which stood ajar, 'how long do you suppose they would stay with you?'

'Until they got married or died!' I answered with confidence, and, sitting bolt upright, I ran both thumbs under my waistcoat arm-holes and played on my chest with my fingers, while I puffed tremendously to envelope my countenance with smoke, the better to hide my ill-concealed smile.

'You single men are too amusing, my dear brother,' said she, looking earnestly into my face and patting my shoulder with an expression of pity. 'To convince you that woman's mission is the care of domestic matters; and, as I would like a little rest combined with fun, I will turn over everything to you, and——'

'Done!' I yelled with delight, and jumping up, I paced up and down the library like a prisoner freed from chains.—'Done! Oh! I thank you, Mary.'

'Stop, young man,' she said, with assumed severity, 'hear the conditions of the bond.'

'Write it down,' I said, in haste, 'and so long as I am to have the reins I will sign.'

'Well, sir,' said she, entering with her old accustomed gaiety into the subject matter. 'I agree to let you keep house on the following conditions:' naming a good many, which I listened to with marked interest, and finally condensed into the form of a written contract, though no lawyer; for fear, as I told her, she would violate the premises. As well as I can remember, for it was many years ago—it ran as follows:

'This agreement made this 24th November, 1853, between Mary Walters of the city, county and state of New York, being party of the first part, and William d'Aubrey of the said city, county and state of New York, party of the second part, witnesseth as follows: Said party of the first part agrees, covenants and binds herself, heirs and assinines—I mean assigns—to surrender, demise and make over all claim, right and title to housekeeping, and all matters pertaining to the welfare of household economy, whether trivial or special, to the party of the second part; moreover delivering up all accounts, keys and inventory of stores now on hand, and all claim, right or title to the management of each and every person living, or about to live in premises known as 'Villa Felice,' situated at the outskirts of the city of —— in the State of ——, for the period of three months. Now, in consideration of this obligation on the party of the first part, the party of the second part covenants, agrees and binds himself, his heirs and assinines—I mean assigns—to act conscientiously for the benefit of all the inhabitants of said 'Villa Felice,' whether male or female;—and moreover pledges himself never by word or deed to consult, ask questions of, molest by interrogated words, or lead on by indirect remarks, the party of the first part; to impart, give over or yield up, any information on or concerning the subject or principle of housekeeping—(this last clause my sister insisted on in a most impressive manner—so I added the following,) and it is distinctly understood, comprehended by, and agreed to between both parties, that the party of the first part interferes with, molests, makes the subject of remark, indirectly or directly, impugns or maligns, the party of the second party in the pursuit of lawful proceedings neither by appeal, nor by entreaty, nor by satire, irony, libel, gossip, hinted evidence or such other expressions of mental feeling which are unseemly and tend to weaken man's power or involve in confusion a settled purpose. Said agreement to take effect at once on the signing of this contract,' made in duplicate.

Signed, sealed and delivered the afore-written day, month and year, in the presence of

Witness,
MARY WALTERS, [seal.]
WILLIAM D'AUBREY, [seal.]

We both signed, and then remembered a witness was necessary. 'I will call Thomas,' said Mary. 'He won't know what we have written.' I bowed with a legal stiffness, and waited. She rang—no response.

She rang again. A loud laughter in the kitchen caused her to say, as usual, 'Oh! they cannot hear the bell,' and she tripped off lightly and called 'Susan! Susan! Susan!' 'and but the booming roars replied and fast the talk rolled on.' 'Susan,' said she, gently, over the bannisters.

'Susan is out, marm,' said a granite voice from the second story.

'Don't speak so loud, marm. Johnny has just gone to sleep, and I've had such trouble with him all the evening; he must have caught cold going to dancing school. You know, marm I begged you not to send him.

'Mrs. Phillips,' whispered Mary, in a crushed voice, 'where has Susan gone?'

'She went to her sister's, marm. Her child is very ill with the small pox, and she said she knew, if you knew he might die, that you would let her go and sit up with him this last night, poor, dear soul, bless his heart!'

Oh, how I chuckled!

'Why, Mrs. Phillips, just come down stairs, please; I want to speak to you.—Come into the library, only Mr. D'Aubrey is here.'

(Humph! Only Mr. D'Aubrey!—'Oh, for to-morrow!')

Enter Mrs. Phillips, one of those fat, pylygastric nurses, who divide the twenty-four hours into four days, so as to have three meals to each of their diurnal revolutions; whose digestive organs, if they could speak, would strike for wages; whose eyes move but never look; their atmosphere—what Germans might call expression—being that of massive rest.

She slides into the room and immediately sits down, moving her eyes up to her mistress with a patient and slightly suffering expression, while the process of deglutition is slowly going on.

I seize a book, pamphlet, anything, hold it in front of my face, and bite my segar in two.

'Did I understand you to say, Mrs. Phillips, that Susan had gone to sit up with a small pox patient?'

'Her nephew, yes marm.'

'Oh, how very wrong in her—how—'

'I don't think so, marm.'

I ground my teeth.

'Why Mrs. Phillips?'

'The boy marm, may not be yours, but it is her kin and she ought to know her duty to a sister's child.'

'Yes, but she might bring the disease to my little children! she'—'That's in the hands of Providence, marm.'

I ram a handkerchief down my mouth and choke—

'Well, as it is not your fault I need not speak to you—but please be so kind as to call Thomas, I only want him for a moment.' The celebrated Mrs. Phillips heaved a sigh, pregnant with bread, butter, cold meat and ale; and slid out of the room, crunching her way down stairs. I peeped at my sister—she looked pale and very anxiously perplexed, I pinched myself and kept silent. In a few minutes a voice was heard singing up the back stairs and—enter Sabina spread out with starch and heavily pomaded hair. 'Mrs. Phillips sent me to tell you marm that she had to make her gruel and the fire was low—and that Thomas had gone home.'

'Why, what time is it, Sabina?'

'Eight o'clock,' I enunciate distinctly. For one moment Mary's eyes lit up with something like heroism, but before she could frame a sentence, the playful want of interest exhibited by Sabina, who leaned against the mantel-piece, straightening her cuffs, did the business, and she collapsed.

'Please tell Thomas, when he comes to-morrow, Sabina, I would rather not have him go home quite as early, because you see,' (oh how I mentally groaned at this humiliating nonsense,) 'I might want him. You won't forget, will you, Sabina?'

'No, marm. Is there anything else?' Having now made herself prim, and taken a quiet survey of the library and viewed me carefully, she was now desirous of retiring.

'One moment, Sabina,' said Mary, beginning to realize her false position before me, 'Who is down stairs?'

'Well, I couldn't tell you, marm.'

'Why not?'

'There are so many.'

'How, do you mean so many?'

'Why, marm, it's