icate as herself.

The first house on the opposite side of the way is the blacksmith's--a
gloomy dwelling, where the sun never seems to shine; dark and smoky
within and without, like a forge. The blacksmith is a high officer in
our little state, nothing less than a constable; but alas, alas! when
tumults arise, and the constable is called for, he will commonly be
found in the thickest of the fray. Lucky would it be for his wife and
her eight children if there were no public-house in the land.

Then comes the village shop, like other village shops, multifarious as a
bazaar--a repository for bread, shoes, tea, cheese, tape, ribbons, and
bacon; for everything, in short, except the one particular thing which
you happen to want at the moment, and will be sure not to find.

Divided from the shop by a narrow yard is a habitation of whose inmates
I shall say nothing. A cottage--no, a miniature house, all angles, and
of a charming in-and-outness; the walls, old and weather-stained,
covered with hollyhocks, roses, honeysuckles, and a great apricot-tree;
the casements full of geraniums (oh, there is our superb white cat
peeping out from among them!); the closets (our landlord has the
assurance to call them rooms) full of contrivances and corner-cupboards;
and the little garden behind full of common flowers. That house was
built on purpose to show in what an exceeding small compass comfort may
be packed.

The next tenement is a place of importance, the Rose Inn--a whitewashed
building, retired from the road behind its fine swinging sign, with a
little bow-window room coming out on one side, and forming, with our
stable on the other, a sort of open square, which is the constant resort
of carts, waggons, and return chaises.

Next door lives a carpenter, "famed ten miles around, and worthy all his
fame," with his excellent wife and their little daughter Lizzy, the
plaything and queen of the village--a child three years old according to
the register, but six in size and strength and intellect, in power and
self-will. She manages everybody in the place; makes the lazy carry her,
the silent talk to her, and the grave to romp with her. Her chief
attraction lies in her exceeding power of loving, and her firm reliance
on the love and the indulgence of others.

How pleasantly the road winds up the hill, with its broad, green borders
and hedgerows so thickly timbered! How finely the evening sun falls on
that sandy, excavated bank, and t