Around his placid temples curled, And Shakspeare at his sidea freight, He passed us almost every day, carrying his tray full of images into every quarter of the village. We had often wondered how he could find vent for his commodities; but our farmers' wives patronize that branch of art; and Stefano, with his light firm step, his upright carriage, his dancing eyes, and his broken English, was an universal favourite. At present the poor boy's keen Italian features and bright dark eyes were disfigured by crying; and his loud wailings and southern gesticulations bore witness to the extremity of his distress. The cause of his grief was visible in the half-empty tray that rested on the window of the forge, and the green parrot which lay in fragments on the footpath. The wrath of Robert Ford required some further explanation, which the presence of his worship instantly brought forth, although the enraged blacksmith was almost too angry to speak intelligibly. inquiries as to the amount of his loss, with which he was assailed; and young William Ford, "a lad of grace," was approaching his hand to his pocket, and my dear companion had just drawn forth his purse, when the good intentions of the one were arrested by the stern commands of his father, and the other was stopped by the re-appearance of Rachel, who had run back to the house, and now darted through the group holding out her own new sixpence, her hoarded sixpence, and put | it into Stefano's hand! It may be imagined that the dear child was no loser by her generosity; she was loaded with caresses by every one, which, too much excited to feel her bashfulness, she not only! endured but returned. Her uncle, thus rebuked by an infant, was touched almost to tears. He folded her in his arms, kissed her and blessed her; gave Stefano half a crown for the precious sixpence, and swore to keep it as a relique and a lesson as long as he lived. EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. MY GODFATHER'S MANŒUVRING. I HAVE said that my dear godfather was a great match-maker. One of his exploits in this way, which occurred during my second visit to him and Mrs. Evelyn, I am now about to relate. It appeared that this youngster and favourite son, William, had been chaffering with Stefano for this identical green parrot, to present to Rachel, when a mischievous lad, running along the road, had knocked it from the window-sill, and reduced it to the state which we saw. So far was mere misfortune; and undoubtedly if left to himself, our good neighbour would have indemnified the little merchant; but poor Stefano, startled at the suddenness of the accident, trembling at the Amongst the many distant cousins to whom anger of the severe master on whose account I was introduced in that northern region, was he travelled the country, and probably in the a young kinswoman by the name of Hervey darkness really mistaking the offender, un--an orphan heiress of considerable fortune, luckily accused William Ford of the overthrow; which accusation, although the assertion was instantly and humbly retracted on William's denial, so aroused the English blood of the father, a complete John Bull, that he was raving, till black in the face, against cheats and foreigners, and threatening the young Italian with whipping, and the treadmill, and justices, and stocks, when we made our appearance, and the storm, having nearly exhausted its fury, gradually abated. By this time, however, the clamour had attracted a little crowd of lookers-on from the house and the road, amongst the rest Mrs. Ford, and, peeping behind her aunt, little Rachel. Stefano continued to exclaim in his imperfect accent "He will beat me!" and to sob and crouch and shiver, as if actually suffering under the impending chastisement. It was impossible not to sympathise with such a reality of distress, although we felt that an English boy, similarly situated, would have been too stout-hearted not to restrain its expression. Six-pence!" and "my master will beat me!" intermixed with fresh bursts of crying, were all his answers to the various 66 who lived in the same town and the same street with my godfather, under the protection of a lady who had been the governess of her childhood, and continued with her as the friend of her youth. Sooth to say, their friendship was of that tender and sentimental sort at which the world, the wicked world, is so naughty as to laugh. Miss Reid and Miss Hervey were names quite as inseparable as i goose and apple-sauce, or tongue and chicken. They regularly made their appearance together, and there would have appeared I know not what of impropriety in speaking of either singly; it would have looked like a tearing asunder of the "double cherry," respecting which, in their case, even the "seeming part ed," would have been held too disjunctive a phrase, so tender and inseparable was their| union; although as far as resemblance went, [' no simile could be more inapplicable. Never were two people more unlike in mind hod person. Lucy Hervey was a pretty little woman of six and twenty; but from a delicate figure, delicate features, and a most delicate com plexion, looking much younger. Perhaps the total absence of strong expression, the mild-it was. His adversary had the board all to ness and simplicity of her countenance, and herself; and was in as good a humour, as a the artlessness and docility of her manner winning player generally is. Miss Reid was might conduce to the mistake. She was a