With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread,
But sore wept she if any of them were dead,
Or if man smote them with a yard smart.

--CHAUCER.


Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her
arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined;
but, on the contrary, she has a degree of nature and
simple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well with
her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses in
rich silks, with long waist; she rouges considerably, and her hair,
which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her face
is pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features shows
that she may once have been beautiful; and she has a very fair and
well-shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is
still a little vain.

I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concerning her.
She was a great belle in town, between thirty and forty years since,
and reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refusing
several excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her
charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retired
immediately into the country, where she some time after inherited an
estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion had
suddenly revived; "having," as he said, "always loved her mind rather
than her person."

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six months, and