"Are you not very impertinent?" "Very; but you are very handsome. figure at one of the windows in the back of the Nay: house which it was quite impossible to doubt. you are not to be angry; it was a fair challenge, I leaned against a tree in a sentimental position, and fairly received." "And you will not even ask my pardon?" "No! it is out of my way! I never do those things; it would embarrass me beyond measure. Pray let us accomplish an introduction; not altogether a usual one; but that matters little. Vyvyan Joyeuse-rather impertinent and very fortunate at your service." "Margaret Orleans-very handsome and rather foolish-at your service!" Margaret danced like an angel. I knew she would. I could not conceive by what blindness I had passed four hours without being struck. We talked of all things that are, and a few beside. She was something of a botanist, so we began with flowers; a digression upon China roses carried us to China-the mandarins with little brains, and the ladies with little feet-the emperor-the Orphan of China-VoltaireZayre-criticism-Dr. Johnson-the great bear the system of Copernicus-stars-ribbons-garters-the order of the Bath-sea- Lord Sid bathing-Dawlish-Sidmouth mouth-Cicero-Rome-Italy-Alfieri-Metastasio-fountains-groves--gardens - and so, as the dancing concluded, we contrived to end as we began, with Margaret Orleans and botany. Margaret talked well on all subjects and wittily on many. I had expected to find nothing but a romping girl, somewhat amusing and very vain. But I was out of my latitude in the first five minutes, and out of my senses in the next. She left the room very early and I drove home, more astonished than I had been for many years. Several weeks passed away, and I was about to leave England to join my sisters on the Continent. I determined to look once more on that enslaving smile, whose recollection had haunted me more than once. I had ascertained that she resided with an old lady who took two pupils, and taught French and Italian, and music and manners, at an establishment called Vine House. Two days before I left the country I had been till a late hour shooting at a mark with a duelling pistol, an entertainment of which, perhaps from a lurking presentiment, I was very fond. I was returning alone when I perceived, by the light of an enormous lamp, a board by the wayside bearing the welcome inscription, "Vine House." "Enough! I exclaimed, "enough! one more scene before the curtain drops,-Romeo and Juliet by lamplight!"-I roamed about the dwelling place of all I held dear, till I saw a and began to chant my own rhymes thus: "Pretty coquette, the ceaseless play Of thine unstudied wit And thy dark eye's remembered ray By buoyant fancy lit, And thy young forehead's clear expanse, Are far too warm, and far too fair, But the vision shall come when my day is done, And if the many boldly gaze On that bright brow of thine, On countless coxcombs shine, I heed not this, ye are fickle things, In sooth I am a wayward youth, And very apt to speak the truth, I am no lover, yet, as long An image, sweet, of thee "Are they your own verses?" said my idol at the window. "They are yours, Margaret! I was only the versifier; you were the muse herself." "The muse herself is obliged to you. And now what is your errand? for it grows late, and you must be sensible—no, that you never will be-but you must be aware that this is very indecorous." "I am come to see you, dear Margaret;which I cannot without candles;-to see you, and to tell you that it is impossible I can forget"— "Bless me! what a memory you have. But you must take another opportunity for your tale! for " "Alas! I leave England immediately!" "A pleasant voyage to you! there, not a word more: I must run down to coffee." "Now may I never laugh more," I said, "if I am baffled thus;" so I strolled back to the front of the house and proceeded to reconnoitre. A bay-window was half open, and in a small, neat drawing-room I perceived a group assembled:-an old lady, with a high muslin cap and red ribbons, was pouring out the coffee; | him," she said when she recovered. you had shot him: he is a sad fool." -her nephew, a tall, awkward young gentleman, sitting on one chair and resting his legs on another, was occupied in the study of Sir Charles Grandison;-and my fair Margaret was leaning on a sofa and laughing immoderately. "Indeed, miss," said the matron, "you should learn to govern your mirth; people will think you came out of Bedlam." I lifted the window gently, and stepped into the room. Bedlam, madam!" quoth I, "I bring intelligence from Bedlam, I arrived last week." The tall awkward young gentleman stared: and the aunt half said, half shrieked,-"What in the name of wonder are you?" "Mad, madam! very particularly mad! mad as a hare in March, or a Cheapside blood on Sunday morning. Look at me! do I not foam? listen to me! do I not rave?-Coffee, my dear madam, coffee; there is no animal so thirsty as your madman in the dog-days." "I wish "Do not talk of him; I am speaking to you, beautiful Margaret, possibly for the last time! Will you ever think of me? perhaps you will. But let me receive from you some token that I may dote upon in other years; something that may be a hope to me in my happiness, and a consolation in calamity. Something- -nay! I never could talk romance; but give me one lock of your hair, and I will leave England with resignation." "You have earned it like a true knight," said Margaret; and she severed from her head a long glossy ringlet. "Look," she continued; "you must to horse, the country has risen for your apprehension. I turned towards the window. The country had indeed risen. Nothing was to be seen but gossoons in the van, and gossips in the rear, red faces and white jackets, gallants in smock frocks, and "Eh! really!" said the tall awkward young gay damsels in grogram. Bludgeons were gentleman. "My good sir," I began;-but my original insanity began to fail me, and I drew forth with upon Ossian's,-"Fly! receive the wind and fly; the blasts are in the hollow of my