what she should take, and what she should lock up; whether she should allow the use of the piano, and whether the pictures should be covered; till her husband impatiently cried—

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Oh, hang the pictures!" and then laughed at his ridiculous exclamation.

"But really, Emma," continued he, you need not give Mrs. Cheerlove a list of all the cracked wine-glasses."

"I haven't a list to give," said she with simplicity. "Perhaps it would be well if I kept

"You must make an inventory now, at any rate. Set about it this morning-it will keep you amused for a week."

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My dear Alfred, you are always finding things for me to do, instead of yourself. You forget the baby."

"You take good care, my dear, I shall not do that. Mrs. Cheerlove, how I do wish we could enlist you amongst us!"

"As what?" said I, amazed.

"As a contributor. Oh, you need not look so conscious!-murder will out. I know you

write. Now, do give me-poor, toil-worn editor as I am- -some little assistance. On public and local affairs, of course, I want no aid; what I desire is historical anecdote, biographical sketches, traits of character and experience—all that sort of materiel for thought which may or may not `be used, according to the will of the reader— pleased with the thing as it stands, but not always disposed to carry it on."

He spoke earnestly and well.

I

"You do me great honour," said I, “but, I assure you, you are quite mistaken in me. could not afford you the help you need."

"Why they said you wrote throughout your long illness!"

"Whoever they may be, I can assure you, I only used my pen in hours of solitude, as a companion; nothing more."

"But its results!

"Will never appear before the public. Oh no, I am no authoress. And I must confess to a prejudice against female assistants in our leading periodicals. I think it a province out of our sphere."

"Well, you compliment us," said he, bowing; "but I own you have not satisfied me. I am convinced you could, if you would. Dear me ! how time runs away, to be sure! I must run off this moment; but one takes no count of time in your presence, Mrs. Cheerlove."

And, presenting his hand to me in a very affable manner, and bowing over mine, he flourished off.

"Delightful!" cried Mrs. Ringwood, taking a deep breath; "how you've drawn him out! Oh, I do so enjoy good conversation! But I'm no converser―never was. Always such a simple little thing!"

I knew not what to say; and she almost immediately went on in a dreamy sort of way

"He used to tell me before marriage, he loved simplicity; so I wasn't afraid, you know. But now he likes intellect better."

"But why should you despair of pleasing him, even then?"

"Oh, he knocks me down so! I don't mean literally," cried she, seeing my look of dismay; "but he has a way of setting people down, as the

saying is, whenever they talk in a way that does not please him; and if I am chatting a little, and he wants to cut it short, he says, 'My dear, I beg your pardon,' quite politely; and takes the lead, and keeps it 'My dear,' not 'My love.' It was so pleasant to hear him say, 'My love!' to-day."

"Well," said I, "you will be busy now, and I hope soon to hear of your having let your house." And so I talked a little about various wateringplaces, as if she might pick and choose where she liked; though, after all, very probably, she will have no choice but Hardsand. And I told her what a cheerful, bracing place Hardsand was considered.

But, as I rode home, I thought that, perhaps I had done the little woman no kindness, after all; for her efforts to let her house might only end in disappointment. And the more I thought of blinds, scrapers, &c., wanting repair, crumb-cloths wanting washing, and wine-glasses wanting replacing, the less chance there appeared to me of anybody's being attracted by the house.

N

"A pennyworth of putty and a pennyworth of paint," said a nobleman, in the last century, "would make my countess as handsome as any at court." Certes, a pennyworth of putty and a pennyworth of paint, or something equivalent, will often go far towards making a house look tidy and respectable. But, in Mrs. Ringwood's domain, il poco piú is sadly wanting. A man may laugh at an Irish waiter who confidentially whispers to him, as he hands him his venison, that "there is no currant jelly on the sideboard, but plenty of lobster-sauce," but he will not endure it from his wife.

What luck some people have! The Ringwoods have let their house the very first day! Just now, I was very much surprised by a call from Mr. Ringwood, who looked much more gentlemanlike than he did yesterday, and said, with a very pleased look, "Mrs. Cheerlove, I . am sure you will be glad to hear the good news,