"My mother had a maid, called Barbara;
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it."
"My mother had a maid, called Barbara;
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it."
"My mother had a maid, called Barbara;
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it."
"My mother had a maid, called Barbara;
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it."
"My mother had a maid, called Barbara;
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it."
I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet "rule the roast," in the ancient empire of the Tibbetses! She is not fit to battle with hard hearts or hard times. She was, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, who was proud of the beauty of her child, and brought her up more tenderly than a village girl ought to be; and ever since she has been left an orphan, the good ladies at the Hall have completed the softening and spoiling of her.
I have recently observed her holding long conferences in the churchyard, and up and down one of the lanes near the village, with Slingsby the schoolmaster. I at first thought the pedagogue might be touched with the tender malady so prevalent in these parts of late; but I did him injustice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, was a friend and crony of her late father, the parish clerk; and is on intimate terms with the Tibbets family. Prompted, therefore, by his good-will towards all parties, and secretly instigated, perhaps, by the managing dame Tibbets, he has undertaken to talk with Phoebe upon the subject. He gives her, however, but little encouragement. Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the aristocratical feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Phoebe were even to make the matter up with the son, she would find the father totally hostile to the match. The poor damsel, therefore, is reduced almost to despair; and Slingsby, who is too good-natured not to sympathise in her distress, has advised her to give up all thoughts of young Jack, and has promised as a substitute his learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in the fulness of his heart, offered to give up the school-house to them, though it would leave him once more adrift in the wide world.