on her basket, upon which she gave him a great push and rolled him upon the grass. Lady Charlotte, who had wandered from her friendsin search of wild-flowers,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 Genevievewith a haughty frown, I will break his neck.' Upon this Acerbus walked away." While Genevieve is thus wooingthe 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 acourting; 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. "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-ment 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,' 6 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,' qnoth the old farmer, you will build a cow-house!' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. 'A cart-house?' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. A fatting hog's sty?' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. 'Find me tiles for the wheatbarn? No,' quoth Old Crab. No,' quoth Old Crab. something towards the furniture ?' 'What, not a bed?' 'No,' quoth Old Crab. 'Come,' said Mrs. B. Decastro, I have feathers enough by me to make a 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 hands." 'Be The bumpkin lover, however, dies by an accident; but another obstacle has arisen, for Mr. Grove has commanded 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. in his 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 in it, said, 'Look you, master, I am as much your humble servant to command 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 me 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, "It brought him trouble in his in ward parts, however, and what might have turned another man's brains turned Old Comical's stomach into confusion, uproar, and astonishment. Adzooks, 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 OldYou were my friend when I had not a sixpence in my pocket, and 'sume me Crab's garden door, 'I will see if I can if I ever forsake you now I have three get in time to be chief mourner at my thousand pounds a-year and am lord of brother's funeral, but as for crying, the manor of Cock-a-doodle !'-Upon every body knows how little water I which Old Comical gave his tankard to have to spare that way; folks will be the post-boys, and a crown apiece to disappointed if they take my eyes for a comfort their constitutions, on the road, pair of water squirts; what! come into as he told them, threw off his coat and three thousand a year, and put my fin- waistcoat and went afield with the next ger in my eye! A very small bottle empty waggon, for Old Crab was in the will hold all my flittings. No,-as for middle of his wheat harvest. And this weeping, we will leave all that to be brings us down, as it were by a regular done by all such as come in for nothing flight of steps, to Old Comical's first by the death of the departed. They may visit, as a lover, at Dillies-piddle; it was weep with a better grace, and never be a Sunday morning, and Madam Funsuspected of hypocrisy: no, no,-no stall sat tackled out in her best apparel weeping, tears have nothing to do in at the breakfast-table, when Old Comithe matter, for my brother is better off, cal rang at her gate with a calf's heart and so am I; then what occasion is there in his hand, a great skewer stuck in it, for crying when there is no harm done and the blood all trickling through his on either side? A good friend is gone, fingers: Madam Funstall cast her radiit is true; but when he has done us all ant eyes through her window, as she the good he can do, and left a world of sat sipping her tea and brandy, saw, and troubles for a better, he would call me knew him in a moment: for Old Comia fool if he saw Le fall a-crying, and tell cal, long since her ardent lover, used to me so to my face, if he could speak his stick her pigs and singe her bacon and mind.' Upon which Old Comical shut never told his love: and how should he Old Crab's garden-door, as aforesaid, put dare, when he was a day-labourer on on his best suit, and set off for the maOld Crab's farm at a shilling a-day and nor of Cock-a-doodle. Now, having set- his victuals?" tled all matters to his mind, paid his legacies, settled the widow in her jointure house, and put a good tenant into Cocka-doodle hall, he gat him forthwith into a post-chaise, and galloped into Old Crab's farmyard with four horses and two postilions, a tankard of strong beer in his hand, and a long pipe of tobacco Madam Funstall, seeing Old Comical arrive at her gate, and not knowing 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 Madame 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 Madame Funstall as a roll of pomatumn," 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. "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 Bartholo mew, 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 bargain. 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." 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 "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. Or all the maids of Dynevor, maid Barbara is most fair; Beside the Dame of Dynevor six maidens ever dwell— But the task of maiden Barbara is from the flowers to choose, The first spring-blown anemone she in his doublet wove, Now knightly deeds and martial tales Dame Dynevor fill with dread, But of love he spoke too lightly, and laughed at Beauty's glance, 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, 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, A simple esquire's daughter, son, were never wife for you' To his horses and his hounds he betook him from her sight, But when unconscious Barbara he on the morrow met, He hid himself at evening behind his chamber door, And waited till she entered with her posies dreeping o'er. The sunlight through the chamber ran, and o'er her forehead shone- The sunlight through the chamber ran, and o'er the spacious room, As though ashamed the light of day her ecstasy should mark, But he by daylight through the woods is wandering oft alone; Oh! little knew the mother of the change that love had made; And soon the halls of Dynevor with revelry resound; With gallant knights and beauteous dames of high degree appear, With posies fresh must Barbara the nuptial chamber deck, And weave a bracelet of charmed flowers to grace the fair bride's neck; But little heeds she what the bells chime in their merry song, Nor smiles to see the wedding guests march joyfully along. When the guests were all assembled, and priest and clerks stood ready, I love your maiden Barbara—you may refuse her hand, |