glory must be at the market-stall; she must have been born and bred a market-woman. Further on, there sits a melancholy and original old lady, proprietress of a heterogeneous kind of heap, composed of small quantities of the choicest produce of various sources of supply—stray joints of pork, trifling displays of butter, a few eggs, and an occasional specimen of poultry; but her fame is built upon her unrivalled “tatoes,” hidden up in pads, and carefully concealed from the eyes of chance passengers; their discovery is a mine of wealth to the privileged few, especially in bad seasons. Dealing forth sparingly, like a miser counting out his treasures, the queen of murphies compensates for the reserve that would seem to imply her belief that her purchasers were begging favours of her, by the involuntary boon she confers upon the lover of idioms, in her quaint displays of her county’s dialect. The ordinary greeting of “How d’ye do?” will be met by the assurance that she “don’t _fare to feel_ no matters,” or she “_fares to_ feel _right muddled_,” or “_no how_,” or that she is scarce fit to be “abroad.” Her “tatoes” she will recommend as eating like balls of flour, if cooked _enow_ (a word indiscriminately used to express quantity and degree). She will occasionally detail particulars of her market-horse’s “_trickiness_” when he “_imitated_” to kick on the road, and how she “_gots_” him on as well as she could. Her breakfast jug she will designate a _gotch_, and many other like specimens will she afford of the contents of the vocabulary of East Anglia. A traveller may with little difficulty fancy he is listening to some native of the distant county Devon; and, strange to say, the _guse_, _fule_, and _enow_, and other striking similarities of brogue and dialect, are not the only features of resemblance these two counties bear to each other. The ancient rood screens of the Norfolk churches have many of them been found exactly to correspond with those found in Devonshire, and only there. In the celebrated rebellions of Edward the Sixth’s reign, many remarkable features of resemblance were observed in the character of the outbreaks at these distant points,—so much so, as to suggest the idea of secret communication being kept up between them. Whether both alike owe their peculiarities to the common parentage of the Iceni, a tribe of whom have been said to have settled in Devonshire as well as Pembrokeshire, or they are referable to any less remote link of connection, antiquarians may perhaps at some future day make clear. Certain it is, the “southron” is apt to be easily beguiled into the belief that he has met a fellow-countryman or woman among the folks who deem themselves another race than the people of the “_sheeres_.”