od asking Miss Wirt whether Dante Algiery was
so called because he was born at Algiers, received a smiling answer in
the affirmative, which made me rather doubt about the accuracy of Miss
Wirt's knowledge.

When the above little morning occupations are concluded, these
unfortunate young women perform what they call Calisthenic Exercises
in the garden. I saw them to-day, without any crinoline, pulling the
garden-roller.

Dear Mrs. Ponto was in the garden too, and as limp as her daughters; in
a faded bandeau of hair, in a battered bonnet, in a holland pinafore,
in pattens, on a broken chair, snipping leaves off a vine. Mrs. Ponto
measures many yards about in an evening. Ye heavens! what a guy she is
in that skeleton morning-costume!

Besides Stripes, they keep a boy called Thomas or Tummus. Tummus works
in the garden or about the pigsty and stable; Thomas wears a page's
costume of eruptive buttons.

When anybody calls, and Stripes is out of the way, Tummus flings
himself like mad into Thomas's clothes, and comes out metamorphosed
like Harlequin in the pantomime. To-day, as Mrs. P. was cutting the
grapevine, as the young ladies were at the roller, down comes Tummus
like a roaring whirlwind, with 'Missus, Missus, there's company
coomin'!' Away skurry the young ladies from the roller, down comes Mrs.
P. from the old chair, off flies Tummus to change his clothes, and in
an incredibly short space of time Sir John Hawbuck, my Lady Hawbuck,
and Master Hugh Hawbuck are introduced into the garden with brazen
effrontery by Thomas, who says, 'Please Sir Jan and my Lady to walk this
year way: I KNOW Missus is in the rose-garden.'

And there, sure enough, she was!

In a pretty little garden bonnet, with beautiful curling ringlets, with
the smartest of aprons and the freshest of pearl-coloured gloves, this
amazing woman was in the arms of her dearest Lady Hawbuck. 'Dearest Lady
Hawbuck, how good of you! Always among my flowers! can't live away from
them!'

'Sweets to the sweet! hum--a-ha--haw!' says Sir John Hawbuck, who piques
himself on his gallantry, and says nothing without 'a-hum--a-ha--a-haw!'

'Whereth yaw pinnafaw?' cries Master Hugh. 'WE thaw you in it, over the
wall, didn't we, Pa?'

'Hum--a-ha--a-haw!' burst out Sir John, dreadfully alarmed. 'Where's
Ponto? Why wasn't he at Quarter Sessions? How are his birds this year,
Mrs. Ponto--have those Carabas pheasants done any harm to your wheat?
a-hum--a-ha--a-haw!' and