never remembered so amiable. We saw them sweet gentle creature, generous and affection- almost every day, as the fashion is amongst ate; and not wanting in sense, although her neighbours in small towns, and used to ride entire reliance on her friend's judgment, and and walk together continually although constant habit of obedience to her wishes Lucy, whose health was delicate, frequently rendered the use of it somewhat rare. declined accompanying us on our more distant excursions. Miss Reid was a tall awkward woman, raw-boned, lank and huge, just what one Our usual beau, besides the dear godpapa, fancies a man would be in petticoats; with a was a Mr. Morris, the curate of the parishface that, except the beard (certainly she had an uncouth, gawky, lengthy man, with an no beard) might have favoured the supposi- astounding Westmoreland dialect, and a most tion; so brown and bony and stern and ill- portentous laugh. Really his ha! ha! was favoured was her unfortunate visage. In one quite a shock to the nerves-a sort of oral point, she was lucky. There was no guess-shower-bath; so sudden and so startling was ing at her age, certainly not within ten years; the explosion. In loudness it resembled half nor within twenty. She looked old: but a dozen ordinary laughs "rolled into one;" with that figure, those features, and that complexion, she must have looked old at eighteen. To guess her age was impossible. Her voice was deep and dictatorial; her manner rough and assuming; and her conversation unmercifully sensible and oracular-" full of wise saws and modern instances." For the rest, in spite of her inauspicious exterior, she was a good sort of disagreeable woman: charitable and kind in her way; genuinely fond of Lucy Hervey, whom she petted and scolded and coaxed and managed just as a nurse manages a child and tolerably well liked of all her acquaintance-except Mr. Evelyn, who had been at war with her for the last nine Tears, on the subject of his fair cousin's marmge; and had, at last, come to regard her Pry much as a prime minister may look on an opposition leader,-as a regular opponent, an estacle to be put down or swept away. Iverity believe that he hated her as much as lus kindly nature could hate any body. To be sure, it was no slight grievance to Thare so fair a subject for his matrimonial speculations, a kinswoman too, just under his very eye, and to find all his plans thwarted by that inexorable gouvernante - more esperially, as, without her aid, it was morally certain that the pretty Lucy would never have had the heart to say no to any body. Ever since Miss Hervey was seventeen, my dear goipapa had been scheming for her advantage. It was quite melancholy to hear him count up the husbands she might have had,-beginning 11 the Duke's son, her partner at her first race tali. — and ending with the young newly-arnad physician, his last protegé: "now," he sad, she might die an old maid; he had done with her." And there did actually appear to be a cessation of all his matrimonial plans in ta quarter. Miss Reid herself laid aside ter distrust of him; and a truce, if not a peace, was tacitly concluded between these rdy antagonists. Mr. Evelyn seemed to have given up the game-a strange thing for bim to do whilst he had a pawn left! But so and as the gentleman was of a facetious disposition and chorused his own good things as well as those of other people, with his awful cachination, it was no joking matter. But he was so excellent a person, so cordial, so jovial, so simple-hearted, and so contented with a lot none of the most prosperous, that one could not help liking him, laugh and all. He was a widower, with one only son, a Cambridge scholar, of whom he was deservedly proud. Edward Morris, besides his academical honours (I think he had been senior wrangler of his year), was a very fine young man, with an intelligent countenance, but exceedingly shy, silent, and abstracted. I could not help thinking the poor youth was in love; but his father and Mr. Evelyn laid the whole, blame on the mathematics. He would sit sometimes for an hour together, immersed, as they said, in his calculations, with his eyes fixed on Lucy Hervey, as if her sweet face had been the problem he was solving. But your mathematicians are privileged people; and so apparently my fair cousin thought, for she took no notice, unless by blushing a shade the deeper. It was worth while to look at Lucy Hervey, when Edward Morris was gazing on her in his absent fits; her cheeks were as red as a rose. How these blushes came to escape the notice of Miss Reid, I cannot tell,—unless she might happen to have her own attention engrossed by Edward's father. For certain, that original paid her, in his odd way, great attention; was her constant beau in our walkingparties; sate by her side at dinner; and manoeuvred to get her for his partner at whist. She had the benefit of his best bon-mots, and his loudest laughs; and she seemed to me not to dislike that portentous sound, so much as might have been expected from a lady of her particularity. I ventured to hint my observations to Mr. Evelyn; who chuckled, laid his forefinger against his nose, rubbed his hands, and called me a simpleton. Affairs were in this position, when one night just at going to bed, my good godfather, with a little air of mystery (no uncommon preparation to his most trifling plans), made an appointment to walk with me before breakfast, as far as a pet farm, about a mile out of the