is extremely impudent— that I must say and very unfeeling, and so I shall let Pappy know."

The curious telegraphing which went on after this impassioned speech convinced me that nobody present was out of the secret of what had passed between the young lady and the dancing-master, not even excepting Jane, as I fancied. The roulade of eyes was curious; mine, however, were principally fixed on Harriet's: I wanted to see how she bore this last coup of Miss Kitty's.

"But business,” said I.

"What business," said Kate, in the most animated tone, "can be of sufficient importance to prevent his doing what we wished? I always thought he was a spooney."

This burst of unrequited love nearly set us all into what would have been a most unseemly roar of laughter on the eve of a family funeral, but upon me, I admit, it had the most ridiculous effect possible. The gradual transition from the deepest grief to the moderated sorrow, the

considerate feeling as to the attendance on the following morning, the defection of Kittington, his plea of business, and thence the violent con clusion at which she arrived, couched in the strongest terms, culled doubtless from the vocabulary of Montpelier, were very nearly too much for me: however, we all contrived not to take any particular notice of the climax of her speech, till Wells, with the most perfect gravity, and as if making no reference whatever to what had passed, said,

"I am glad, my dear Kitty, that you see the matter in its proper light, and give up attending the ceremony in the morning."

"I would not go," said Kate, "if you were to give me a hundred pounds: after Pappy's civilities, and kindness, and after-but I don't care-and I won't talk about it. Jane may go if she likes, but I won't." And having burst into a flood of tears, in the production of which grief bore no part, the amiable girl literally rushed out of the room.

"Hadn't I better go to her?" said Jane,

rising from the little footstool on which she

was sitting.

"As you please, Jane," said Harriet.

And so Jane pleased to go; but as great things invariably turn upon little ones, except, perhaps, in mechanics, I saw in a moment, by the use of the word "her" with a sort of peculiar but undefinable emphasis, that the sisters were "two." Jane had thought over the difference of treatment she experienced with us when she shared -at least the affection of the family with Kitty, from that which she was destined to, at Montpelier, where Kitty was everything, and she nothing; but what made both Harriet and myself uncomfortable upon this point—for we had talked it over tête-à-tête-was, the certainty of giving the direst offence to Cuthbert if we acceded to that which had become something more than an implied desire on the part of Jenny to remain at Ashmead when Kate returned to Bath.

I have often said, when I have passed through a country town which I never had seen before

and many other people, I suppose, have said and

thought the same- "Here is a place unknown to me, and to millions besides—a mere straggling row of houses, with two or three villas dotted round it—paltry, insignificant, and obscure; but in this speck-this spot-this dot—rage all the passions, the turmoils, the jealousies, envies, and hatreds, by which the largest communities are agitated: but I confess I never, even in my most romantic musings upon the subject, calculated that I, an humble individual, placed—as, alas, I was-in quiet independence in the large village or small town, to which I was attracted and attached by my affection to Harriet, should have found the retired, unassuming Ashmead an arena for all the contentions which now characterised it. Cuthbert repelling me-Mrs. Brandyball intriguing against me—Kitty undermining me— Sniggs abandoning me-Nubley involving me in difficulties-Wells importuning me-Merman insulting him and outraging his daughter Thompson threatening me-and Tom dead.

6

Why now, who upon earth that had not thought that such things might be, would, in driving past a modest white-fronted Cottage of Gentility,' as Southey says in his Devil's Walk,' with little more than two bow windows and a door between, looking like a pair of lady's stays stuck up for sale in a Bond-street shop window, fancy the turmoil and trouble that were in full fermentation within! All interests are comparative, and all minds, as I have already said, ought to stretch to the objects which present themselves. A prime minister by habit thinks no more, probably, of ceding a great national question, declaring a war, or concluding a peace, than I thought of soothing Cuthbert, getting over the funeral of an unlicked cub, or coming to terms with Captain Thompson, the uncle of two elegant ladies and cousin of a third. But the same thing is going on everywhere; and, in many instances

-I mean no reflexions-the energies and talents which are exercised and exhibited in the contrivances of paltry provincial intrigues, would, upon