were suggested, it is said, by hearing the Ashboume peal; and sweetly
indeed do they sound at that distance, "both mournfully and slow;" while
those exquisitely touching stanzas,

"Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb
In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes,"


were avowedly written on the sister of an Ashbourne gentleman, Mr. P----
B----. But to his drolleries. He avowed on all occasions an utter horror
of ugly women. He was heard, one evening, to observe to a lady, whose
person was pre-eminently plain, but who, nevertheless, had been
anxiously doing her little endeavours to attract his attention,
"I cannot endure an ugly woman. I'm sure I could never live with one.
A man that marries an ugly woman cannot be happy." The lady observed,
that "such an observation she could not permit to pass without remark.
She knew many plain couples who lived most happily."--"Don't talk of
it," said the wit; "don't talk of it. It cannot be."--"But I tell you,"
said the lady, who became all at once both piqued and positive, "it can
be, and it is. I will name individuals so circumstanced. You have heard
of Colonel and Mrs. ----. She speaks in a deep, gruff bass voice;
he in a thin, shrill treble. She looks like a Jean Dorée; he like a
dried alligator. They are called Bubble and Squeak by some of their
neighbours; Venus and Adonis by others. But what of that? They are not
handsome, to be sure; and there is neither mirror nor pier-glass to be
found, search their house from one end of it to the other. But what of
that? No _unhandsome reflections_ can, in such a case, be cast by either
party! I know them well; and a more harmonious couple I never met with.
Now, Mr. Moore, in reply, what have you to say? I flatter myself I have
overthrown your theory completely." "Not a whit. Colonel--has got into a