or
you? I have just finished my music and have nothing to do.'

On another occasion, while she was mending--not making reader--but
_mending_, her children's clothes, I offered to read one of Ik Marvel's
reveries of a bachelor, a special favorite of mine. She thanked me, and I
proceeded. On finishing one of his admirable paragraphs, I put the book
down and exclaimed, 'isn't that capital?'

She said at once, 'no, I think it is very discouraging.'

'Discouraging! Why, what in the world do you mean, Mary?'

'Excuse me, William, but I was'nt listening. The fact of it is, there
has been another row down stairs, and I do think that girl ought to be
ashamed of herself to treat Susan so;' and then for _one_ hour a
topographical and analytical history of the entire household was gone
into, with a _con amore_ spirit, which lasted through two segars and a
glass of water. I never spoke. On these occasions they don't want you
to talk; only to listen. They say in a sweet and confiding manner, 'you
know I have no one to sympathize with me;' and off they go, like the
recitation of Pope's Homer, made by some school girl who has been
sentenced to run through so many lines. I slipped the reveries into
their place, so that she would not be hurt, and I do assure you that
when she had got through I believe if you had asked her suddenly 'who
discovered America?' she would have replied 'An Irishman--I forget his
name.'

Formerly there was ever a business gravity about her: now she always
appeared with a sweet smile that lit up her countenance, as though it
had been sprinkled all over with sun-powder.

Difficult indeed was it for Mary to order anything without an advance
notice, for otherwise she was forced to start her little bark through
the Scylla and Charybdis of 'fire island,' namely, 'The fire's too low,
marm;' or 'I've just put on coal, marm.'

Now she reads to me herself, and marks the prettiest passages in
Tennyson, which no woman could find out if her understanding had been
mortgaged by servants.

Before, no matter what dish of meat was set before me, it was always
_dry_, or the gravy made of butter and _water_. I have often seen mutton
chops come on table looking like little islands of meat surrounded by
water, on which might be detected a tickley benders of grease. Five
minutes conversation on my part supplied the deficiency, and caused one
can of lard to outlast six of those in olden times.

When I first took charge of th