daily life in the little place, and I hardly think that our neighbours would really enjoy anything if it were "spoken about" before the proper time. There is something of secrecy in the very air of the town. No one, I am told, has ever been known to mention, even casually, what he or she intends to have for dinner; and the butcher has been warned against calling across the shop to the lady at the desk, "Two pounds of rumpsteak for Miss Tracey," or, "One sirloin, twelve two, for the Hall."  Mr. Tomsett, who was the first butcher to introduce New Zealand mutton to the inhabitants of Stowel, lost his custom by this vulgar habit of assorting his joints in public. And Miss Tracey, who knew him best (he was still something of a stranger, having been in Stowel only five years), warned him that that was not the sort of thing we were accustomed to.  "If you must make our private concerns public in this way," she said, "at least it cannot be necessary to mention in what country the mutton was raised." 

 It is even considered a little indelicate to remain in the post-office when a telegram is being handed in. And parcels addressed and laid on the counter at the grocer's, although provocative of interest, are not even glanced at by the best people. 

 On the authority of my sister, I learn that when the ladies of Stowel do a little dusting in the morning the front blinds are pulled down. And keen though the speculation may be as to the extent of our neighbours' incomes, the subject is, of course, a forbidden one. Poor though some of these neighbours are, a very kindly charity prevails in the little town. When the elder Miss Blind was ill—as she very often is, poor thing!—it might seem a matter of coincidence to the uninitiated that during that week every one of her friends happened to make a little strong soup, a portion of which was sent to the invalid—just in case she might fancy it; while the Miss Traceys, who, as all the world knew, had inherited a little wine from their father, the late Vicar of the parish, sent their solitary remaining bottle of champagne, with their compliments, to Miss Belinda. The champagne proved flat after many a year of storage in the lower cupboard of Miss Tracey's pantry, but the two sisters to whom it was sent, not being familiar with the wine, did not detect its faults, and they left the green bottle with the gilt neck casually standing about for weeks afterwards, from an innocent desire to impress their neighbours with its magnificence. 

 Palestrina, with the good intention, I believe, of providing me with what she calls an object for a walk, asked me to call and inquire for Miss 

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