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and this tyranny on the part of the housekeeper, led to a great rejoicing at Roxobel some months ago, on occasion of the said Mrs. Nuttall being laid up with the confluent small-pox. These exultations, however, proved premature: for Mr. Barnaby Semple brought her through the disease, and restored her to her old station at the Hall, with diminished beauty indeed, but unabated vigour, for which exploit he obtained more favour from Mrs. Winifred than popularity among the villagers."

I could not help smiling in this part of Mrs. Goodwill's narrative, and asked her if she was one of those who owed Mr. Barnaby Semple a grudge for the skill he had exercised in favour of Mrs. Nuttall.

She smiled again, as she replied, "No, dear Sir, not I, indeed;-I wish Mrs. Nuttall no ill whatever. To use an old phrase, I believe her bark is worse than her bite; and, as far as I am myself concerned, I have neither the one nor the other to complain of."

Our conversation was interrupted in this place by a gentle rap at the door; and

VOL. I. G

Mrs. Strickland presented herself, requesting permission to introduce to me Miss

Lucy Lovel, a favour which I very readily conceded.

CHAPTER IV.

CONTAINING MUCH WHICH IT IS REQUISITE TO KNOW.

WELL might Mrs. Goodwill say, she trusted that Lucy Lovel would never be spoiled. I add, may she never be changed. Who can imagine a beauty superadded to a snowdrop, to a violet, or to the bud of a moss rose? Was ever creature more fair, more fresh, more simple, more warm-hearted, more truly lovely, than Lucy Lovel? Lovely, I say; for the words lovely, Lucy, and Lovel, are now united for ever in my mind. Not merely is she brilliantly fair and superbly fresh, far surpassing what could be expected at ten years of age, but, above all, she still remains delightfully incapable of receiving worldly ideas. Mrs. Goodwill truly affirmed, that she has but

one set of courtesies for all ranks and degrees; and these she bestows without partiality or restraint; not that she connects with them the notion of politeness, but that she seems to consider them as convenient expressions of her pure good will. Every man, I am told, however humble be his station, is honoured by her with the title of Sir; and every woman with that of Ma'am. Her desire of assisting every one prompts her to offer a helping hand on all occasions. And the incompatibleness of her delicate hands, with the tasks she would assign to them, often excites the smile of the beholder, and not unfrequently draws forth the voice of praise, and even of flattery:-but, as Mrs. Goodwill informs me, Lucy is so organized, that flattery no further affects her, than by exciting her gratitude towards the flatterer; and hence, it appears, she has not yet been spoiled by it.

But this sweet creature is only ten years old;-what will she be at twelve?-what at eighteen? Such a being at eighteen, so fresh, so fair, so simple, so brilliantly

lovely, so universally benevolent,—would be the most captivating, the most delightful, the most exquisite, of the human race. Were I her father, I would say, “How shall we preserve this freshness?" And I should answer, "By avoiding worldly conversation in her presence; by endeavouring to inspire her with the purest principles of piety; and, above all, by avoiding that most insidious of pollutions, the smile at sinful communications, which too often betrays a lurking love of corruption even in the hearts of those who aim at excellence."

Mrs. Strickland came forward, with the little lady in her hand; the worthy young woman who is her maid bringing up the

rear.

"Sir," said my landlady, "I bring Miss Lucy to see you. She has called often since your illness; and to her you owe the strawberries and currants which refreshed you so much during your fever."

I raised myself to pay my compliments to the little lady, who came up close to my couch, made a low courtesy, and said, with grave simplicity, "I am Lucy Lovel, Sir,

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