Now, listen me! there are the cracters for an
'ideaed feckshin' in Barkington, and I'd write it, too, only I haven't
time."
At this, Julia, forgetting her resolution, broke out, "Romantic
characters in Barkington? Who? who?"
"Who _should_ they be, but my pashints? Ay, ye may lauch, Miss Julee, but
wait till ye see them." He was then seized with a fit of candour, and
admitted that some, even of his pashints, were colourless; indeed, not to
mince the matter, six or seven of that sacred band were nullity in
person. "I can compare the beggars to nothing," said he, "but the
globules of the Do-Nothings; dee----d insipid, and nothing in 'em. But
the others make up. Man alive, I've got 'a rosy-cheeked miser,' and an
'ill-used attorney,' and an 'honest Screw'--he is a gardener, with a head
like a cart-horse."
"Mamma! mamma! that is Mr. Maxley," cried Julia, clapping her hands, and
thawing in her own despite.
"Then there's my virgin martyr and my puppy. They are brother and sister;
and there's their father, but he is an impenetrable dog--won't unbosom.
Howiver, he sairves to draw chicks for the other two, and so keep 'em
goen.
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