It was not difficult to discover the ease and opulence of the rector of Tarefield parish, from a view of his neat and genteel abode, which fronts the road, and has a flower-garden, with gravel walks before it. We stopped at the gate; the servant was ordered to go the kitchen way, for enquiries respecting the lady’s health. “I shall not go in,” said Miss Flint, “for we should spoil the gravel, and give Mrs. Snughead a fever-fit for the day at least; besides, she would not amuse us with her tiresome details of nervous fits, and sleepless nights.” A maid-servant from the front door appeared, her feet shod with two flat pieces of board, who, shuffling to the carriage, brought her lady’s compliments, and hoped that we would enter the house. “Not now, Martha,” answered Miss Flint. “When do you expect your master home?”—“Madam has had a letter this morning,” replied the girl, “and the clerk is to tell the young gentleman, that Mr. Snughead will do duty on Sunday himself.”—“Well that is good news, Martha,” observed Miss Flint, “and I hope your mistress is in spirits.” “Poor lady!” answered the girl in a tone of pity, “she has never held up her head since her poor son Mr. Banks left us; she is quite broken down, Madam! I wish you would have the goodness to see her. The kitchen is quite in order,” added she, glancing her eyes on the untrod path to the house. “Poor soul!” said Miss Flint, “I could not comfort her, Martha, and I am pressed for time. Give my love to her. Drive on, William.” Thus concluded the _friendly_ call. “You have had a good escape,” observed she, settling her large person more at ease. “We should have been detained an hour with Mrs. Snughead’s lamentations about her son. I pity her husband most sincerely, for he has for twelve years and more had the plague of a wife, who is hourly dying, if you credit her, and whose death he dreads; for her jointure of five hundred pounds per annum, pays for her board, though in my opinion, not for his life of mortification and continual fear. When I see such marriages as these,” continued she with an air of self-complacency, “I bless my good fortune in having escaped matrimony; not that I think there are none happy but those who are unshackled, for I am persuaded there are many happy matches; and that a young woman cannot do more prudently, than to secure to herself an honourable protection, and a worthy man. When I was young, I was too useful to my poor father to think of changing my condition. I was my father’s only comfort during a period of his life rendered miserable by the conduct and ingratitude of his children; particularly his favourite daughter, Mrs. Howard, whom he brought up with too much fondness and indulgence. His second marriage was an absurdity; and he soon found that it added little to his domestic enjoyments. It did not require the spirit of witchcraft, for me to foresee what did result from so unequal an union as my father’s with this young bride; but I could not desert my post