MODERN ANECDOTE.
PART I.

IN the centre of Germany lived a Baron, the only male ſurvivor and heir to the ancient family of the Kinkvervankotſdarſprakengotchderns, which reſpectable name has ſunk with him into the grave.

His pedigree might have been valued by the ell, and vied in [2] antiquity with ſome of the ſuperb Welch, who trace their forefathers up to Adam, ‘"who was the ſon of O;"’ meaning by that round O, the Su⯑preme Being.

That my reader may not break his teeth by articulating the name of our Baron; nor my readers hearers the tympanum of their ears, by liſtening to its uncouth ſound; we will call him only, the Baron.

The Baron then was, like all Barons in Germany, or elſewhere, where Barons exiſt, proud and poor: [3] not that he had manors to be proud of, or manners enough to ſquander away his pence; for he had neither land or money, more than would juſt ſerve to keep famine out of his caſtle.

His caſtle, indeed, boaſted of more than only a door and windows; for the walls of his hall were hung from the cieling to the floor; his parlours were likewiſe hung; his bedchambers, and the cloſets belonging to them were hung; the garrets; nay, the very ſtair⯑caſe was hung all over with family pictures.

[4] Family pictures! cries Mr. Grum⯑blemore, a very intereſting piece of news indeed: nay, good Mr. Grum⯑blemore, replace the ſpectacles upon that ſhort noſe of yours, nor think the family pictures unneceſſary, or uſe⯑leſs in my narrative; for now, upon them depend the whole life of it; they are to be the occaſion of all the grief, pleaſantry, and joy in it. Nay, dear ſir, keep on your two glaſs eyes, I beſeech you, and proceed: and may your anceſtors (if anceſtors you have) ſerve your progeny (if progeny you have) as ſupporters in the day of trouble; may their number increaſe [5] their value; may they be as a foot⯑ſtool to raiſe them up to joy.

Now, ſir, as no Grumblemore ever liked a digreſſion; and the rotundity of your face, makes me think you like a pun; by going patiently on to the end of the book, you will find this little digreſſion is a pun. You hate a pun, ſay you: well then, ſir, read this as an addreſs to all the Grumble⯑more's exiſting, and I will proceed in my narrative:

Excepting his chaplain, his daughter Cecil, and a diſtant relation of his, [6] that paſſed the greateſt part of the year with him; the Baron's family pictures were the only human faces he ever ſaw: therefore, they were not only his pride, but his comfort; as they con⯑ſtituted the greateſt part of his ſociety. We will leave him to revolve over in his own mind the heroic deeds, and victorious actions of this ſilent part of his company; and confine a deſcription to the three living perſons mentioned.

The curate of his pariſh, was dig⯑nified with the title of chaplain, be⯑cauſe it was right that a Baron ſhould [7] have one, to read prayers on a Sun⯑day morning in the chapel of the caſtle, and ſay grace over the beef and ſourcrout at dinner. This chap⯑lain knew all the duties of one, and eat, and ſaid Amen to every diſh the Baron made him taſte of, with a ſa⯑cerdotal benignity. The Baron's toads, indeed, did not coſt him much to ſwallow; for liſtening patiently to the merits of the anceſtors, who ſtared on canvas round the room, was all that was enquired of him.

The diſtant relation, was a man who had ſerved with ſome degree of repu⯑tation [8] in the army, in the younger part of his life: but finding, that in his country as in every other, intereſt promotes faſter than merit; he had at five and thirty ſold his commiſſion, and given himſelf up to ſhooting all day at beaſts and birds, inſtead of men; and reading all night, the won⯑derful romances of ancient chivalry, till he had almoſt perſuaded himſelf that he was an unfortunate Knight, frowned on by the lady of his heart, with the ſame degree of cruelty that Dame Fortune had treated him with. Numberleſs were the caſtles he had built about this fair damſel; and [9] when he ſlept, her charms preſented themſelves to his mind: nor were his hopes (if unrequited love can hope) ſo very romantic; as his paſſion had for its object the Baron's daughter, who neither frowned nor ſmiled upon him. There was no chance, indeed, that any nobleman would marry her, as then the German nobility, like all other in Europe, for reaſons beſt known to themſelves, preferred a long purſe to a long pedigree. The Baron was an exception to this modern way of think⯑ing, and would not have conſented to his own daughter's contaminating her blood with one more ignobly born [10] than herſelf; for theſe good reaſons, and ſome calculations more relative to the fleſh than the high ſpirit of his couſin the Baron, Hogreſten (for that was his name) imagined that a time would come, when Cecil would chuſe to have a huſband; and that he might wear that happy title, he ſpared no attentions, no reſpects, no gallantrics, ſuch as he read of, practiſed in the days of knight-errantry, and that he could afford, to win in ſilence the heart of the young and beauteous Cecil; whoſe words melted; whoſe looks burned; whoſe manner inno⯑cently-tender inſpired love; and yet [11] whoſe malicious vivacity awed uncon⯑ciouſly the riſing flame.

Venus ſhould lend a feather from the wing of one of her favourite doves, to make a pen worthy of tracing Cecil's figure. Nay! the Goddeſs herſelf ſhould dictate a new language to expreſs her countenance. But as that ſhould, with many others, is impoſſible in humble mortal ſtrain, I muſt deſcribe her.

Cecil was above the common ſize of women; but her limbs were ſo delicately turned, her proportions were ſo juſt, that whoever ſaw her [12] refuſed to uſe the word tall in deſcri⯑bing, or thinking of her; though in fact ſhe was ſo.

