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 tyrannizes 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.

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 himself shall pay.
As I ryde in ryche array
For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe;
But thys matter I dare well saye,
Every gramercy myne own 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
territories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres; and his
seat of power is in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the
stout oaken chair of his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is a
sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather, Ready-Money
Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbourhood.

The first place where he attracted my attention was in the church-yard
on Sunday; where he sat on a tombstone after the service, with his hat
a little on one side, holding forth