tept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

And, then, husband has no choice but to retreat to a chop-house, and
leave me to finish.

But the chance for a grand saturnalia is best when Mr. Smith goes
from home for a day or two. Then I can deny myself to visitors--take
full license--set the hydrant running, and puzzle the water
commissioners with an extra consumption of Schuylkill. My last
exploit in this way was rather disastrous; and I am patiently
waiting for its memory to pass away, before I venture even to think
of repeating it. Mr. Smith had business in New York--imperative
business, he said,--but I do believe it might have waited, had not
Jenny Lind's first appearance taken place just then. This by the
way. He went, and I was rejoiced to improve the opportunity, for it
occurred precisely as I was devising some method to get myself so
fairly committed to soap and brushes, that objection or interdict
would be too late.

Never did I pack his carpet-bag with more secret satisfaction than
on that morning. He was entirely unsuspicious of my
intention--though he might have divined it but for having a secret
of his own, for Kitty's water-heating operations spoiled the
breakfast. There was more than a taste of "overdone" to the steak,
and the whole affair, even to me, was intolerable--me, who had the
pleasures of house-cleaning in perspective to console me. The door
was scarce shut behind him, when I entered into the business _con
amore_. It was resolved to begin at the very attic and sweep, scrub,
and wash down. Old boxes and trunks were dragged out of their
places, and piles of forgotten dust swept out. The passengers in the
street had a narrow chance for their beavers and fall bonnets, for
every front window had an extra plashing. Mr. Smith had several
times urged me to permit him to introduce some Yankee fashion which
he highly recommends for having "professional window-cleaners," with
their whiting and brushes, who could go through the house with half
the trouble, and none of the litter. There's nothing like water.

The first day's work sufficed to put the house into thorough
confusion, and I retired to bed--but not to rest, for my fatigue was
too great to sleep in comfort. My neglected child rested as ill as
myself,--and when I rose the next morning, it was with the
oppressive weight of a weary day before me. I had the consciousness
that the work _must_ be completed bef