She had very blue eyes, which are very uncommon things; as moſt blue eyes, ſo called, are grey. But theſe were blue; juſt two ſhades deeper than the beauteous canopy of heaven. When ſhe ſmiled, which was often, thoſe eyes were loſt under a pair of deep⯑fringed eyelids. Her eyebrows arched, were of the ſame colour as her eye⯑lids, the darkeſt brown. Her forehead was low, and whither than alabaſter; ornamented with a quantity of hair [13] that was almoſt fair, which covered her head in ſuch profuſion, that it hung below her knees. Her noſe was ſmall, though high, and rather promi⯑nent. Her cheeks might have been ſuſpected of art in the colouring, if nature had not proved the tranſparency of it, by having diffuſed about half a dozen freckles under each eye. Ten little dimples played about a mouth, which a fine ſet of ſmall teeth made more beautiful than was quite neceſ⯑ſary; as her mouth was ſmall, and ſeldom ſhewed them. Cecil, with this perſon, was but nineteen years old. She had been from the age of fourteen [14] (when her mother died; and dying, deſired ſhe might be finiſhed in her education in a convent at Paris) taught all the graces that art can improve talents with.

She danced, ſhe ſung, ſhe played upon the harp like a muſe. And the natural gaiety of her heart made her ſupport, without a ſigh, for ſix months, the ſilent ſpectators of her amuſements. For the Baron, Hogreſten, and the curate, neither partook of, nor ap⯑plauded her talents. The firſt through fear, the ſecond ditto, and the third ditto. Likewiſe, the Baron was afraid [15] ſhe would prefer talents to birth;—Hogreſten was afraid ſhe ſhould prefer them to him;—and the curate was afraid of ſaying what he thought about them, if he ever thought about them at all, which I doubt. How long ſhe would have borne patiently, and without Ennui, the ſociety of three perſons, who ſeemed to be no more animated with what animated her, than the anceſtors in eſſigy were, I cannot poſſibly gueſs; if the arrival of ſome unexpected viſitors at the caſtle had not entirely deranged the whole pro⯑ceedings of its inhabitants.

[16] Why the caſtle had viſitors at all, I muſt inform my reader, by telling him ſome anecdotes concerning, Cecil's mother, the effect of whoſe good qua⯑lities laſted beyond the grave. For, though an amiable Baroneſs, ſhe boaſted of a friend, one who had been ſuch to her from her earlieſt days. Cecil's mother had been brought up in a convent in France, far from the preſence of a rigid father, who only ſaw her at fifteen years old, to order her to marry the Baron; who took her without a fortune, becauſe ſhe was well born. She conſented to be mar⯑ried, becauſe ſhe knew not what being [17] married was: which is the reaſon why nine married ladies out of ten are ſo; particularly young ones. Pray, reader, aſk your wife if this is not true; for I would not have my amiable Baroneſs appear leſs reaſonable than the reſt of her ſex.

But to return: The only thing ſhe was ſorry to quit in the convent, was her play fellow, Maria; who fondly put her arms round her neck, and ſaid, ‘"Madame la Baronne will forget me!" "Oh! never, never, my ſweet Maria."’ With mutual aſſurances of affection, they parted; and the Baroneſs gave a [18] commiſſion to Maria, to make proper compliments to all the convent, and her viſitors. She had but few indeed of theſe, her relations being the only perſons her father permitted her to ſee. Among them was a young officer, the ſon of a rich farmer-general; he was taught to look upon his young couſin as a ſuperior being in point of rank: but his heart acknowledged a more powerful ſuperiority, which the Baron⯑eſs's eyes had involuntarily gained over his heart.

They ſung, they laughed, and talked many an hour away through the grate, [19] before they were old enough to diſtin⯑guiſh what irreſiſtible power brought the young couſin ſo often to the parlour. Maria, who was always a partaker in their innocent mirth, thought indeed ſhe ſaw ſome fire warmer than that of conſanguinity alone, flaſh from the eyes of Captain Franzel; who was run⯑ning the riſks of his firſt campaign, when his couſin was married. At his return, he flew to the beloved grate: Maria alone came to receive him. The cu⯑rioſity natural to girls prompted her to watch his face, when ſhe abruptly told him of his couſin's new title.

[20] Married! married!—was all he could ſay for ſome time. His paſſion, which abſence had increaſed, agitated him ſo violently, that Maria's gentle heart run over through her eyes; and ſhe ſaid, ‘"Alas! you are mad."’ He ſnatched her hand through the grate, and kiſſing it, aſked her in pity to tell him, what ſaid the Baroneſs. Two hours were ſpent that day, in talking over the virtues of the laſt compa⯑nion. He returned again and again; and Maria and him grew ſo intereſted in one another's converſation, that they agreed to marry at laſt, that they might comfort one another for their [21] mutual loſs. And, perhaps, they were the only couple who could boaſt after an union of many years, that their con⯑verſation never became inſipid. Nor is it, dear ladies, ſo bad a method to purſue, in order to poſſeſs the con⯑fidence and eſteem of your huſbands, to make them believe, you can con⯑tent yourſelves with ſeeing them in love with another object.

Beſide poſſeſſing their confidence and eſteem, you give them no temp⯑tation to deceive you; and you keep that horrid fiend Jealouſy, from ſowing diſſention between you. But, I be⯑lieve, [22] it is my philanthropy that made all theſe reflections for Maria; who, Maria no longer, but Madame Fran⯑zel now, was one of thoſe happy com⯑poſitions, made up of tenderneſs and humility; but who never reflected upon thoſe virtues at all. She was ſatisfied with holding the ſecond place in her huſband's heart; ſhe was of ſo cheerful a diſpoſition, that whatever misfortune happened, ſhe could find a comfort near it.