town, the superintendence of which was one of his greatest amusements. Early the next morning, the house-maid, who usually attended me, made her appearance, and told me that her master was waiting for me, that I must make haste, and that he desired I would be smart, as he expected a party to breakfast at the farm. This sort of injunction is seldom thrown away on a damsel of eighteen; accordingly I adjusted, with all possible despatch, a new blue silk pelisse, and sallied forth into the corridor, which I heard him pacing as impatiently as might be. There, to my no small consternation, instead of the usual gallant compliments of the most gallant of godfathers, I was received with very disapproving glances; told that I looked like an old woman in that dowdy-coloured pelisse, and conjured to exchange it for a white gown. Half affronted, I nevertheless obeyed; doffed the pelisse, and donned the white gown, as ordered; and being greeted this time with a bright smile, and a chuck under the chin, we set out in high good-humour on our expedition. Instead, however, of proceeding straight to the farm, Mr. Evelyn made a slight deviation from our course, turning down the market-place, and into the warehouse of a certain Mrs. Bennet, milliner and mantua-maker, a dashing over-dressed dame, who presided over the fashions for ten miles round, and marshalled a compter full of caps and bonnets at one side of the shop, whilst her husband, an obsequious civil bowing tradesman, dealt out gloves and stockings at the other. A little dark parlour behind was common to both. Into this den was I ushered; and Mrs. Bennet, with many apologies, began, at a signal from my godfather, to divest me of all my superfluous blueness, silk handkerchief, sash, and wrist-ribbons, (for with the constancy which is born of opposition, I had, in relinquishing my obnoxious pelisse, clung firmly to the obnoxious colour) replacing them by white satin ribbons and a beautiful white shawl; and, finally, exchanging my straw bonnet for one of white silk, with a deep lace veil-that piece of delicate finery which all women delight in. Whilst I was now admiring the richness of the genuine Brussels point, and now looking at myself in a little glass which Mrs. Bennet was holding to my face, for the better display of her millinerythe bonnet, to do her justice, was pretty and becoming, during this engrossing contemplation, her smooth silky husband crept behind me with the stealthy pace of a cat, and relying, as it seems, on my pre-occupation, actually drew my York-tan gloves from my astonished hands, and substituted a pair of his own best white kid. This operation being completed, my godpapa, putting his forefinger to his lip in token of secresy, hurried me with a look of great triumph, from the shop. He walked at a rapid pace; and, between quick motion and amazement, I was too much out of breath to utter a word, till we had passed the old gothic castle at the end of the town, and crossed the long bridge that spans its wide and winding river. I then rained questions on my dear old friend, who chuckled and nodded, and vented two or three half laughs, but vouchsafed nothing tending to a reply. At length we came to a spot where the road turned suddenly to the left, (the way to the farm), whilst, right before us, rose a knoll, on which stood the church, a large, heavy, massive building, almost a cathedral, finely relieved by the range of woody hills which shut in the landscape. A turning gate, with a tall straight cypress on either side, led into the churchyard; and throngh this gate Mr. Evelyn passed. The church door was a little a-jar, and, through the crevice, was seen peeping the long red nose of the old clerk, a Bardolphian personage, to whom my godfather, who loved to oblige people in their own way, sometimes did the questionable service of clearing off his score at the Greyhound; his red nose and a skirt of his shabby black coat peeped through the porch; whilst, behind one of the buttresses, glimmered, for an instant, the white drapery of a female figure. I did not need these indications to convince me that a wedding was the object in view; that had been certain from the first cashiering of my blue ribbons; but I was still at a loss, as to the parties; and felt quite relieved by Mr. Eve lyn's question, Pray, my dear, were you ever a bride's-maid?"-since in the extremity of my perplexity, I had had something like an apprehension that an unknown beau might appear at the call of this mighty manager, and I be destined to play the part of bride myself. Comforted to find that I was only to enact the confidante, I had now leisure to be exceedingly curious as to my prima donna. My curiosity was speedily gratified. 