Lady Jinkinson is the widow of a gallant general officer. She has a charming place in the country. She has also sons who are splendid fellows, and daughters who are charming girls. She has a cultivated taste for literature--so have the charming girls--so have not the splendid fellows. She thinks a little attention to literary men is very becoming in persons of distinction; and she is good enough to ask me to come and stay at her country-house, where a room shall be specially reserved for me, and where I can write my "fine things" in perfect quiet, away from London noises and London interruptions. I go to the country-house with my work in my portmanteau--work which must be done by a certain time. I find a charming little room made ready for me, opening into my bed-room, and looking out on the lovely garden-terrace, and the noble trees in the park beyond. I come down to breakfast in the morning; and after the second cup of tea. I get up to return to my writing-room. A chorus of family remonstrances rises instantly. Oh, surely I am not going to begin writing on the very first day. Look at the sun, listen to the birds, feel the sweet air. A drive in the country, after the London smoke, is absolutely necessary--a drive to Shockley Bottom, and a picnic luncheon (so nice!), and back by Grimshawe's Folly (such a view from the top!), and a call, on the way home, at the Abbey, that lovely old house, where the dear Squire has had my last book read aloud to him (only think of that! the very last thing in the world that I could possibly have expected!) by darling Emily and Matilda, who are both dying to know me. Possessed by a (printer's) devil, I gruffly break through this string of temptations to be idle, and resolutely make my escape. "Lunch at half-past one," says Lady Jinkinson, as I retire. "Pray, don't wait for me," I answer. "Lunch at half-past one," persists Lady Jinkinson, as if she thought I had not heard her. "And cigars in the billiard-room," adds one of the splendid fellows. "And in the green-house, too," continues one of the charming girls, "where your horrid smoking is really of some use." I shut the door desperately. The last words I hear are from Lady Jinkinson. "Lunch at half-past one." I get into my writing-room, and take the following inventory of the contents:--