The Monthly Review

as kind.' She has too it seems a charming artless character, a bewitching sweetness of manner,' and then, she is Irish by birth, and has in perfection the melting voice, and soft caressing accent, by which her fair countrywomen are distinguished. Moreover, she pretty--I think her beautiful.' 'A short but pleasing figure, all grace and symmetry, a fair blooming face, beaming with intelligence and good humour; the prettiest little feet, and the whitest hands in the world; such is Emily!' We had intended to take a walk with her on the banks of the Loddon, but, on reflection, we find it would be too dangerous an experiment. We observe, besides, that there is a stile to cross before we should arrive at the old house.' The thing is impossible. Green lanes, as we know, from Tremaine, are perilous enough; but to see the prettiest little feet in the world' crossing a stile, on such a day too-one of the balmiest of the fragrant June!-No-Miss Mitford must take charge of the young lady, and we know she will excuse us, as we are going to pay a visit to her 'Godfather.'

'He was that beautiful thing, a healthy and happy old man. Shakspeare, the master painter, has partly described him for me, in the words of old Adam,

"Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly."

Never was wintry day, with the 'sun smiling upon the icicles, so bright or so keen. At eighty-four, he had an unbent, vigorous person, a fresh colour, long, curling, milk-white hair, and regular features, lighted up by eyes as brilliant and as piercing as those of a hawk; his foot was 'as light his voice as clear, and his speech as joyous as at twenty. He had a life of mind, an alertness of spirit, a brilliant and unfading hilarity, which were to him, like the quick blood of youth. Time had been rather his friend than his foe; had stolen nothing as far as I could discover; and had given such a license to his jokes and his humour, that he was when I knew him as privileged a person as a court-jester in days of yore. Perhaps he was always so; for, independently of fortune and station, high animal spirits, invincible good humour, and a certain bustling officiousness, are pretty sure to make their way in the world, especially when they seek only for petty distinctions. He was always the first personage of his small circle; president of half the clubs in the neighbourhood; steward to the races; chairman of the bench; father of the corporation; and would undoubtedly have been member for the town, if that ancient borough had not had the ill luck to be disfranchised in some stormy period of our national history.'-pp. 251, 252.

The peculiar delight of our Godfather' consisted, however, in match-making. He lived in a small town in the North, and had a hand in every matrimonial speculation, that for the last forty years had been carried into effect, or broken off, within twenty miles of his residence. One of his exploits in this way is admirably told by Miss Mitford. We cannot afford room for the whole of it, and therefore we must premise that the principal subjects of it were a

Miss Reid, and a Miss Hervey. The latter was an orphan heiress of considerable fortune and beauty; the former was her governess; a tall, awkward woman, raw-boned, lank, and huge, just what one fancies a man would be in petticoats.' She completely ruled her pupil, and frustrated many attempts which the Godfather made to get Miss Hervey, who was a kinswoman of his own, happily married. Chance, however, assisted his projects. The curate of the parish was a Mr. Morris- an uncouth, gawky, lengthy man, with an astounding Westmoreland dialect, and a most portentous laugh. Really his ha! ha! ha! was quite a shock to the nerves-a sort of oral shower-bath.' He was a widower, with only one son, Edward Morris, and it so happened that the father, in his way, paid his addresses to Miss Reid, while the son contrived to get over head and ears in love with Miss Hervey.

Affairs were in this position, when one night just at going to bed, my good godfather, with a little air of mystery, (no uncommon preparation to his most trifling plans), made an appointment to walk with me before breakfast, as far as a pet farm about a mile out of the town, the superintendence of which was one of his greatest amusements. Early the next morning, the housemaid, who usually attended me, made her appearance, and told me that her master was waiting for me, that I must make haste, and that he desired I would be smart, as he expected a party to breakfast at the farm. This sort of injunction is seldom thrown away on a damsel of eighteen; accordingly, I adjusted, with all dispatch, a new blue silk pelisse, and sallied forth into the corridor, which I heard him pacing as impatiently as might be. There, to my no small consternation, instead of the usual gallant compliments of the most gallant of godfathers, I was received with very disapproving glances: told that I looked like an old woman in that dowdy-coloured pelisse, and conjured to exchange it for a white gown. Half affronted, I nevertheless obeyed; doffed the pelisse, and donned the white gown, as ordered: and being greeted this time with a bright smile, and a chuck under the chin, we set out in high good humour on our expedition.

