don’t you remember your memory? We want to go out of town.”
“Brighthelmston is a nice place, my Lord.”
“Who lives there?”
“My grandmother, my Lord—Mrs Smith.”
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, Brighthelmston is a nice place, and John’s grandmother lives there—a Mrs. Smith. Did you ever hear that name before, my Lady?”
“My Lord, our friend, Sir Arthur, has a mansion in that neigbourhood, and I long to see his lovely niece Ophelia.”
“Fore-gad, my Lady, well remembered, we’ll off to Brighthelmston, call on Sir Arthur, stand sponsors for his newly-born heir, and—and—and John, run to Rundell and Bridges, and order a coral, to present to the young teeth-cutting baronet.”
“London Bridges! my Lord. What do you want with the London Bridges. We can’t take them with us to Brighthelmston.”
“Why you silly stupid—duck o’diamonds I mean, I did not say London Bridges! but Rundell and Bridges, the eminent gold and silversmiths, who live somewhere in the abominable city, up King Ludgate’s Hill—I think thedem’medname of the place is called—a place where King Ludgate took up his ten or twenty thousand men, or million men—and—and—yes, brought them down again—something of that sort—you understand.”
All was prepared. Smack went the whip. Off went the horses. Her Ladyship went into the right hand corner of the carriage, and his Lordship on the left hand side; and the next morning it was announced in thePostthat Lord —— and his Lady had gone out of town.
LONDON:—Printed at J. Pitt’s Wholesale Toy and Marble Warehouse, 6, Great St. Andrew Street, 7 Dials; and also be had of R. Hook, Wholesale Toy and Hawker’s Paper Warehouse, 8, Market Street, Brighton.
On Saturday last, Colonel H——, of the Lancers, eloped with the fair and beautiful Miss M——n, Ward to SquireMarch, of Holt, Norfolk, while the Squire is on a visit to his Nephew in London: the happy couple took the direction to Gretna, and both (particularly the lady) appeared highly pleased they were in possession of such agoldenopportunity.—Also, the same day, at the same hour, in a similar vehicle, and same direction—Farmer Stubble bore off the youthful Wife of the Squire; they all started off in a merry mood, each singing ‘Little Love is a Mischievous Boy,’ and ‘Begone Dull Care;’ or rather that verse commencing with ‘My Wife shall Dance, and I will Sing’ which was sung by the gentlemen in great humour.—They had several interviews during the time the old gentleman was labouring under severe attacks of the gout, which confined him to his room, and gave the Colonel and Farmer opportunities to breathe love-strains in the anxious ears of his Wife and Ward.—The Colonel left a facetious letter at the Squire’s house, against his return, the following of which is a copy (forwarded to us by the gallant Son of Mars); but, thinking it too good to keep secret, we have taken the opposite course, and given it publicity.