mand satisfaction.

So, now take your choice, says she--
Either fight or marry me.

Said he, Madam, pray, what mean ye?
In my life I ne'er have seen ye,
Pray, unmask, your visage show,
Then I'll tell you, ay or no.

_Lady_. I shall not my face uncover
Till the marriage rites are over.
Therefore, take you which you will--
Wed me, sir, or try your skill.

Benjamin Child retires to consult with his friend, who advises him--

If my judgment may be trusted,
Wed her, man: you can't be worsted.
If she's rich, you rise in fame;
If she's poor, you are the same.

This advice, coupled perhaps with the figure and appearance of his
challenger, and the family coach in the background, prevails, and the
two young men and the masked ladies drive to Tilchurst parish church,
where the priest is waiting. After the ceremony the bride,

With a courteous, kind behavior,
Did present his friend a favor:
Then she did dismiss him straight,
That he might no longer wait.

They then drive, the bride still masked, to Calcott House, where he is
left alone in a fair parlor for two hours, till

He began to grieve at last,
For he had not broke his fast.

Then the steward appears and asks his business, and

There was peeping, laughing, jeering,
All within the lawyer's hearing;
But his bride he could not see.
"Would I were at home!" said he.

At last the denouement comes. The lady of the house appears and
addresses him:

_Lady_. Sir, my servants have related
That some hours you have waited
In my parlor. Tell me who
In this house you ever knew?

_Gentleman_. Madam, if I have offended
It is more than I intended.
A young lady brought me here.
"That is true," said she, "my dear."

His challenger was the heiress of Calcott, where he lived with her for
many years; and

Now he's clothed in rich attire,
Not inferior to a squire.
Beauty, honor, riches, store!
What can man desire more?

They had two daughters, through one of whom the property has descended
to the Blagraves, the present owners.

And so ends the story of "The Berkshire Lady," and if it should meet
the eye of your accomplished contributor I trust she will for ever
hereafter give up all claim on behalf of Lady Mary Hay.

Perhaps, too, some of your readers may be led to visit the scene
of these doings if they ever come to wander about the old country.
Reading is only an hour from London now-a-day