they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar
pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a continual source of misery to the
household: as they are always in the way, they every now and then get
their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, and a
loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fills the room with
clamour and confusion.

[Illustration: Dignity and Impudence]

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. Hannah, a
prim, pragmatical old maid; one of the most intolerable and intolerant
virgins that ever lived. She has kept her virtue by her until it has
turned sour, and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is the
very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all
mankind. How they first came together I cannot imagine, but they have
lived together for many years; and the abigail's temper being tart and
encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got
the complete upper hand, and tyrannises over the good lady in secret.

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confidence, to
her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes
her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to be attended by
her, that she thinks she could not do without her; though one great
study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humour, by little
presents and kindnesses.

Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with awe, for this
ancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a
cursed brimstone--in fact, he added another epithet, which I would not
repeat for the world. I have remarked, however, that he is always
extremely civil to her when they meet.

[Illustration: Confidential Whisper]

[Illustration: Ready-Money Jack Expounding]

READY-MONEY JACK.

My purse, it is my privy wyfe,
This song I dare both syng and say,
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe
When every man for hymself shall pay.
As I ryde in ryche array
For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe;
By thys matter I dare well saye,
Ever gramercy myne owne purse.

BOOK OF HUNTING.

On the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives a kind of small
potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of the most
ancient legitimate lines of the present day; for the empire over which
he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. His