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 formed him that they had left their lodgings before day-break, to go and live somewhere else: that Meta regretted much leaving that part of the town, and that she wept bitterly. “What! don’t you know whither they are gone?” asked Frank.—“Neither I, nor any one else,” was the answer: “her goods have been carried off by an entire stranger, and God knows where he has carried them; for my part I do not.”

To the most dreadful agony of despair, sweet hope succeeded on a sudden. “If they continue in Bremen,” thought the amorous youth, “I shall soon find them out.” He had noticed her regularity in going to hear mass every morning, and he accordingly went from church to church, chapel and convent, having scarce any other habitation. “If love can inspire talents, wherefore should it not also suggest devotion?” No sooner did Frank enter the house of God, than he would fall on his knees, and pray for the restoration of his Meta. One day, that his prayer no doubt had been more fervent than usual, as he was casting his inquisitive looks over the congregation, he descried, at a certain distance, a young person kneeling;—it was she!—it was Meta! who also prayed to heaven to be granted the high blessing of hearing again the dulcet notes of her former neighbour’s lute. When she rose from her devotions, she saw him, she met his eyes fixed upon her; she then cast down her’s with the blush of simplicity and innocence, and slowly proceeded to her new residence, whilst Frank, timid and respectful, as true lovers generally are, followed, without daring to accost her, for fear Dame Brigite should see him, and carry Meta to such a remote distance that he should be unable to find her again. He, therefore, hid himself, as well as he could, from that formidable Argus, which, indeed, cost him no little trouble. In order to lose no time, she did not always accompany her daughter to church, but she kept a watchful eye over her on her way to church and back home; Frank, accordingly, must be satisfied with seeing her read her prayers, hoping he came in for a share. Neither was he deceived: Meta, who always met his eyes turned towards her, and who found them no less eloquent than his lute, loved him more and more dearly, till at last she condescended to let her’s answer him in the same language.

Frank was not the only one who looked at, and found her handsome. A young brewer, a man in very good circumstances, and much inclined to get married, was in the habit of seeing her daily, and always imagined he could read in her countenance that she was possessed of those qualifications that are so desirable in a wife. “How modest she looks,” would he say to himself. “How much more so will she appear in the fine clothes I shall buy for her! Her piety will draw blessings from above on my brewery! How happy I shall be when I return home in the evening to drink some liquor of my own make in her company!—how—! how—!” The final result of all these exclamations was, that the young brewer made a vow of offering a huge wax taper to St. Christopher, in case he succeeded in his undertaking. He next put on his best suit; and as soon as he saw Meta passing by on her way to church, he went to speak to Dame Brigite. Agreeable to the custom of those days, all preliminary compliments being over, he very respectfully asked the mother for her daughter’s hand, and entered into a detail of all he possessed; namely, an extensive brewhouse, a fine town-house, a rich plantation of hops, a country residence, beautiful gardens, and a large fortune, which increased daily: he next spoke of elegant gowns, fine lace, and costly jewels, both for his intended bride and her mother. The little eyes of Dame Brigite sparkled when she heard of all those fineries, and at the idea of possessing a daughter deserving of them. At length her chimera was realized, she had found the son-in-law who was to restore her to her former comfortable situation: what made her still more happy in her mind was, that her daughter must like the man as much as she did herself; he was not thirty, but so comely in his person, so well made, and so rich, that he had been surnamed the “King of Hops,” and that all such mothers as had girls to dispose of, always curtseyed very low to him wherever they met him, in hopes of getting the preference.

 No. 65.—Vol. X.