Her huſband died about thirteen years after they had lived together in harmony, leaving her an only ſon. [23] About this time her friend, the Baroneſs, wrote to her to borrow ſome money, which her huſband was too proud to own he wanted. The year following ſhe died, leaving her picture to Madame Franzel, and a charge to her to watch, that her only daughter's happineſs ſhould not be ſacrificed to Family Pride.

Madame Franzel had viſited the young Cecil conſtantly, while ſhe re⯑mained in her convent at Paris; and had often related to her the hiſtory of her huſband's paſſion for her mother; ſhewing her, with her accuſtomed vi⯑vacity, the Baroneſs's picture, which ſhe [24] wore on one wriſt, and Captain Fran⯑zel's on the other; ſaying, ‘"See how well matched they were as to beauty:" and added ſhe often, "I cannot think both my friends in the grave, while my ſon lives, and you are in being."’

This ſon ſhe had juſt purchaſed a pair of colours for, as ſhe was deter⯑mined he ſhould be like his father in every thing. When the Baron had kept his daughter in his caſtle about ſix months, as we have ſaid before; Ma⯑dame Franzel thought it high time to ſee what the young Cecil thought of it; and, therefore, ſent a ſervant [25] with a note, to inform the Baron, that ſhe ſhould ſtay two or three days there, in her way to a place where ſhe was—not going to. There are certainly ſuch ſenſations as pre-ſentiments: for the arrival of this note, made the Baron walk half a dozen times up and down the room, he knew not why; made Hogreſton ſigh, three times as loud, and as often, as he uſually did; and made the pretty Cecil think what gown ſhe ſhould receive Madame Franzel in; or, rather, which of her gowns be⯑came her beſt. We will leave the Baron to anſwer the note; Hogreſten to decide why he ſighed ſo loud; and [26] Cecil, why ſhe thought about her dreſs at all, who never had beſtowed half a thought on it before.

We will leave them, I ſay, for one night, while I employ it in recollect⯑ing the ſecond part of this intereſting anecdote; which I proteſt, gentle, or ungentle reader, may be a plagiariſm as to facts; but as to ſtile, the care⯑leſs inattention with which I relate, may prove its originality.

MODERN ANECDOTE.
PART II.

CECIL was combing and arranging her beautiful hair, when, at nine o'clock in the morning, her door open⯑ed, and ſhe found herſelf almoſt ſmo⯑thered with kiſſes in the arms of Madame Franzel, who with great judg⯑ment took her by ſurpriſe. And Cecil never felt any confuſion at being caught in her peignoie, till, in raiſing her head [28] from the fat neck of her friend, ſhe ſaw behind her a young officer, whoſe un⯑common beauty left her no doubt of his name: if I could with a pen draw the picture of joy and health together, I would deſcribe young Franzel. But I ſhall content myſelf with ſaying, that the mother's hilarity, and the father's beauty, joined together in his happy frame, made him an object of love and admiration, to every human being: what then were Cecil's feelings? Cecil, who had never ſeen a young man, much leſs a handſome one: and that one looking into her heart already.

[29] If my reader cries, pſhaw, or ſtuff, or nonſenſe; I pity him: there is ſuch a thing as love at firſt ſight. And if he goes through the whole book with thoſe pſhaws, and ſtuffs, and nonſenſes; may he never feel it.

Madame Franzel laughed exceed⯑ingly at Cecil's countenance, and turn⯑ing about, preſented her to her ſon, who then looked down, and felt awed by the preſence of a beautiful young wo⯑man, for the firſt time in his life; while Cecil bluſhed, and ſtammered out a few nonſenſical words. By this time the Baron arrived in Cecil's room, and [30] made ſome ſpeeches, which were not of the moſt gracious kind; for though he was not a reflecter upon cauſes and effects, he thought Madame Franzel came to dun him at leaſt: and his pre⯑ſentiments made him look at young Franzel with eyes that would have frightened any other young man. The Baron handed Madame Franzel into her apartment, where he left her with her ſon, whom ſhe kiſſed on both cheeks, as was her cuſtom when ſhe was more pleaſed than uſual. And Cecil, and Cecil, ſaid ſhe, and Cecil, hey!

[31] ‘"Yes, my dear mother,"’ cried young Franzel; and Cecil, repeated he three times. By the time they had got into the drawing-room, where a ſervant had told them the breakfaſt waited their preſence, the mother and ſon under⯑ſtood one another perfectly: though before that moment Madame Franzel had never mentioned Cecil to him.—Full of the moſt roſe-coloured thoughts did theſe two perſons and Cecil eat their breakfaſts; while the Baron and Hogreſten's countenances diſplayed a contraſt to theirs, which amuſed Ma⯑dame Franzel, who, though no Philo⯑ſopher, could read into the ſoul.

[32] Young Franzel, after the firſt half hour, reſumed his natural gaiety; and the fits of laughter which ſeized him at the redoubled attentions and formal aſſiduity of Hogreſten to Cecil, diſ⯑compoſed the gravity and uſual ſolem⯑nity of the whole day. The Baron ſtared; Hogreſten frowned: but things went on tolerably well, till the Baron, at dinner, aſſured Madame Franzel that all thoſe pictures were originals: young Franzel ſaid, he did not doubt but they were Originals. The ſtreſs he laid upon this word, and the look he gave to Cecil, who did not let a ſylla⯑ble he uttered eſcape her, made his [33] mother laugh, Cecil bite her lips, and Hogreſton cry, Hey! The Baron drew up and muttered the word Puppy be⯑tween his teeth. In the evening, mu⯑ſic ſoftened all things, and the Baron ſmiled; till Cecil had ſo often made young Franzel repeat one ſong (for he ſung) that the Baron thought it high time to call for candles, to go to bed.

