No man or woman who ever ventures to deviate from the beaten track
should ever live in a country town. The gossips all turn from the task
of nibbling one another, and the character of the _lusus naturae_ becomes
public property. I am the mother of a family, and I am known to have
written romances. My husband, in an evil hour, took a fancy to a house
at a watering-place, which, by way of distinction, I shall designate by
the appellation of _Pumpington Wells_: there we established ourselves in
the year 1800.
The _manufacturers_ received us with a great show of civility,
exhibiting to us the most recent stuff, and discussing the merits of the
newest fabrications. We, however, were not used to trouble ourselves
about matters that did not concern us, and we soon offended them.
We turned a deaf ear to all evil communications. If we were told that
Mr. A., "though fond of show, starved his servants," we replied, we did
not wish to listen to the tale. If we heard that Mr. B. though uxorious
in public, was known to beat his wife in private, we cared not for the
matrimonial anecdote. When maiden ladies assured us that Mrs. C. cheated
at cards, we smiled, for we had no _dealings_ with her; and when we were
told that Mrs. D. never paid her bills, we repeated not the account to
the next person we met; for as we were not her creditors, her accounts
concerned us not.
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