of his ailing wife,-who is what in a lady would be called nervous, there were, at the time of which I speak, thirteen goodly children, from twenty years old to eight months. Shall I give a catalogue? Yes. First, an eldest son, a baker, (for one of the protuberances which make the dwelling so picturesque is a huge oven,) Charles North, junior, tall and vigorous as his father, -a staid, sober youth, who, by dint of the smallpox and a miraculous gravity, might pass for the father of the family himself. Then, an eldest sister,-stout and steady,—a home-keeping Martha North, acting as regent during her mother's illnesses, which know no pause,-deputy mistress and deputy servant of the whole house. Then, a fine open countenanced girl, her father in petticoats, parcel pickle and parcel coquette,--who puts her hair in curl papers, and flirts with one half of the parish, and romps with the other, as she carries her brother's bread round the country,-sole driver of the old white horse:-we have not a prettier black-eyed lass in the village than Sally North. Then, Tom,-who goes to work with his father, and is, at a word, Sally in breeches. Then there were four or five urchins-names unknown-who attended various seminaries, some for charity, some for pay. Then three or four otherssex unknown-imps in tattered frocks,-dirty, noisy, healthy, and happy,-who dabbled, by the side of the pond, with the ducks and geese, or helped the pigs to find acorns, in the wood. Last of all, the baby a rosy, smiling brat,-clean amidst all the dirt, and placid amidst all the uproar,who lived out of doors like a gipsy, and might be seen in its little pink frock, stretching its round, hardy limbs on the turf, or sitting, in infantine state, with its back propped against a tree, from morning to night,—the general pet and plaything of the family. This infant was, evidently, the attraction which drew the Lady of Beechgrove to this secluded spot. Dash and I used to drive into the recesses of the wood,-scenery where you may almost realize the delicious creations of "Comus," and "As you like it ;" but she always paused at the cottage,- always as near as possible to the baby. It was a child that, for mere childish beauty, would have been remarked amongst thousands. The square vigorous form-the dimpled hands and feet and elbows, so firm, so mottled, of so pure a carnation-the fair open forehead, with little rings of brown hair curling around it—the large, bright, blue eye-the delicate features-and the sweet look of content, the passionless composure which give a dignity to infant loveliness-would have made little Mary North a model for Sir Joshua. No one ever passed, without admiring the child; but on no one did her beauty produce such an effect as on this unhappy lady. She could not pass;-she seemed to intend it, sometimes,- but always stopped, and returned to her old station near the cottage. Her object was, evidently, Mary. At first, she tried to talk to Mrs. North-to Martha-to the little ones that dabbled round the pond :-but the effort was, visibly, painful; and she soon desisted from it, content to hang over the little girl, or to sit on the grass at her side,-sometimes crying, and sometimes with a heart-broken look, as if her tears were gone. The child's name, if accidentally pronounced, always occasioned a convulsive shuddering; and, one day, Mrs. North, unable to resist the curiosity excited by these extraordinary proceedings, said to her, "I fancy, ma'am, for so young as you look, that you must have had a little Mary of your own !”— "Once!" was the answer, with a burst of bitter grief, "once !"-"It's a sad affliction," pursued Mrs. North, "to bury a baby,-especially the first. I lost mine, poor innocent! but I have thought, since, how much happier she is than my little Mary would be, if I was to die now, and leave her motherless in the wide world."-" Oh, my Mary! my Mary! my child! my child!" cried the unhappy lady; and fell to the ground, in strong and obstinate convulsive fits. She was conveyed home,-and came no more to the cottage by the wood side. In a few days, Beechgrove was again vacant, and she was gone,leaving, for Mrs. North, a little green purse, containing eighteen guineas and some silver, and a small slip of paper, on which was written, "For your Mary, from a mother who left her child!" -Poor thing! poor thing! we have never heard of her since. Mary North is now a rosy prattler,-the life and joy of her humble home,—the loveliest and gayest creature that ever lived. But, better than playing with her doll-better even than baseball, or sliding or romping, does she like to creep, of an evening, to her father's knee, and look at the well hoarded purse, (not a shilling has been taken out)— and gaze, with a mysterious feeling of awe at her little heart-on the slip of uneven writing; and hear, for the hundredth time, the story of the poor lady who was so good to Mary, when she was a baby,— the beautiful lady of Beechgrove. STANZAS To her who best can understand them. BY THE LATE RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON. Be it so we part for ever! Let the past as nothing be:→ Had I only loved thee, never Hadst thou been thus dear to me. Had I loved, and thus been slighted, That I better could have borne:- Pride may cool what passion heated, Had I loved-I now might hate thee, In that hatred solace seek, Might exult to execrate thee, And, in words, my vengeance wreak. |