printed bill on all the genteelest breakfast
tables in the place, announcing, in the very
largest and blackest capitals, that a Mr.
Dulby would that evening deliver, in the
national schoolroom, by leave of the Reverend
John Holdenough (our rector), a lecture on
astronomy and on ecclesiastical architecture ;
and also exhibit dissolving views of an
immense and choice variety of objects. No
event of equal importance had occurred for at
least two years, and the sensation was
consequently tremendous. Our establishment (one
maid) came up in a body, and asked leave—
with humble words, but a very resolute
appearance— to go to the show ; and, in half an
hour more, all our most particular friends
were gathered around us, discussing the
propriety of granting this request, and of
ourselves joining in such an unusual piece of
dissipation. At last, it was agreed that we
should go at once to the school-house and
make inquiries of Mr. Long the master ; and
that, if we found it was to be all quite correct
and proper, we should engage good places for
ourselves and servants.

We found Mr. Long full of bustling
importance on the occasion — quite ready to
answer, and, indeed, expecting inquiries about
Mr. Dulby. He said that Lady Harrow had
graciously been pleased to notify her intention
of honouring the evening's entertainment with
her presence, and that many other persons of
less dignity had followed her ladyship's
example; also, that reserved seats must be
paid for at the rate of one shilling each, but
that the others were to be had for sixpence.
We were also informed that Mr. Dulby was
actually to use the room rent free, on condition
of his admitting twelve of the eldest
school children without payment. This
appeared to me rather an Irish way of paying
no rent, but I was instantly put down by the
rest of the party, who were loud in their
admiration of this liberal arrangement, for
which they hoped poor Mr. Dulby would be
eternally grateful. The report we took home
to my aunt (a maiden lady of strict principles),
was so satisfactory that she rang for Lucy, and,
in a solemn address, gave her full permission
to go to Mr. Dulby's improving entertainment,
warning her, however, against the
dangers of late hours and dissipated
acquaintances, and hinting mysteriously at the
thorough knowledge she would have of all
her proceedings, although she herself would
not be present. The fact is, we are rather
afraid Lucy has a lover, and, as it would be
impossible to imagine what would become of
us if she were to leave us, we are very careful
to prevent interviews. My aunt has
brought up Lucy on purpose for herself, and
she knows all our ways — understands curling
my aunt's wigs, and never talks about them
in the village — and submits to our sumptuary
laws against flounces and artificial flowers.
She is, unfortunately, a good-looking girl,
very neat and pleasant in her general appearance,
and possessed of a natural talent for
being fallen in love with, which she cultivates
with extraordinary industry ; and she never
omits an opportunity of making herself agreeable
in conversation to the other sex. Not
that she is silent with us, however, for she
has always a great deal of interesting matter
to talk about. Every morning when she
comes into my room, as the clock strikes six
in summer and seven in winter, I know
whether there is any news going about,
for whenever that is the case, she makes
rather more clatter with the blinds and
the crockery than is quite indispensable,
in order to attract my attention and induce
me to speak (she being far too respectful to
begin a conversation herself), and, as I
understand the signal now, I say quite naturally,
whenever the jugs and basins knock together
more than usual, "Well, Lucy, what is it ?"
Then comes the exciting intelligence : " Oh !
ma'am, Mrs. Hore have got another little boy
at five this morning, and I see all the clothes
in the tub at ten last night ;" or else, " If you
please, miss, farmer Lane's fatted turkey 's
fell off its roost in a fit ;" or " Mr. Tomkins's
dun cow, ma'am, her with the white face, have
got a calf— such a pretty little dear, with the
longest legs ever you see." In short, before
I am up, I know everything of importance
that has occurred since yesterday. On
Sundays, Lucy adorns herself as gorgeously
as she can without breaking the
law already mentioned against flowers and
flounces. She puts on a dress of some material
bearing a strong resemblance to silk :
also a cap of decidedly townified and
pert appearance. It is generally made
of lace, is much cut away at the ears, and
sticks up a little behind, where it is
embellished with a bow of some smart coloured
ribbon — once, I grieve to say, it was yellow !
I am much afraid she has a strong taste for
the vanities of fashion, for sometimes, when I
have gone up to bed earlier than usual, and
have caught her bringing up my hot water,
or brushing my aunt's night wig, I have
fancied that I perceived actually a polka on
her shoulders, and a beautiful diamond
brooch made of glass (really very like real
stones, only prettier), under her chin. At
such times she glides away with remarkable
celerity, and when she reappears these vanities
are no longer to be seen. I suspect,
therefore, that she dresses more finely for
kitchen company than for ours. Certainly
the polka and the brooch must be levelled at
somebody, and when we have been coming
home from church we have sometimes seen
her standing in a pensive attitude at the
corner of the road by our house, with a
gentleman in groom's livery at her side — he
evidently pretending to be devoted, and
looking extremely smitten. But the door is
close by, so this vision soon disappears. I
have asked Lucy, in the most innocent manner
I can devise, who the man is — but she