Heaven alone can tell in what bright colours this marriage is
painted upon the mind of the little housemaid at number six, who
has hardly slept a wink all night with thinking of it, and now
stands on the unswept door-steps leaning upon her broom, and
looking wistfully towards the enchanted house. Nothing short of
omniscience can divine what visions of the baker, or the green-
grocer, or the smart and most insinuating butterman, are flitting
across her mind--what thoughts of how she would dress on such an
occasion, if she were a lady--of how she would dress, if she were
only a bride--of how cook would dress, being bridesmaid, conjointly
with her sister 'in place' at Fulham, and how the clergyman,
deeming them so many ladies, would be quite humbled and respectful.
What day-dreams of hope and happiness--of life being one perpetual
holiday, with no master and no mistress to grant or withhold it--of
every Sunday being a Sunday out--of pure freedom as to curls and
ringlets, and no obligation to hide fine heads of hair in caps--
what pictures of happiness, vast and immense to her, but utterly
ridiculous to us, bewilder the brain of the little housemaid at
number six, all called into existence by the wedding at the corner!

We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a
better reason than commonly presents itself. It should be pleasant
to us to know that there are notions of happiness so moderate and
limited, since upon those who entertain them, happiness and
lightness of heart are very easily bestowed.

But the little housemaid is awakened from her reverie, for forth
from the door of the magical corner house there runs towards her,
all fluttering in smart new dress and streaming ribands, her friend