Instead, however, of proceeding straight to the farm, Mr. Evelyn made a slight deviation from our course, turning down the market place, and into the warehouse of a certain Mrs. Bennet, milliner and mantua-maker, a dashing over-dressed dame, who presided over the fashions for ten miles round, and marshalled a compter full of caps and bonnets at one side of the shop, while her husband, an obsequious civil bowing tradesman, dealt out gloves and stockings at the other. A little dark parlour behind was common to both. Into this den, was I ushered; and Mrs. Bennet, with many apologies, began, at a signal from my godfather, to divest me of all my superfluous blueness, silk handkerchief, sash and wrist-ribbons, (for with the constancy which is born of opposition, I had, in relinquishing my obnoxious pelisse, clung firmly to the obnoxious colour), replacing them by white satin ribbons and a beautiful white shawl; and, finally, exchanging my straw bonnet for one of white silk, with a deep lace veil—that piece of delicate finery which all women delight in. Whilst I was now admiring the richness of the genuine Brussels point, and now looking at myself in a little glass which Mrs. Bennet was holding to my face, for the better dis

play of her millinery-the bonnet, to do her justice, was pretty and becoming, during this engrossing contemplation, her smooth silky husband crept behind me with the stealthy pace of a cat, and relying, as it seems, on my pre-occupation, actually drew my York-tan gloves from my astonished hands, and substituted a pair of his own best white kid. ration being completed, my godpapa, putting his forefinger to his lip in token of secrecy, hurried me, with a look of great triumph, from the shop.

This ope

He walked at a rapid pace; and, between quick motion and amazement, I was too much out of breath to utter a word, till we had passed the old gothic castle at the end of the town, and crossed the long bridge that spans its wide and winding river. I then rained questions on my dear old friend, who chuckled and nodded, and vented two or three half-laughs, but vouchsafed nothing tending to a reply. At length, we came to a spot where the road turned suddenly to the left, (the way to the farm), whilst, right before us, rose a knoll, on which stood the church, a large, heavy, massive building, almost a cathedral, finely relieved by the range of woody hills which shut in the landscape. A turning gate, with a tall straight cypress on either side, led into the churchyard; and through this gate Mr. Evelyn passed. The church-door was a little a-jar, and, through the crevice, was seen peeping the long red nose of the old clerk, a Bardolphian personage, to whom my godfather, who loved to oblige people in their own way, sometimes did the questionable service of clearing off his score at the Greyhound; his red nose and a skirt of his shabby black coat, peeped through the porch; whilst, behind one of the buttresses, glimmered, for an instant, the white drapery of a female figure. I did not need these indications to convince me that a wedding was the object in view; that had been certain from the first cashiering of my blue ribbons; but I was still at a loss, as to the parties; and felt quite relieved by Mr. Evelyn's question, "Pray, my dear, were you ever a bride's-maid?"---since, in the extremity of my perplexity, I had had something like an apprehension that an unknown beau might appear at the call of this mighty manager, and I be destined to play the part of bride myself. Comforted to find that I was only to enact the confidante, I had now leisure to be exceedingly curious as to my prima donna. My curiosity was speedily gratified.

'On entering the church, we had found only a neighbouring clergyman, not Mr. Morris, at the altar; and, looking round at the opening of another door, I perceived the worthy curate in a jetty clerical suit, bristling with newness, leading Miss Reid, be-flounced and be-scarfed and be-veiled and be-plumed, and all in a flutter of bridal finery, in great state, up the aisle. Mr. Evelyn advanced to meet them, took the lady's fair hand from Mr. Morris, and led her along with all the grace of an old courtier; I fell into the procession at the proper place; the amiable pair were duly married, and I thought my office over. I was never more mistaken in my life.

