“Why, one could not help it; one must settle in life some time or other.”

The good lady was still lost in amazement; at length the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the maiden gentlewoman; she had been some time thinking of changing her condition, and at length had given her word, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the huntsman.

[Illustration:  A Maiden Confession]

How, or when, or where this singular courtship had been carried on, I have not been able to learn; nor how she has been able, with the vinegar of her disposition, to soften the stony heart of old Nimrod; so, however, it is, and it has astonished every one.  With all her ladyship’s love of match-making, this last fume of Hymen’s torch has been too much for her.  She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but all in vain; her mind was made up, and she grew tart on the least contradiction.  Lady Lillycraft applied to the squire for his interference.  “She did not know what she should do without Mrs. Hannah, she had been used to have her about her so long a time.”

The squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under whose sway she had suffered for years.  Instead of thwarting the affair, therefore, he has given it his full countenance; and declares that he will set up the young couple in one of the best cottages on his estate.  The approbation of the squire has been followed by that of the whole household; they all declare, that if ever matches are really made in heaven, this must have been; for that old Christy and Mrs. Hannah were as evidently formed to be linked together as ever were pepper-box and vinegar-cruet.

As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lillycraft took her leave of the family at the Hall; taking with her the captain and his blushing bride, who are to pass the honeymoon with her.  Master Simon accompanied them on horseback, and indeed means to ride on ahead to make preparations.  The general, who was fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat, handed her ladyship into her carriage with a heavy sigh; upon which his bosom friend, Master Simon, who was just mounting his horse, gave me a knowing wink, made an abominably wry face, and, leaning from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, “It won’t do!” Then putting spurs to his horse, away he cantered off.  The general stood for some time waving his hat after the carriage as it rolled down the avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, from exposing his head to the cool breeze.  I observed that he returned rather thoughtfully to the house; whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his hands behind his back, and an exceedingly dubious air.