niece or daughter was per favour allowed to reside with her at Brookwood--
this girl, I need scarcely say, was the Monimia of the novel, nor was her
Orlando a feigned character, although a highly-ornamented one; in truth,
alas! for the shadowy beauty of romance, alas! for the spell of gorgeous
poesy, he was not more made for a hero than was Dulcinea del Toboso for a
heroine, being _the young butcher of the village_!! "Often and often,"
said the intelligent friend who favoured me with the account, "has he
supplied our family with meat when we resided at Brookwood, and the
beautiful Monimia, his wife, is only slightly disfigured by an interesting
_squint_." The same friend who had frequently rambled over the house, part
of which is now pulled down, spoke of it thus: "It was what I term an
ancient _Vandyked_ building, in toto an old manor-house; the exterior had
a castellated appearance, nor had the interior much less, with its dim
vasty apartments, sliding panels for the secretion of treasure, and secret
passages; in one of the chambers is a closet, wherein part of the boarding
of the floor is made to slide, and when moved, reveals a kind of vault,
the descent down which is by a long narrow flight of steps; use is made of
this, I think, in 'The Old Manor House,' but some friends of mine who went
down discovered nothing but a gloomy kind of den, not capable of
containing more than six persons standing, and nearly filled with
_oyster-shells_. Do you recollect," continued my friend, "in which of
Charlotte Smith's novels it is that she describes an eccentric old
gentleman manuring his ground with _wigs_? because the fact is, it
_really_ was done by such a one at Brookwood."--_New London Literary
Gazette_.

* * * * *


THE DELICACY OF THE MARIKINA.