and that the romantic name of the village had decided her upon the subject. It was Lovegrove. She further stated, that she had desired her agent to hire two female servants against her arrival, to act as cook and housemaid, together with a young man to attend to the garden; and" added she, "I gave strict orders that they should either be taken at once from their own sweet simple cottages or from a farm-house. For, Theresa, it would spoil my whole plan to have knowing, every-day servants who have lived in gentlemen's familics. No, no, I must have them pure, uncontaminated children of nature, having known no master or mistress, but perhaps an honest, simple-hearted rustic farmer and his artless wife."

I almost wondered, after saying this, that she should have suffered her tall London footman, who was on the dicky, to accompany us.

In the afternoon we reached Lovegrove; a straggling, dirty village, and particularly unpicturesque. At the extremity of it stood Lovegrove Bower," as Miss Nettleton called her cottage.

It was anything but romantic, standing in the middle of a large, ill-kept kitchen garden.

A gawky, sulky-looking lad who was in it, vanished as soon as he saw the carriage, and it was with some difficulty our footman James could get him back to unlock the gate. At length he showed himself, accompanied by two very red-cheeked country girls about my own age, and who appeared to have more courage than he had, as they advanced unhesitatingly to let us in, dropping as artless a curtsey as our lady could possibly desire.

"This is charming," she whispered in my

ear.

my

"Are you the young persons engaged for service?" she said, addressing them.

"Yes, ma'am," they replied.

"Well, your names, my good girls?"

"My name be Honor, ma'am ; and her's be Patience."

"Extraordinary! I am uncommonly lucky certainly. And your name, my good lad?" "What d'ye please to say?"

"Your name, what is it?"

"Rube," answered the boy.

"Rube !" exclaimed Miss Nettleton.

"His name be Reuben, ma'am," said one of the girls; "only he be called Rube for short."

"I wish it had been Lubin," said his mistress; "however, I assure you I am not only satisfied but delighted at the assemblage of uncommon names by which I have unexpectedly found myself surrounded.

"It is unfortunate, Theresa, that poor James is so unlucky in both his names-James Tibbs ! However we must make the best of it."

As we advanced up the garden walk to the cottage, Miss Nettleton was attracted by the various vegetables, which she had evidently never before seen growing.

"What are the names of these curious plants?" said she, turning to the two girls. Their only answer was a giggle.

She repeated her question.

They be carrots, and parsnips, and horseradish, ma'am."

"Indeed! well this is an unexpected pleasure to see those things absolutely growing."

At length, after examining minutely every thing on each side the path, we entered the cottage. It consisted of two small parlours, divided by a narrow passage, two bed-rooms over them, and at the back two kitchens, and two servants' rooms over them.

In the small back-yard was a well, which excited the particular attention and admiration of our mistress. The simplicity of the contrivance was, she said, admirable.

"How far preferable to the formality of a common pump."

James, however, differed from his mistress on this point, declaring to the gaping rustics, as his lady retired, that he never would demean himself by drawing up a drop of water.

I saw, in a moment, that he had raised himself considerably in the eyes of the two girls, in fact that he was a complete hero, and that he would, in consequence, receive a much greater share of their attention and admiration than their mistress.

As soon as tea could be procured, Miss Net

tleton and myself sat down "to enjoy," as she expressed it, the brown bread and butter, and the delicious cream to be obtained only in the country.

She was, therefore, rather disappointed, when we found the latter article to be very little better than the sky-blue milk of London. The bell was rung to remedy the mistake, as we concluded it to be.

It was no mistake, as Patience, on being summoned, assured her that it was the best to be got in the whole village, and it was a "great favour," she said, getting that. As to cream, the farmers' wives would not let any one have a drop for love or money.

This puzzled me as much as it did my mistress. The number of cows we had seen as we travelled along, made us ignorant Londoners fancy that we could have cream for merely asking for it.

We had scarcely begun our tea, when we heard a sort of angry commotion in the kitchen, which, being only divided by a thin