couldn’t have known more of their secrets; for often and often she has stood for better than half an hour telling me a pack of things about them, that, of course, they wouldn’t have liked anybody to know. I used to think it was very strange, and couldn’t for the life of me make out how it was things that I fancied nobody in the world but Edward and myself were acquainted with, could come round to me in the way they did. Until one fine morning, a little bird whispered in my ear, that it was that beauty of an Emma of mine, who, instead of sweeping round the area-railings, was pulling my character to pieces, and vilifying me to the first of the neighbours’ maids that she could lay hold of, saying Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did this, Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did that, or Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did the other,--(of course, there’s no necessity for me to go repeating what the good-for-nothing minx actually _did_ say of me,)--so that, at last it really came to this--if even Edward and I had a word or two together about any little trifling matter, off the _good_ news went--“There’s been another row at the Sk--n--st--ns’,” right up to the York and Albany; and “There’s been another row at the Sk--n--st--ns’,” right down to Cumberland Market. I only wanted to catch the beauty in the fact; for I don’t like listening to what other people say, and so determined to wait quietly until I could overhear her telling her fine stories myself. As I expected, it wasn’t long before I pounced upon her very nicely, and then it was, oh dear me, who would have thought it! For the very morning after that affair of the “dog in a blanket,” I thought my lady was a long time hearth-stoning the step, and I just put my head very quietly out of the window, and there sure enough she was, with those two idle sluts of maids, from both the next doors, all three of them in their night-caps, with their hair like door-mats, and their gowns all open behind, and their brooms in their hands, sweeping away, as a make-believe, just for a minute, and then laying their heads together, and standing gossiping for at least five--then off again for a bit more sweeping--and then back again for a bit more scandal. This was just what I wanted, so rubbing my hands with glee, I popped on my flannel dressing-gown, and stole down [Illustration: _The Morning Gossip._] stairs, as silently as a black-beetle. When I came to the passage, I slipped behind the door, and heard them going on so nicely, no one can tell! “Did you hever hear of sitch wulgarity, Miss Ginger? honly to think of her calling on a common jam pudden, a dog in a blanket!” said that minx of an Emma of mine. “Well, I never heerd tell on the likes of sitch low talk--did you hever, Miss Twigg?” exclaimed that slut of a maid at the Tomlins’s.