'In the midst of the customary confusion of kissing and wishing joy, and writing and signing registers and certificates, which form so important and disagreeable a part of that disagreeable and important ceremony, Mr. Evelyn had vanished; and just as the bride was inquiring for him, with the intention of leaving the church, he reappeared, through the very same side-door which had admitted the first happy couple, leading Lucy Hervey, and followed by Edward Morris. The father evidently expected them; the new step-mother as evidently did not. Never did a thief, taken

in the manor, seem more astonished than that sage gouvernante! Lucy on her part, blushed and hung back, and looked shyer and prettier than ever; the old clerk grinned; the clergyman, who had shewn some symptoms of astonishment at the first wedding, now smiled to Mr. Evelyn, as if this accounted, and made amends for it; whilst the dear godpapa himself chuckled and nodded and rubbed his hands, and chucked both bride and bride's-maid under the chin, and seemed ready to cut capers for joy. Again the book was opened at the page of destiny; again I held the milkwhite glove; and after nine years of unsuccessful manoeuvring, my cousin Lucy was married. It was undoubtedly the most triumphant event of the good old man's life; and I don't believe that either couple ever saw cause to regret the dexterity in the art of match-making which produced their double union. They have been as happy as people usually are in this work-a-day world, especially the young mathematician and his pretty wife; and their wedding-day is still remembered in W.; for besides his munificence to singer, ringer, sexton, and clerk, Mr. Evelyn roasted two sheep on the occasion, gave away ten bride cakes, and made the whole town tipsy.---pp. 292---296.

From these extracts the reader can form no other than a favourable opinion of Miss Mitford's second volume. We may assure him that he will find it an extremely delightful book, in its way, and that he may turn its pages over and over again without being tired of them.

NOTICES.

ART. X. An Edict of Diocletian, fixing a Maximum of Prices throughout the Roman Empire. A. D. 303. 8vo. pp. 42. London. Murray. 1826.

FOR the publication of this curious document we are indebted to Colonel Leake, to whose Journal of a Tour in Asia Minor* it forms an appropriate and valuable addition. He appears to have framed it from a lithographic copy of the Latin inscription of Stratoniceia, described in his work, which was made out by Mr. W. Bankes, and from the tracing of another inscription, brought to England by Mr. Vescovali, of Rome, and taken from a stone which he found in the possession of a gentleman who had been travelling in the Levant. We are not told in what particular spot the latter stone was discovered, but the inscription upon it evidently forms a portion of the same imperial edict which Mr. Bankes transcribed at Stratoniceia, (Eskihissár), that portion consisting of the first two-thirds of the ordinance, which precede the catalogue of commodities and prices according to the maximum established by it. These happen to be the very parts of the inscription which were most defective in Mr. Bankes's copy, and though the entire decree has not yet been obtained, we probably have at present as much of it as is ever likely to be recovered. We are in possession at least

* See the Monthly Review, vol. civ., p. 411, former series.

of a sufficient portion of it for the gratification of that laudable curiosity, which is so active and so successful in these times in exploring the ruins of antiquity. We shall select from the catalogue a few of the items enumerated in it, together with the prices affixed to them; Colonel Leake will explain the description of measures and money in use at the time.

'The measures used in the Catalogue are the pound, the modius, the sextarius, the cubit, and the digit. The pound was about three-fourths of the English avoirdupois; the modius was something more than an English peck; the sextarius was equal to about a pint and a half English; the cubit, divided into twenty-four digits, consisted of a foot and a half, the Roman foot being four-tenths of an inch less than the English. As to the denarius-the money in which the prices are stated-the Catalogue furnishes a curious evidence of its great depreciation in the time of Diocletian. Before the age of Augustus the denarius was one-seventh of a Roman ounce of silver, and was considered equal in value to the Attic drachma, which weighs sixty-five grains troy; it was therefore intrinsically equivalent to near three-fourths of a shilling of our silver currency of 66 shillings to the pound troy. In the second century of the Empire, the average price of butchers' meat at Rome was about two denarii the pound: from the present document we cannot suppose that, about the year 300, beef and mutton in the most plentiful times were less than four denarii the pound; the prices here mentioned being the maximum in time of scarcity, beyond which it was unlawful to sell.'-p. 29.

(Oil of the first quality called) Olei flos (flower of oil)