ainly do not agree with Aunt Deborah upon a great many
subjects.

However, there's no situation like Lowndes Street. I'm not going to
tell the number, nor at which end of the street we live; for it's very
disagreeable to have people riding by and stopping to alter their
stirrup-leathers, and squinting up at one's drawing-room windows where
one sits working in peace, and then cantering off and trotting by
again, as if something had been forgotten. No; if curiosity is so very
anxious to know where I live, let it look in the _Court Guide_; for my
part, I say nothing, except that there are always flowers in the
balcony, and there's no great singularity about that. But there are
two great advantages connected with a "residence in Belgravia," which
I wonder are not inserted in the advertisements of all houses to let
in that locality. In the first place, a lady may walk about all the
forenoon quite alone, without being hampered by a maid or hunted by a
footman; and in the second, she is most conveniently situated for a
morning ride or walk in the Park; and those are about the two
pleasantest things one does in London.

Well, the same conversation takes place nearly every morning at
breakfast between Aunt Deborah and myself (we breakfast early, never
after half-past nine, however late we may have been the night before).
Aunt Deborah begins,--

"My dear, I hope we shall have a quiet morning together; I've directed
the servants to deny me to all visitors; and if you'll get your work,
I will proceed with my readings from excellent Mrs. Hannah More."

Kate.--"Thank you, aunt; Hannah More amuses me very much"--(I confess
that prim moralist does make me laugh).

_Aunt Deborah_ (reprovingly).--"Instructive, Kate, not amusing;
certainly not ludicrous. If you'll shut the door we'll begin."

_Kate_.--"Can't we put it off for an hour? I must get my ride, you
know, aunt. What's the use of horses if one don't ride?"

_Aunt Deborah_.--"Kate, you ride too much; I don't object to the
afternoons with John Jones, but these morning scampers are really
quite uncalled for; they're spoiling your figure and complexion; it's
improper--more, it's unfeminine; but as you seem determined upon it,
go and get your ride, and come back a little sobered;" and
Kate--that's me--disappears into the boudoir, from which she emerges
in about five minutes with the neatest habit and the nicest hat, and
her hair done in two such killing plaits--John Jones says