CLOWN. You have of these pedlars, that have more in'em than

you'd think, sister.

--WINTER'S TALE, ACT IV., SCENE 3.

In his anxiety to obey the Earl's repeated charges of secrecy, as well

as from his own unsocial and miserly habits, Anthony Foster was more

desirous, by his mode of housekeeping, to escape observation than to

resist intrusive curiosity. Thus, instead of a numerous household, to

secure his charge, and defend his house, he studied as much as possible

to elude notice by diminishing his attendants; so that, unless when

there were followers of the Earl, or of Varney, in the mansion, one

old male domestic, and two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the

Countess's apartments in order, were the only servants of the family.

It was one of these old women who opened the door when Wayland knocked,

and answered his petition, to be admitted to exhibit his wares to the

ladies of the family, with a volley of vituperation, couched in what is

there called the JOWRING dialect. The pedlar found the means of

checking this vociferation by slipping a silver groat into her hand, and

intimating the present of some stuff for a coif, if the lady would buy

of his wares.

"God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks. Slocket with thy pack into

gharn, mon--her walks in gharn." Into the garden she ushered the pedlar

accordingly, and pointing to an old, ruinous garden house, said, "Yonder

be's her, mon--yonder be's her. Zhe will buy changes an zhe loikes

stuffs."

"She has left me to come off as I may," thought Wayland, as he heard the

hag shut the garden-door behind him. "But they shall not beat me,

and they dare not murder me, for so little trespass, and by this fair

twilight. Hang it, I will on--a brave general never thought of his

retreat till he was defeated. I see two females in the old garden-house

yonder--but how to address them? Stay--Will Shakespeare, be my friend in

need. I will give them a taste of Autolycus." He then sung, with a good

voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty,-"Lawn as white as driven snow,

Cyprus black as e'er was crow,

Gloves as sweet as damask roses,

Masks for faces and for noses."

"What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?" said the

lady.

"One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars," answered Janet,

demurely, "who utters his light wares in lighter measures. I marvel old

Dorcas let him pass."

"It is a lucky chance, girl," said the Countess; "we lead a heavy life

here, and this may while off a weary hour."




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