no tellin'. Sure there's not
much left of the poor man. An' the divil a one more inoffensive than
poor Slocum. It's himsel' works all day in the Shurance office beyant.
He comes home dragged out, does a dale of writing for Mrs. Slocum
hersel', and goes to bed sayin' nothin' to nobody." Lady Swiggs says:
"God bless me He no doubt labors in a good cause--an excellent
cause--he will have his reward hereafter."

It must here be confessed that Sister Slocum, having on hand a
newly-married couple, nicely suited to the duties of a mission to some
foreign land, has conceived the very laudable project of sending them to
Aleppo, and is now spending a few weeks among the Dutch of Albany, who
are expected to contribute the necessary funds. A few thousand dollars
expended, a few years' residence in the East, a few reports as to what
might have been done if something had not interposed to prevent it, and
there is not a doubt that this happy couple will return home crowned
with the laurels of having very nearly Christianized one Turk and two
Tartars.

The maid of all work suddenly remembers that Mrs. Slocum left word that
if a distinguished lady arrived from South Carolina she could be
comfortably accommodated at Sister Scudder's, on Fourth Street. Not a
little disappointed, the venerable old lady calls a passing carriage,
gets herself and black box into it, and orders the driver to forthwith
proceed to the house of Sister Scudder. Here she is--and she sheds tears
that she is--cooped up in a cold, closet-like room, on the third story,
where, with the ends of her red shawl, she may blow and warm her
fingers. Sister Scudder is a crispy little body, in spectacles. Her
features are extremely sharp, and her countenance continually wears a
wise expression. As for her knowledge of scripture, it is truly
wonderful, and a decided improvement when contrasted with the meagre
set-out of her table. Tea time having arrived, Lady Swiggs is invited
down to a cup by a pert Irish servant, who accosts her with an
independence she by no means approves. Entering the room with an air of
stateliness she deems necessary to the position she desires to maintain,
Sister Scudder takes her by the hand and introduces her to a bevy of
nicely-conditioned, and sleek-looking gentlemen, whose exactly-combed
mutton chop whiskers, smoothly-oiled hair, perfectly-tied white cravats,
cloth so modest and fashionable, and mild, studious countenances,
discover their profess