Young Franzel had had many Miſ⯑treſſes, but they were of that kind that flung themſelves at his head; therefore, as Cecil's charms kept him awake all night, he lay ruminating how he ſhould diſcloſe his paſſion for her: Love is [34] fearful; and for the firſt time in his life, he was afraid.

At breakfaſt, he told her he would write out the ſong ſhe deſired. ‘"I de⯑ſire, ſaid ſhe, did I deſire?"’

‘"Oh! yes;" replied his mother, taking Cecil under the arm, "that ſong he ſung laſt night:"’ and drawing her out of the room, ſhe walked with her till it was time to dreſs for dinner; when ſhe took her up into her bed⯑chamber, and deſired her to arrange her hair; which Cecil did with a grace and neatneſs peculiar to herſelf. Young [35] Franzel was writing out, in his mother's anti-room, the ſong, and whatever elſe he pleaſed. When Cecil came to paſs through that room, to go into her own; he had not quite finiſhed, he ſaid, and deſired her to ſit down; which ſhe did, to wait till he had done. He ſoon approached her with the paper he had been writing upon, and coming up cloſe to her, he dropt down on one knee; ſhe laughing, took the paper, and ſaw it covered from one end to the other with theſe words, Iris, je vous adore.

She would have remained with her eyes fixt on the paper till doom's-day, [36] if young Franzel had not ſnatched it away; and putting one hand round her waiſt, with the moſt impaſſioned geſ⯑ture, he ſaid, Oui, je vous adore. She ſtooped to lift him from the ground; but her confuſion was ſo great, that her head reſted upon his ſhoulder: and how long they might have remained in this attitude, or how ſhort a time, the god of love alone can tell; if Madam Franzel had not come in. Cecil ſlung herſelf into her arms, to hide her bluſhes. Madame Franzel's ideas, as to matrimony, were ſo truly like her figure, comfortable! that ſhe thought Cecil's inclination of more conſequence [37] to be conſulted, than the Baron's. ‘"Well, my love, ſaid ſhe, will you be my daughter?"’ Young Franzel, by this time, had got behind his mo⯑ther, where he had kneeled down, and ſeized one of Cecil's hands, which he was devouring; when the door of the anti-room opened, and Hogreſten ap⯑peared, to the no ſmall ſurpriſe of the happy groupe.

Madame Franzel, turning round, ſaw him. ‘"Well, Sir!" ſaid ſhe. "Well, Madam!" he replied: but pulling off his hat, he added, "I diſturb you, no doubt;"’ and then diſappeared.

[38] If it was the art of war, or pre-ſenti⯑ment before mentioned, I know not: but certain it is, Hogreſten had ſome⯑thing within him that told him, Madame Franzel meant to take Cecil's heart by ſurpriſe; to prevent which, he had been ſtrolling like a diſcontented ſpirit as he was, all the morning, about the caſtle, watching for an opportunity to ſpeak to her: he had ſeen her go into her friend's apartment. His uneaſi⯑neſs increaſing by young Franzel going there too, it broke through all his pru⯑dence, and he bounced into the room, and out of it, as I have deſcribed. As ſoon as he was gone, Madame Franzel [39] informed the young people, that ſhe was determined to ſpeak to the Baron about them, before her departure the next day.

That one was paſſed in a manner, which I leave young and happy lovers to gueſs. And although the time and circumſtances did not permit them to be alone together, the evening's walk, which was prolonged by the mother, gave young Franzel the opportunity of offering his arm to Cecil, who leaned upon it: notwithſtanding two terrible eyes as large as ſaucers, which Hogre⯑ſten rolled at her, in ſpite of all Madame [40] Franzel did to keep his head in its right place; her Embonpoint giving her a good excuſe to plead the want of the Baron, and Hogreſten's ſupport on each ſide. It was almoſt dark when they returned to the caſtle: and it is recorded by a crow, who was perched upon the top of one of the largeſt trees in the avenue, that young Franzel gave Cecil a kiſs behind it. Be that as it would, his looks and her's cauſed ſuch uneaſineſs to Hogreſten all the reſt of the evening, that he was deter⯑mined not to go to bed at all, but watch Cecil; who, innocent as the new-fledged dove, little dreamed how [41] many perſons would ſit up on her account that night. Young Franzel paſſed the beginning of it in his mother's room, raving to her of Cecil. Hogreſten walked under Cecil's win⯑dow for ſome hours; and, ſeeing a light through it, he firſt queſtioned the old houſekeeper, what Cecil did when ſhe left her. The ^*houſekeeper in⯑formed him, that Cecil was ſitting up reading in her bed-gown. Cecil, in [42] fact, agitated in a manner new to her, was determined to read, as ſhe could not ſleep. It was a very hot night; and ſhe left windows and doors open. The door, indeed, of her anti-room, which gave into the gallery, was ſhut.