66 1 On entering the church we had found only a neighbouring clergyman, not Mr. Morris, at the altar; and, looking round at the opening of another door, I perceive the worthy curate in a jetty clerical suit, bristling with newness, leading Miss Reid be-flounced and be-scarfed and be-veiled and be-plumed, and all in a flutter of bridal finery, in great state, up the aisle. Mr. Evelyn advanced to meet them, took the lady's fair hand from Mr. Morris, and led her along with all the grace of an old courtier; I fell into the procession at the proper place; the amiable pair were duly married, and I thought my office over. I was never more mistaken in my life. In the midst of the customary confusion of kissing and wishing joy, and writing and signing registers and certificates, which form so important and disagreeable a part of that disagreeable and important ceremony, Mr. Evelyn had vanished; and just as the bride was inquiring for him, with the intention of leaving the church, he reappeared through the very same side-door which had admitted the first happy couple, leading Lucy Hervey, and followed by Edward Morris. The father evidently expected them; the new step-mother as evidently did not. Never did a thief, taken in the manner, seem more astonished than that sage gouvernante! Lucy on her part, blushed and hung back, and looked shyer and prettier than ever; the old clerk grinned; the clergyman, who had shown some symptoms of astonishment at the first wedding, now smiled to Mr. Evelyn, as if this accounted, and made amends for it; whilst the dear god-papa himself chuckled and nodded and rubbed his hands, and chucked both bride and bride'smaid under the chin, and seemed ready to cut capers for joy. Again the book was opened at the page of destiny; again I held the milkwhite glove; and after nine years of unsuccessful manoeuvring, my cousin Lucy was married. It was, undoubtedly, the most triumphant event of the good old man's life; and I don't believe that either couple ever saw cause to regret the dexterity in the art of match-making which produced their double anion. They have been as happy as people usually are in this work a-day world, especially the young mathematician and his pretty wife; and their wedding-day is still remembered in W.; for besides his munificence to singer, ringer, sexton and clerk, Mr. Evelyn roasted two sheep on the occasion, gave away ten bride-cakes, and made the whole town tipsy. THE YOUNG GIPSY. THE weather continuing fine and dry, I did not fail to revisit my gipsy encampment, which became more picturesque every day in the bright sungleams and lengthening shadows of a most brilliant autumn. A slight frost had strewed the green lane with the light yellow leaves of the elm-those leaves on whose Fielding crispness it is so pleasant to tread, and which it is so much pleasanter to watch whirling along, "thin dancers upon air," in the fresh October breeze; whilst the reddened beech, and spotted sycamore, and the rich caks dropping with acorns, their foliage just edging into its deep orange brown, added all the magic of colour to the original beauty of the scenery. It was undoubtedly the prettiest walk in the neighbourhood, and the one which I frequented the most. Ever since the adventure of May, the old fortune-teller and I understood each other perfectly. She knew that I was no client, no patient, no customer (which is the fittest name for a goosecap who goes to a gipsy to ask what is to befall her?) but she also knew that I was no enemy either to her or her profession; for, after all, if people choose to amuse themselves by being simpletons, it is no part of their neighbours' business to hinder them. I, on my side, liked the old gipsy exceedingly; I liked both her humour and her good-humour, and had a real respect for her cleverness. We always interchanged a smile and a nod, meet where we might. May, too, had become accustomed to the whole party. The gift of a bone from the cauldron-a bare bone-your well-fed dog likes nothing so well as such a wind-fall, and if stolen the relish is highera bare bone brought about the reconciliation. I am sorry to accuse May of accepting a bribe, but such was the fact. She now looked at the fortune-teller with great complacency, would let the boys stroke her long neck, and in her turn would condescend to frolic with their shabby curs, who, trained to a cat-like caution and mistrust of their superiors, were as much alarmed at her advances as if a lioness had offered herself as their play-fellow. There was no escaping her civility, however, so they submitted to their fate, and really seemed astonished to find themselves alive when the gambol was over. One of them, who from a tail turned over his back like a squirrel, and an amazingly snub nose, had certainly some mixture of the pug in his composition, took a great fancy to her when his fright was past: which she repaid by the sort of scornful kindness, the despotic protection proper to her as a beauty, and a favourite, and a high-blooded greyhound-always a most proud and stately creature. The poor little mongrel used regularly to come jumping to meet her, and she as regularly turned him over and over and over, and round and round and round, like a tetotum. He liked it apparently, for he never failed to come and court the tossing whenever she went near him. The person most interesting to me of the whole party was the young girl. She was remarkably pretty, and of the peculiar prettiness which is so frequently found amongst that singular people. Her face resembled those which Sir Joshua has often painted— rosy, round, and bright, set in such a profusion of dark curls, lighted by such eyes, and such a smile! and she smiled whenever you looked at her- she could not help it. Her figure was light and small, of low stature, and with an air of great youthfulness. In her dress she was, for a gipsy, surprisingly tidy. For the most part, that ambulatory race have a preference for rags, as forming their most appropriate wardrobe, being a part of their tools of trade, their insignia of office. I do not imagine that Harriet's friend, the fortune- | the nuttery after him, and giving us all a notion teller, would have exchanged her stained tat-that he had