hand, the course of the storm is mine!" waving, and torches were flashing, as far as the gaze could reach. All the chivalry of the place was arming and chafing, and loading for a volley of pebbles and oaths together. I kneeled down and kissed her hand. It was the happiest moment of my life! "Now," "Eh! really!" said the tall awkward young said I, "au revoir, my sweet Margaret," and gentleman. "I look on the nations and they vanish: my nostrils pour the blast of death: I come abroad on the winds: the tempest is before my face; but my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant.' "Do you mean to insult us?" said the old lady. "Ay! do you mean to insult my aunt really!" said the tall awkward young gentle man. "I shall call in my servants," said the old lady. "I am the humblest of them," said I, bowing. "I shall teach you a different tune," said the tall awkward young gentleman, "really!" "Very well, my dear sir; my instrument is the barrel-organ;" and I cocked my sweet little pocket companion in his face. "Vanish, little Kastril; for by Hannibal, Heliogabalus, and Holophernes! time is valuable; madness is precipitate, and hair-triggers are the word: vanish!" "Eh! really!" said the tall awkward young gentleman, and performed an entrechat which carried him to the door: the old lady had disappeared at the first note of the barrel-organ. I locked the door, and found Margaret in a paroxysm of laughter. "I wish you had shot in a moment I was in the lane. "Gentlemen, be pleased to fall back!farther yet,-a few paces farther! Stalwart Kern, in buckskin, be pleased to lay down your cat-o'-nine-tails!—Old knight of the plush jerkin, ground your poker!-So, fair damsel with the pitchfork, you are too pretty for so rude an encounter!-Most miraculous Magog, with the sledge-hammer, flit!-Sooty Cupid, with the link, light me from Paphos. -Ha! tall friend of the barrel-organ, have you turned staff-officer? Etna and Vesuvius!-wild fire and wit!-blunderbusses and steam!-fly. Ha! have I not burgundy in my brain, murder in my plot, and a whole train of artillery in my coat-pocket." Right and left the ranks opened for my egress, and in a few minutes I was alone on the road, and whistling "lillibullero.' This was my first folly. I looked at the lock of hair often, but I never saw Margaret again. She has become the wife of a young clergyman, and resides with him on a small living in Staffordshire. I believe she is very happy, and I have forgotten the colour of her eyes. WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED,1 1 From Knight's Quarterly Magazine. KATHARINE AND BAPTISTA. [Of all Shakspeare's comedies, that of the Taming of the Shrew is most frequently presented on the stage. It is a favourite with players and playgoers because of its humour, and the diversity of moods in which the heroine appears. The heroine "Katharine the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst," is, after all, mischievous rather than vicious; but her spirit of mischief and fits of passion earn for her the reputation of being "an irksome, brawling scold," "a shrew," "a wild cat," and she is as famous for a scolding tongue as is her sister, Bianca, for beauteous modesty. The father, Baptista Minola, distressed by the ill condition of his elder daughter, resolves that until she has found a husband, his youngest shall not wed, although many suitors seek her. He thereupon offers Katharine to either of two friends who may be bold enough to win her. Katharine, vexed by this indignity, as she deems her father's anxiety to dispose of her, and somewhat envious of her sister's favour, torments the meek Bianca to confess which of the suitors has won her heart. She ties her hands, and endeavours to compel her to reveal the lover's name. Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Kath, Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? [Charles Lamb, born in Crown Office Row, Temple, London, 18th February, 1775; died at Edmonton, 27th December, 1834. At the age of eight years he was placed in the school of Christ's Hospital, where Coleridge was his companion. On leaving school he obtained a situation in the India House, where he remained for thirty-six years, and then retired on a pension. Meanwhile he had earned popularity as a poet, a critic, and a humourist. His first verses were issued in 1797, in a volume which he published in conjunction with his friends Coleridge and Charles Lloyd. The first series of the famous essays of Elia appeared in the London Magazine between 1820-22; and the second series, between 189323. Although he enjoyed the privilege of frequent communion with the most gifted spirits of his age, his life was a sad one, and he describes himself as “* s" writing a playful essay with tears trickling down his cheeks) His sister, Mary Anne Lamb, was subject to occasional attacks of insanity, and in one of these fits she destroyed the life of her mother. Charles Lamb was appointed her guardian, and he faithfully discharged the trust. His sister survived him twelve years. He had an enthusiastic love for his native city; believing that its human interests presented greater charms than any the country could offer; and all his inspiration and pleasures were drawn from its associations.] Katharine, the Shrew, was the eldest daughter of Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. She was a lady of such an ungovernable spirit and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, that she was known in Padua by no other name than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very unlikely, indeed impossible, that any gentleman would ever be found who would venture to marry this lady, and therefore Baptista was much blamed for deferring his consent to many excellent offers that were made to her gentle sister Bianca, putting off all Bianca's suitors with this excuse, that when the eldest sister was fairly off his hands, they should have free leave to address young Bianca. 2 A proverbial expression applied to old maids. 3 From Lamb's Tales from Shakspeare. |