While Hogreſten was walking in the true Knight-lover ſtile, with arms acroſs, looking up at the light in Cecil's room, young Franzel paſſed through the gallery, to go from his mother's room into his own; but being quite loſt in thought, he miſtook his way, and paſſing through Cecil's anti-room [43] into her bed-chamber, was ſurpriſed to ſee her ſitting, with her head reſting on one hand; a book lay open upon the table before her; her eyes, it is true, were fixed upon it, but loſt in thought; one ſingle leaf which ſhe had never turned over, ſerved to repreſent the words, the looks, nay, the very perſon of young Franzel. Surpriſe deprived her of ſpeech, when ſhe beheld the living object of her thoughts. I have before ſaid, that Cecil had never ſeen a young man; therefore, be not offended, Prudes, if ſhe did not know, that it was proper to have fainted or ſhrieked at the ap⯑proach [44] of her lover;—who impetu⯑ous naturally, placed the candle he had in his hand on the table, and very ſoon taught Cecil every thing that had paſſed in his mind, ſince the firſt mo⯑ment he ſaw her. What ſigns or fi⯑gures he made uſe of, to convey all his knowledge to her, I know not: certain it is, that the hours appeared to this young couple as moments; while Hogreſten, who through the window ſaw Cecil's room more illu⯑mined than before;—‘"Sweet maid, ſaid he, ſhe has an additional light; probably has begun a new chapter:"’ little dreaming, what the chapter of [45] accidents had brought about. The Baron ſat up that night, writing an abridgment of his pedigree, to re⯑duce it into the ſize of a ſmall pocket volume, which he intended that Cecil ſhould always carry about her, as a charm againſt ignoble connections or acquaintances.

Day-light, which was juſt beginning to appear, put an end to the different occupations of theſe ſleepleſs perſo⯑nages. The Baron, with difficulty, tore himſelf from his beloved an⯑ceſtors; Hogreſten unwillingly quitted his reveries; and young Franzel more [46] reluctantly than either, quitted Cecil's chamber, and croſſing the gallery he run againſt Hogreſten, who was croſ⯑ing it likewiſe, to go into his own room.

Young Franzel's breaſt was too full of ſome other paſſions to admit of fear; ſo without ſtopping to diſtinguiſh who, or indeed caring who it was, that he had almoſt overſet, he arrived in his room. But Hogreſten looked at him, and after him for ſome minutes: in⯑deed, well he might; for had not the rude ſhock he received from Franzel by running againſt him, convinced [47] him, that he was not an immaterial being, the young man's diſordered figure, and haſty ſteps all together, proved that he was far from being a diſſatisfied ghoſt.

One ſpecies of jealouſy is enough to torture a man; therefore, one cannot be ſurpriſed that Hogreſten, whoſe breaſt was torn by many, paſſed all the reſt of the morning revolv⯑ing in his mind what he ſhould do; he had not at ſeven o'clock decided, if he ſhould let the Ba⯑ron or Cecil firſt know his ſuſpici⯑ons and wiſhes; nor ceaſed ſtriding [48] up and down the fatal gallery, im⯑ploring with his eyes all the anceſtors around: when the Baron, who in⯑tended to lay his commands upon Ce⯑cil, as to her mode of parting with her company, appeared; he, with only a nod of approbation ſaluted Hogreſten, whom he was very well pleaſed to find as he thought, examining the much loved faces of his forefathers; little dreamed he, that his couſin's mind ran not on anceſtors, but deſcendants. We have already ſaid, the Baron was no great obſerver; therefore, it is no wonder that he did not take notice, that there was ſomething more than [49] uſual in his couſin's countenance, and ſomething leſs in his daughter's. That morning Cecil's fine eyes were not open when her father came into her room; he ſeated himſelf by her bed⯑ſide, and began a long harangue upon the diſtance ſhe ought to keep certain ranks of people at. Could the Baron have read her tell-tale countenance, he might have ſeen, that fear was her firſt ſenſation; and that all her looks after that was paſt, ſaid Moutarde apres diner, whenever he mentioned the word diſtance. We will leave him to finiſh his ill-timed ſermon, and take Madame Franzel out of bed, who had [50] ſlept all night, as is cuſtomary to thoſe who are well covered by nature: ſhe was ſome time before ſhe came out of her apartment, as ſhe had to arrange a much more difficult thing than her clothes before her departure; for well ſhe knew the Baron's family pride. And though her ſon could boaſt of a grandfather, that grandfather was a farmer-general; and any thing that ſavored of finance, ſhe knew the Ba⯑ron would object to. But ſhe ſum⯑moned up all her courage, and invo⯑king the gentle ſpirits of her departed friends, and giving their faces both a kiſs a piece as ſhe faſtened her brace⯑lets, [51] ſhe ſallied forth to breakfaſt, where ſhe found Hogreſten, whoſe undecided countenance ſtill remained: ſhe, with her more than uſual ſmiles, aſked him, ‘"If he did not think Cecil and her ſon very well ſuited to each other:"’ he was confounded at what he thought her impudence, and an⯑ſwered very gravely, that ‘"The Ba⯑ron was the beſt judge:" "Not at all," replied Madame Franzel, "parents are partial judges: but, I hope, the whole world will ſee how perfectly they are matched. I wonder, ſir! ſaid ſhe, if they have dreamed of one an⯑other."’ The more Madame Franzel [52] went on with her good-humoured re⯑flections, the more aſtoniſhed Ho⯑greſten was; for almoſt every thing ſhe ſaid, appeared to him as a double entendre, as he ſuſpected that her ſon had paſſed the night in Cecil's room, and imagined he was ſure of it. He then thought ſhe intended to encou⯑rage a tendre in him for herſelf; and the rectitude of honor prompted him to confeſs, that his heart was pre-engaged. Ten thouſand romantic no⯑tions crowded upon his mind; and he was preparing to make her a long ſpeech, while ſhe was waiting for his anſwers. I would hold up, had I time, [53] Hogreſten's indignation, as a good leſſon for all my friends, to teach them not to fly too much from ſociety: for imagination in ſolitude, becomes a magnifying glaſs, and repreſents com⯑mon occurrences in ſuch a light, that a perſon who has lived in ſociety, con⯑verſing with one who has aſſociated only with books, appears as a com⯑poſition of levity and inconſequence. Poor Madame Franzel little thought that Hogreſten was ſhocked by what he thought the indecency of her con⯑verſation: ſhe was indeed ſurpriſed at his looks, and meant to have aſked the meaning of them, and his ſilence; [54] but her ſon's flying into the room, with more than his uſual ſpirits, put an end to the Tete a Tete; he had not been long there before the Baron came, and ſoon after Cecil, who turned pale as ſhe ſat down.

