sit a little longer, sister Ursula. I most heartily congratulate you
on your marriage. But where is this same Lovell? I have never seen him:
I should wish to congratulate him too. You are quite as handsome as the
Meridiana of Pulci, Ursula, ay, or the Despina of Riciardetto.
Riciardetto, Ursula, is a poem written by one Fortiguerra, about ninety
years ago, in imitation of the Morgante of Pulci. It treats of the wars
of Charlemagne and his Paladins with various barbarous nations, who came
to besiege Paris. Despina was the daughter and heiress of Scricca, King
of Cafria; she was the beloved of Riciardetto, and was beautiful as an
angel; but I make no doubt you are quite as handsome as she."

"Brother," said Ursula--but the reply of Ursula I reserve for another
chapter, the present having attained to rather an uncommon length, for
which, however, the importance of the matter discussed is a sufficient
apology.

CHAPTER XI.

URSULA'S TALE--THE PATTERAN--THE DEEP WATER--SECOND HUSBAND.

"Brother," said Ursula, plucking a dandelion which grew at her feet, "I
have always said that a more civil and pleasant-spoken person than
yourself can't be found. I have a great regard for you and your
learning, and am willing to do you any pleasure in the way of words or
conversation. Mine is not a very happy story, but as you wish to hear
it, it is quite at your service. Launcelot Lovell made me an offer, as
you call it, and we were married in Roman fashion; that is, we gave each
other our right hands, and promised to be true to each other. We lived
together two years, travelling sometimes by ourselves, sometimes with our
relations; I bore him two children, both of which were still-born,
partly, I believe, from the fatigue I underwent in running about the
country telling dukkerin when I was not exactly in a state to do so, and
partly from the kicks and blows which my husband Launcelot was in the
habit of giving me every night, provided I came home with less than five
shillings, which it is sometimes impossible to make in the country,
provided no fair or merry-making is going on. At the end of two years my
husband, Launcelot, whistled a horse from a farmer's field, and sold it
for forty pounds; and for that horse he was taken, put in prison, tried,
and condemned to be sent to the other country for life. Two days before
he was to be sent away, I got leave to see him in the prison, and in the
presence of the turnkey I g