whom I had read of. I kept whispering to my mother, "Ask about Madame de Genlis." At last she did inquire after her, and I well remember the answer of the Duc de Montpensier. "I owe much to that artful woman." I was disappointed and shocked, for I thought if he owed her much he need not speak ill of her.

The Duc de Montpensier was in a consumption, and died not long after his tour in Wales.

Madame de Genlis lived to old age, and passed her last years as a boarder in a convent several miles from Paris. She used to boast that she could do twenty things, by any one of which she could earn a living, and to say that in an age of continual revolutions every one should be so prepared.

A

CHAPTER VIII.

CRABBE. BUXTON. JOANNA BAILLIE.

CURIOUS circumstance in the life of Crabbe

the poet, not mentioned in his biography, is connected with the inhabitants of one of my father's cottages. A widow lady and her two daughters lived there several years, and were very intimate with our family. One of the ladies was engaged to the poet, and was jilted by him when on the point of being married and having the wedding-breakfast at our house.

The beginning of the affair is as remarkable as its termination; so I will relate the whole. Miss Charlotte P., the accomplished daughter of a wealthy owner of mines in Cornwall, interested herself in those unhappy creatures whose lives are spent underground, and finding among them a romantic case of love and constancy, she sent the story to Mr. Crabbe, the popular poet of the day, considering it especially suited to his style of composition. He was pleased with the narrative and charmed by the letter which accompanied it. A very agreeable correspondence followed, which lasted several months. Miss P. was

engaged to be married, and her affianced was often at the house, and always read Crabbe's letters to her. He thought them nothing less than love-letters, and advised her to drop the correspondence. She laughed at the idea, and believed he had a wife living; her lover thought he was a widower, and insisted upon it that he was making love to Miss P. She would not agree to that, but was very ready to drop the correspondence. The very next letter from the aged poet was a declaration of love, and a proposal to visit her! Great was the rallying and joking which Miss P. had to endure. She was provoked with herself and the poet, and wished she had never sent him the story of the miner. She begged a friend who was staying with her, Miss Charlotte R., to write to Mr. Crabbe, and inform him of her engagement. The friend did so in the most kind and flattering way, and received a very remarkable

answer.

Mr. Crabbe was so much pleased with the friend's letter, that he transferred his proposals from the first Charlotte to the second; he was sure they were kindred spirits, and as he had not seen either lady, it would make no difference to him! This was too good a joke to be kept secret, and a large family party were greatly diverted by it. After all sorts of fun had been made of it, Charlotte the second was observed to look very

grave, and not to join in the diversion of the party. She gave them a second fit of astonishment by accepting the poet's offer, and appointing a meeting with him at the house of her aunt, in a neighboring county. They met, were mutually pleased, and parted betrothed to each other.

On her return home we were soon informed of her engagement to Mr. Crabbe, but were charged not to mention it before her mother. "Why not," was of course asked, and her reply was, "Because my mother is so old-fashioned that she would call my dear bard my sweetheart, and talk about courtship, and you know I could not bear that; it would be insupportable."

With all this nonsense she was sincerely attached to Mr. Crabbe, and kept up a brisk correspondence with him. At first she would read parts of his letters to me, and talk incessantly of him and his poems. She was very proud of her engagement to so celebrated a poet. After some months had elapsed, a time was fixed for the marriage, and then it was deferred by Mr. Crabbe for some slight reason. My father wrote to the "dear bard," and invited him to stay at his house when he should come to be married to Miss C. R., but received no reply. Charlotte looked unhappy, but still her preparations went on. I was asked to make up the wedding favors, which were bows of white satin ribbon, edged round with nar

row silver fringe; the white gloves were bought which were to be given to the wedding-guests; our cook had made the wedding-cake; when we were startled by the news that the match was broken off, and Charlotte was in fits.

It appeared afterwards that Crabbe's grown up sons convinced him of the folly of his conduct; he had long repented of his sudden engagement, and had tried by his correspondence so to displease the lady, as to make her break it off. She was resolved to have the éclat of marrying a celebrated poet, and would take no hints to the contrary. She was also in love with her old bard, and never recovered from her chagrin and sorrow. She died in a few years, and her family always believed that her life was shortened by this affair.

My most intimate friend from childhood to old age was a Miss H., who resided near London, and in her middle age she formed a great friendship for Mr. Crabbe. He was rector of a parish at Trowbridge, a few miles from the city of Bath, where Miss H. spent part of every winter and had much of her friend's company. Happening to be in Bath, I was invited to a ceremonious breakfast given by Miss H., and was much pleased with the idea of meeting several literary characters, and among them Mr. Crabbe; but before the day came, I was earnestly requested to stay away