At hearing Madame Franzel's coach drive up to the door, I leave to thoſe who love to recollect their firſt paſſion, to imagine what Cecil felt who had been ſurpriſed into her's, and had ex⯑perienced all its moſt pleaſing effects; and knew from her father's diſcourſe, that in all probability, when that coach went away from his door, every thing [55] dear and delightful would be conveyed away in it, perhaps never to be within her reach again. I leave all her pain⯑ful ideas to be imagined, and ſhall only ſay, ſhe never dared look young Franzel in the face during the whole breakfaſt: her father thought it through obedience; Madame Franzel thought it modeſty; her ſon was ſure of it, and ſo am I too.

Madame Franzel ſhortened the breakfaſt as much as poſſible, to the no ſmall ſatisfaction of all parties: the Baron longed to ſee his company depart; Madame Franzel to ſpeak in [56] private to him; her ſon to his miſtreſs: and the various wiſhes and fears of the whole party, made the breakfaſt as ſtu⯑pid as poſſible. Madame Franzel begged to paſs into another room with the Baron; and Franzel and Cecil walked up to the window together, where we will leave them looking a language, which eyes alone can ſpeak; and fol⯑low the Baron, who expecting to be aſked for money, drew a chair civily towards Madame Franzel, and deſired her to be ſeated, as is the cuſtom, I am told, for a debtor to his creditor. She with a careleſs eaſe peculiar to herſelf, propoſed the union between the two [57] young people. Provoked at her man⯑ner, as much as at her propoſal, the Baron ſaid haſtily, ‘"Mention it no more, Madame, the thing is impoſſi⯑ble."’

‘"Impoſſible, Sir! what reaſons can you have to allege?"—’

‘"Reaſons! reaſons! (repeated the Baron, loud enough to be heard in the adjoining room) reaſons, I have five hundred at leaſt." "Five hundred, Sir!"’

‘"Yes, Madame; and leaſt you doubt them, I will ſhew you a few of them."’

[58] Now, if I had the pencil of Sir Joſhua Reynolds, with his method of uſing it, I would draw the figure of the Baron, who with a bitter ſmile upon his countenance moved a few paces back, and drew himſelf up in an exact poſture; and with his left hand ſtuck upon his hip, diſplayed his right hand, waving it round, pointing to the pictures of his anceſtors. After a long pauſe, which only made Ma⯑dame Franzel ſtare at him: ‘"There, there, Madame!"—"Are theſe your reaſons, Sir?" ſaid ſhe. "Yes, Ma⯑dame," he replied, enraged at her placid ſmile: "Yes, Madame, and [59] heaven forbid my daughter ſhould make my anceſtors bluſh by her diſ⯑gracing them."’

‘"I dare ſay, Sir," ſaid Madame Franzel, whoſe ſenſe by this time told her there were no hopes, "I dare ſay thoſe gentlemen and ladies would not be ſorry that their grand-daughter ſhould be able to waſh their faces with ſome of a farmer-general's ſoap: however, I take my leave of them," ſaid ſhe, curtſying all round. "Come, Baron," added ſhe, recollecting her⯑ſelf, "let us ſtill be friends, time may alter your way of thinking." "Oh! [60] never, never, Madame," ſaid he, ſha⯑king with anger the hand he had taken; "I wiſh you a good journey, hope you will have fine weather, &c. &c. &c."’ With like compliments they walked up to the young people, who had, I ſuppoſe, agreed better in their con⯑verſation; Madame Franzel kiſſed Cecil, who returned her kiſſes with a truly filial ſorrow; and, who kept her eyes fixed on the coach, till ſhe could ſee it no more; nor dared ſhe take a parting look at young Franzel, leaſt the tears that ſtood trembling on her eyelids, ſhould force their way down her cheeks.

[61] When they were gone, and many hours were paſſed, Cecil experienced a ſurpriſe unknown to her before; ſhe fell giddy with the rapidity, with which love, its conſequences, and the loſs of her univerſe, had followed each other.

Juſtly may I ſay her univerſe, yes, her ſoul; for young Franzel employed every corner of her heart; and this idea was become the principle of her exiſtence. Therefore, when upon re⯑collection ſhe was ſure he was gone, a horrible ſtilneſs ſeemed to reign around, and ſhe became nearly as [62] inanimate as one of the canvas an⯑ceſtors! It was not till after ſupper was over, that ſhe was rouzed from this ſituation, by her father's aſking her and Hogreſten to gueſs, if poſſi⯑ble, what propoſal Madame Franzel had made to him before her depar⯑ture: they both anſwered, they could not tell, though they both more than doubted of what was coming. The Baron enlarged, and expatiated upon the inſolence of ſuch a propoſal, while Cecil bluſhed and ſighed by turns.

