“Et toi, Laurette! es-tu folle?”

“Ah de grace, madame! c’est un si brave garçon!” And outrageous as the union seemed, as incongruous as a match between Caliban and Ariel, the lovers persevered, and the lady, half provoked and half amused, consented; and at the month’s end they were married, with as fair a prospect of happiness as any couple in the parish.

Part II

Adam stokes in his married state

When last I had seen Master Stokes the fisherman, in his bachelor condition, it was in the week when February ends and March begins, when the weather was as bluff and boisterous as his own bluff and boisterous self; when the velvet buds were just sprouting on the sallow, the tufted tassels hanging from the hazel, and the early violet and “rathe primrose” peeping timidly forth from sunny banks and sheltered crevices, as if still half afraid to brave the stormy sky.

The next time that I passed by the banks of the Kennet was in the lovely season which just precedes the merry month of May. The weather was soft and balmy, the sky bright above, the earth fair below; the turf by the roadside was powdered with daisies, the budding hedgerows gay with the white ochil, the pansy, and the wild geranium; the orchards hung with their own garlands of fruit-blossoms, waving over seas of golden daffodils; the coppice tapestried with pansies, ground-ivy, and wood-anemone, whilst patches of the delicate wood-sorrel were springing under the holly brake and from the roots of old beech- trees; and the meadows were literally painted with cowslips, orchises, the brilliant flowers of the water- ranunculus, the chequered fritillary, and the enamelled wild hyacinth. The river went dancing and sparkling along, giving back in all its freshness the tender green of the landscape, and the bright and sunny sky; birds were singing in every bush; bees and butterflies were on the wing, and myriads of water-insects added their pleasant sound to all the general harmony of nature. It was spring in all its loveliness, and never is spring more lovely than in our Kennet meadows.

The fisherman’s hut did not disgrace the beauty of the picture. The white cottage, nested in the green bank, with its hanging garden full of stocks and wall-flowers, its blooming orchard, and its thin wreath of grey smoke sailing up the precipitous hill, and lost amid the overhanging trees, looked like the very emblem of peace and comfort. Adam and his dog Neptune were standing in the boat, which Master Stokes’s stout arm was pushing from shore with a long pole, nodding a farewell to his wife, and roaring at the top of his stentorian voice his favourite stave of “Rule Britannia”; Laurette, on her part, was seated at the open door of the cottage, trim as a bride, with her silk gown, her large ear-rings, her high comb and her pretty apron, her dress contrasting strangely with her employment, which was no other than darning her husband’s ponderous and unwieldy hose, but with a face radiant with happiness and gaiety, as her light and airy voice sung the light and airy burden of a song in high favour among the soubrettes of Paris.

“C’est l’amour, l’amour, l’amour,” came ringing across the water in every pause of her husband’s mighty and patriotic chant, mingled with the shrill notes of Ned, who was birds’-nesting on the hillside, peeping into every furze bush for the five speckled eggs of the grey linnet and whistling, “Oh no, we never mention her,” with all his might.

It was a curious combination, certainly, and yet one that seemed to me to give token of much happiness; and on questioning my friend Mrs. Talbot, the charming Queen of the Dahlias frankly admitted, that however it might turn out eventually, Laurette’s match did at present appear to have produced more comfort to both parties than could have been anticipated from so preposterous a union. “Adam adores her,” pursued Mrs. Talbot, “spends all the money he can come by in sailor-like finery, red ribbons, and yellow gowns,