broken his neck. His time, howtered cloak for the thickest and brightest red ever was not yet come: he was on his feet cardinal that ever came out of a woollen-dra-again in half a minute, and in another half per's shop. And she would have been a loser minute we again heard him rustling amongst if she had. Take away that mysterious man- the hazel boughs; and I went on with our tle, and a great part of her reputation would talk, which the fright and scolding, consequent go too. There is much virtue in an old cloak. on this accident, had interrupted. My readers I question if the simplest of her clients, even are of course aware, that when any one meets Harriet herself, would have consulted her in with a fall, the approved medicament of the a new one. But the young girl was tidy; not most affectionate relatives is a good dose of only accurately clean, and with clothes neatly scolding. and nicely adjusted to her trim little form, but with the rents darned, and the holes patched, in a way that I should be glad to see equalled by our own villagers. Her manners were quite as ungipsy-like as her apparel, and so was her conversation; for I could not help talking to her, and was much pleased with her frankness and innocence, and the directness and simplicity of her answers. She was not the least shy; on the contrary, there was a straightforward look, a fixing of her sweet eyes full of pleasure and reliance right upon you, which, in the description, might seem almost too assured, but which, in reality, no more resembled vulgar assurance than did the kindred artlessness of Shakspeare's Miranda. It seems strange to liken a gipsy girl to that loveliest creation of genius; but I never saw that innocent gaze without being sure that just with such a look of pleased attention, of affectionate curiosity, did the island princess listen to Ferdinand. All that she knew of her little story she told without scruple, in a young liquid voice, and with a little curtsy between every answer, that became her extremely. "Her name," said she, "was Fanny. She had no father or mother; they were dead; and she and her brothers lived with her grandmother. They lived always out of doors, sometimes in one placesometimes in another; but she should like always to live under that oak-tree, it was so pleasant. Her grandmother was very good to them all, only rather particular. She loved her very much; and she loved Dick (her eldest brother,) though he was a sad unlucky boy, to be sure. She was afraid he would come to some bad end"— And, indeed, Dick at that moment seemed in imminent danger of verifying his sister's prediction. He had been trying for a gleaning of nuts amongst the tall hazels on the top of a bank, which, flanked by a deep ditch, separated the coppice from the green. We had heard him for the last five minutes smashing and crashing away at a prodigious rate, swinging himself from stalk to stalk, and tugging and climbing like a sailor or a monkey; and now at the very instant of Fanny's uttering this prophecy, having missed a particularly venturesome grasp, he was impelled forward by the rebound of the branches, and fell into the ditch with a tremendous report, bringing half "She liked Dick," she continued, "in spite of his unluckiness-he was so quick and good. humoured; but the person she loved most was her youngest brother, Willy. Willy was the best boy in the world, he would do any thing she told him" (indeed the poor child was in the very act of picking up acorns, under her! inspection, to sell, as I afterwards found, in the village,) "and never got into mischief, or told a lie in his life; she had had the care of him ever since he was born, and she wished she could get him a place." By this time the little boy had crept towards us, and still col lecting the acorns in his small brown hands, had turned up his keen intelligent face, and was listening with great interest to our conversation. "A place!" said I, much surprised. "Yes," replied she firmly, “a place. "Twould be a fine thing for my poor Willy to have a house over him in the cold winter nights." And with a grave tenderness, that might have beseemed a young mother, she stooped her head over the boy and kissed him. "But you sleep out of doors in the cold winter nights, Fanny!"-" Me! oh, I don't mind it, and sometimes we creep into a barn. But poor Willy! If I could but get Willy a place, my lady!" This "my lady," the first gipsy word that Fanny had uttered, lost all that it would have had of unpleasing in the generosity and affec tionateness of the motive. I could not help promising to recommend her Willy, although I could not hold out any very strong hopes of success, and we parted, Fanny following me, with thanks upon thanks, almost to the end of the lane. Two days after I again saw my pretty gipsy; she was standing by the side of our gate, too modest even to enter the court, waiting for my coming out to speak to me. I brought her into the hall, and was almost equally delighted to see her, and to hear her news; for although I' had most faithfully performed my promise, by mentioning master Willy to every body likely to want a servant of his qualifications, 1 had seen enough in the course of my canvass to convince me that a gipsy boy of eight years old would be a difficult protege to provide for. Fanny's errand relieved my perplexity. She came to tell me that Willy had gotten a place "That Thomas Lamb, my lord's head gamekeeper, had hired him to tend his horse and |