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.”

“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 with gold buttons and loops;— is it not of an absolute fancy, Janet?”

“Nay, my lady,” replied Janet, “if you consult my poor judgment, it is, methinks, over-gaudy for a graceful habit.”

“Now, out upon thy judgment, if it be no brighter, wench,” said the Countess. “Thou shalt wear it thyself for penance’ sake; and I promise thee the gold buttons, being somewhat massive, will comfort thy father, and reconcile him to the cherry-coloured body. See that he snap them not away, Janet, and send them to bear company with the imprisoned angels which he keeps captive in his strong-box.”

“May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor father?” said Janet.

“Nay, but why should any one spare him that is so sparing of his own nature?” replied the lady.—“Well, but to our gear. That head garniture for myself, and that silver bodkin mounted with pearl; and take off two gowns of that russet cloth for Dorcas and Alison, Janet, to keep the old wretches warm against winter comes.— And stay — hast thou no perfumes and sweet bags, or any handsome casting bottles of the newest mode?”

“Were I a pedlar in earnest, I were a made merchant,” thought Wayland, as he busied himself to answer the demands which she thronged one on another, with the eagerness of a young lady who has been long secluded from such a pleasing occupation. “But how to bring her to a moment’s serious reflection?” Then as he exhibited his choicest collection of essences and perfumes, he at once arrested her attention by observing that these articles had almost risen to double value since the magnificent preparations made by the Earl of Leicester to entertain the Queen and court at his princely Castle of Kenilworth.

“Ha!” said the Countess hastily; “that rumour, then, is true, Janet.”

“Surely, madam,” answered Wayland; “and I marvel it hath not reached your noble ladyship’s ears. The Queen of England feasts with the noble Earl for a week during the Summer’s Progress; and there are many who will tell you England will have a king, and England’s Elizabeth — God save her!— a husband, ere the Progress be over.”

“They lie like villains!” said the Countess, bursting forth impatiently.

“For God’s sake, madam, consider,” said Janet, trembling with apprehension; “who would cumber themselves about pedlar’s tidings?”

“Yes, Janet!” exclaimed the Countess; “right, thou hast corrected me justly. Such reports, blighting the reputation of England’s brightest and noblest peer, can only find currency amongst the mean, the abject, and the infamous!”

“May I perish, lady,” said Wayland Smith, observing that her violence directed itself towards him, “if I have done anything to merit this strange passion! I have said but what many men say.”

By this time the Countess had recovered her composure, and endeavoured, alarmed by the anxious hints of Janet, to suppress all appearance of displeasure. “I were loath,” she said, “good fellow, that our Queen should change the virgin style so dear to us her people — think not of it.” And then, as if desirous to change the subject, she added, “And what is this paste, so carefully put up in the silver box?” as she examined the contents of a casket in which drugs and perfumes were contained in separate drawers.

“It is a remedy, Madam, for a disorder of which I trust your ladyship will never have reason to complain. The amount of a small turkey-bean, swallowed daily for a week, fortifies the heart against those black vapours which arise from solitude, melancholy, unrequited affection, disappointed hope —”

“Are you a fool, friend?” said the Countess sharply; “or do you think, because I have good-naturedly purchased your trumpery goods at your roguish prices, that you may put any gullery you will on me? Who ever heard that affections of the heart were cured by medicines given to the body?”

“Under your honourable favour,” said Wayland, “I am an honest man, and I have sold my goods at an honest price. As to this most precious medicine, when I told its qualities, I asked you not to purchase it, so why should I lie to you? I say not it will cure a rooted affection of the mind, which only God and time can do; but I say that this restorative relieves the black vapours which are engendered in the body of that melancholy which broodeth on the mind. I have relieved many with it, both in court and city, and of late one Master Edmund Tressilian, a worshipful gentleman in Cornwall, who, on some slight received, it was told me, where he had set his affections, was brought into that state of melancholy which made his friends alarmed for his life.”

He paused, and the lady remained silent for some time, and then asked, with a voice which she strove in vain to render firm and indifferent in its tone, “Is the gentleman you have mentioned perfectly recovered?”

“Passably, madam,” answered Wayland; “he hath at least no bodily complaint.”

“I will take some of the medicine, Janet,” said the Countess. “I too have sometimes that dark melancholy which overclouds the brain.”

“You shall not do so, madam,” said Janet; “who shall answer that this fellow vends what is wholesome?”

“I will myself warrant my good faith,” said Wayland; and taking a part of the medicine, he swallowed it before them. The Countess now bought what remained, a step to which Janet, by further objections, only determined her the more obstinately. She even took the first dose upon the instant, and professed to feel her heart lightened and her spirits augmented — a consequence which, in all probability, ex............