Two days after, Madame Franzel wrote to Cecil, who unfortunately re⯑ceived [63] the letter at dinner; not that Madame Franzel meant that her letter ſhould have been a myſtery; but her ſon had incloſed in it a note, which the Baron perceived, and inſiſted on reading together with the letter. The note was as follows:

I have already ſaid that young Fran⯑zel's character was impetuous, ſincere, and open too: he could form no ſcheme, but he looked upon Cecil as his wife; and if his firſt letter was la⯑conic, at leaſt it was to the purpoſe. The Baron's rage was not to be de⯑ſcribed. The heavenly ties, made him imagine, they were married pri⯑vately.—Where! how! by whom! where! theſe were the only words he uttered for ſome time; while Cecil [65] ſat petrified with fear. And Hogreſ⯑ten then thought it a lucky moment to ingratiate himſelf into her favor. ‘"Retire, fair creature!" ſaid he, rai⯑ſing her from her feat; "retire into your chamber, while I unravel this myſtery."’ She hurried away, but wondered how he could unravel it.

Hogreſten doubted now no more that his ſuſpicions were true; and he paſſed ſeveral hours with the Baron, ſighing, lamenting, execrating his ſtars, that he but too well knew the mean⯑ing of the ties young Franzel menti⯑oned. ‘"And dear Sir, added he, [66] artfully, ſo much have I the honor of my family at heart, that I am ready to take her, and—."’ Here the Ba⯑ron, who ſtill thought ſhe was married to young Franzel, made him enter into a detail of that fatal night. And ſtrange to tell, his family pride was a little comforted, by finding that the ties which had alarmed him ſo much, were not ſacred, though heavenly: and he thought young Franzel's wearing his daughter's favors, did not ſignify, ſo as ſhe did not wear his name.

He embraced his generous couſin who would marry his daughter; and, [67] I believe, they were the only two men exiſting, who were glad that their young female relation ſhould not be married to a man who had paſſed the night in her room.

Hogreſten ſent the old houſe-keeper the next day, to aſk an audience of Cecil. He took uncommon pains at his toilet; his nine hairs of a ſide were curled, nay, they were powdered too; he put on a pair of ſilk ſtockings, on two legs that had no calves to them; and a ſmile upon a face that had no dimples or cheeks to boaſt of.

[68] Alas! poor man, he little dreamed that his ſtars were as croſs-grained in love, as in war! by the rules of which, or thoſe of chivalry, he car⯑ried on all his operations: therefore, to frighten Cecil firſt, and then make his own terms, he, without heſitation, told her that her father knew, that young Franzel had paſſed the night in her room. A moment's reflection con⯑vinced her that was not true; love in⯑ſpired her with courage, and brought back her uſual flow of ſpirits: ſhe therefore, ironically, only ſaid, ‘"Aye, indeed, upon my word;"’ and like in⯑terjections, as he pauſed now and then: [69] for though he had made a ſpeech, her looks, which were arch and malicious, deranged it very much. He ended all he had to ſay, by flinging himſelf proſtrate at her feet; ſhe aroſe, and tripping as light as air to the door, which ſhe held open, ſhe looked back and ſaid, ‘"I am exceedingly obliged to you, for telling me that you will protect my honor, which in the ſame breath you inform me I have loſt; but, I have lent it for a little time, to the only perſon I ſhall ever truſt it with: ſo adieu, generous couſin."’

[70] Her father had liſtened at the door to all their converſation; and her laſt words exaſperated him ſo highly, that he led her by the hand into an adjoin⯑ing room, which he told her ſhould be her priſon till ſhe conſented to be Madame Hogreſten.

This was a large room that had only two windows, which were ſo near the ceiling, that it was impoſſible for any one to reach them, even by getting upon the chairs or tables: Cecil, hear⯑ing her father turn the key, ſighed heavily upon looking up at theſe win⯑dows, and in heart reproached all the [71] anceſtors which, as uſual, covered the whole ſides of the room; ‘"Horrid wretches, ſaid ſhe, it is for your ſakes, I am thus treated."’ The next day being Sunday, the curate dined at the caſtle, to whom the Baron complained of his daughter's obſtinacy: the cu⯑rate ſaid, ‘"He thought piety might work a proper effect;"’ the Baron de⯑ſired him to try. When Cecil ſaw him, ſhe very cleverly thought of a ſtratagem to make him her friend; ſhe aſſured him, ſhe was married to young Franzel; and that, if he would pre⯑vent murder, he would convey a let⯑ter to him, and not diſcloſe the mar⯑riage to her father.

[72] The curate thinking that no part of Scripture ſhould be unfulfilled (and I beg my reader will juſt look over that part of it relative to matrimony, as I have not time to tranſcribe it) conveyed the letter to young Franzel, who, in his uſual impetuous way, an⯑ſwered, that he ſhould, after ſuch a night (naming it) paſs every ſucceeding one in waiting round the caſtle, or under the windows of the room ſhe was locked up in, and receive her in his arms, ‘"the only place," added he in his letter, "where you can be ſafe from perſecution."’ That is very true, thought the young Cecil, as ſhe read [73] thoſe words: but how to get there, is the dilemma. She begged to ſpeak with the curate, whom ſhe deſired to ſhew young Franzel, who was on the outſide of the caſtle, the two unfortu⯑nate windows, ‘"which, ſaid ſhe, my good father, I ſee no poſſibility of reaching: if once I could get at them, the ter⯑race on the outſide comes up ſo high, that I could jump down without hurting myſelf."’ The curate with a true cleri⯑cal prudence aſſured her, that, though he would ſhew her huſband the windows from the outſide, he could by no means aid or aſſiſt her reaching them [74] on the inſide; his conſcienceThis German curate had probably the ſame kind of conſcience that the Paris ſhop⯑keepers have,—applied to every thing, and ſtretching to fit every thing. not per⯑mitting him to incur the Baron's anger. Cecil again, before he quitted her, made him promiſe to execute that part of his commiſſion that would not of⯑fend his conſcience.

