nd 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."

"Ay, my gracious lady," said Janet; "but my father?"

"He is not my father, Janet, nor I hope my master," answered the lady.
"I say, call the man hither--I want some things."

"Nay," replied Janet, "your ladyship has but to say so in the next
packet, and if England can furnish them they will be sent. There will
come mischief on't--pray, dearest lady, let me bid the man begone!"

"I will have thee bid him come hither," said the Countess;--"or stay,
thou terrified fool, I will bid him myself, and spare thee a chiding."

"Ah! well-a-day, dearest lady, if that were the worst," said Janet
sadly; while the lady called to the pedlar, "Good fellow, step
forward--undo thy pack; if thou hast good wares, chance has sent thee
hither for my convenience and thy profit."

"What may your ladyship please to lack?" said Wayland, unstrapping his
pack, and displaying its contents with as much dexterity as if he had
been bred to the trade. Indeed he had occasionally pursued it in the
course of his roving life, and now commended his wares with all the
volubility of a trader, and showed some skill in the main art of placing
prices upon them.

"What do I please to lack?" said the lady, "why, considering I have not
for six long months bought one yard of lawn or cambric, or one trinket,
the most inconsiderable, for my own use, and at my own choice, the
better question is, What hast thou got to sell? Lay aside for me that
cambric partlet and pair of sleeves--and those roundells of gold fringe,
drawn out with cyprus--and that short cloak of cherry-coloured fine
cloth, garnished w