When every thing was ſtill in the houſe, ſhe tried to heap the chairs upon the table, the bed-clothes upon them; but all would not do to reach half way up this horrid room, which [75] was ſo high, that ſhe deſpaired ever getting up to the windows. She went to bed at laſt, and wept herſelf to ſleep: ſhe dreamed of her lover, and that all the pictures in the room fell down: ſhe waked thinking of them; and draw⯑ing aſide her curtains, ſhe looked ear⯑neſtly at them for ſome time. At laſt, with much ruminating and reflection, ſtill looking by turns at the windows and the pictures, a thought ſtruck her: ſhe aroſe, ſent for the Baron, and told him, that ſhe could not bear to ſee her honored parents ſo neglected: ‘"Ob⯑ſerve, Sir, ſaid ſhe, how the duſt hides the reſpectable faces of thoſe that hang [76] uppermoſt: might I be permitted a lad⯑der to take them down, and have a little ſoap and water to clean them with?"’ If it was the word Soap that was diſagreeable to the Baron's ear, or that it brought to his mind Madame Franzel; Madame Franzel, her ſon; and her ſon, the ladder; I know not: but he heſitated ſome time, and then conſented. He brought the ladder himſelf in; he mounted it, and took down above fifty parents armed and not armed, of all ages and titles; and as he took them down, he ranged them according to their deſcent upon the floor againſt the wall, all round the [77] room. Delightful occupation! He grew an inch taller at every great action he recited: for he told the hiſtory of each of their lives ſeparately to Cecil, who liſtened with compla⯑cency: only the Baron obſerved, that her eyes were turned often towards the windows, which, as there was no view out of them, made him ſtrongly ſuſpect ſhe had the ladder in view too. The evening ſurpriſed them in their occupations. Hogreſten came to par⯑take of the amuſement, and inform the Baron, that dinner had waited a long time. The Baron, after having ordered the ladder out of the room, [78] quitted it, ſaying, ‘"I ſhall return to ſee the progreſs of your work, Cecil: and may your occupation remind you of your exalted birth: and may theſe reſpectable perſonages teach you your duty." "I intend they ſhall be my aid and ſupport in future, indeed," re⯑plied ſhe.’

As ſoon as the Baron was gone, Ce⯑cil, ſtill locked in, waſhed ſeveral more of her anceſtors faces, ‘"Ah! cried ſhe every now and then, Grim Gentry, who have been the cauſe of ſo many a tear; you ſhall once in my life, make up to me for all the ſorrow you have occaſioned."’

[79] Soon after dinner, the Baron re⯑turned with the ladder, which he took great care to have conveyed out at night again; though on purpoſe to confirm his ſuſpicions, ſhe deſired it might remain.

She could not refuſe herſelf the ma⯑licious pleaſure that evening, of en⯑couraging Hogreſten's awkward ad⯑dreſſes; ſhe promiſed her father to marry him. She was all gaiety, though every now and then, the Baron ſuſ⯑pected a little, and Hogreſten much more, that ſhe was diverting herſelf at the expence of all her relations, [80] both dead and living: at laſt, night came; ſhe permitted Hogreſten to kiſs her hand, and ſaid, as her father went out, ‘"that ſhe was not at all afraid of ſleeping in ſo large a room, with ſo much good company,"’ pointing to the pictures: locked in, ſhe waited till ſhe thought every one aſleep; then flew to her honored anceſtors, and without regard to precedency, or decency, ſhe heaped grand-fathers on grand⯑mothers; knights on old maiden aunts; he couſins bearing armour on ſhe cou⯑ſins bearing diſtaffs. In her hurry, in⯑deed, now and then, ſhe ſubverted the order of things; ſhe made by turns, [81] the ladies ſupport the gentlemen, and the gentlemen the ladies; here a fa⯑ther's head reſted on a daughter's feet; there a mother's face met a ſon's buſkins; ſharp-pointed ſlippers rubbed againſt flowing perukes; coifs and pinners were joined to long necked ſpurs.—In ſhort, heads and tails were jumbled together, and parts never in⯑tended by nature or good manners to meet, kiſſed each other. Thus, one by one, the noble family, as faſt as ſhe could heap them upon each other, made a pile which reached to the win⯑dows: ‘"Adieu Meſſieurs et Meſdames,'’ ſaid ſhe, as ſhe ſprung out of the win⯑dow [82] into her handſome Frederic's arms; where we will leave her. Can we diſpoſe of her better?

In the morning, the Baron came into the fatal room, where he ſaw by the pile of canvas, and the mark of Cecil's ſmall heel, that had pierced through the once bright eye of a Ger⯑man aunt and counteſs.—He ſaw, I ſay, that Cecil's anceſtors had in⯑deed been, as ſhe promiſed, her aid. Rage took from him the power of ſpeech for ſome hours; but a little time, made him return to all the daily [83] occupations which had diſtinguiſhed the Baron before.

Hogreſten returned to his books, to find out ſome knight-errant more un⯑unfortunate than himſelf. And we need not add, that Madame Franzel was happy, and made happy her chil⯑dren, who always ſpoke of their an⯑ceſtors with the gratitude due to them.

May all thoſe who approve of the pictures I have drawn, receive as much ſatisfaction from thoſe of their family, as did the fair Cecil from her's. The much loved Franzel's conduct making [84] her thank heaven, that ſhe deſcended from ſuch an illuſtrious and nume⯑rous race of Kinkvervankotſdarſpra⯑kengotchderns.