put it, that "the last camel breaks the straw's back," and they are
determined to uphold their immemorial rights.

We have thought it our duty therefore to interview the celebrated Mrs.
Bloggins, the _doyenne_ of the Corps of Bed-makers of Trinity College.
We found the lady in her home in Paradise Walk, where she was engaged
in eating some excellent buttered toast. We lost no time in explaining
the purport of our visit.

"We desire to know, Mrs. Bloggins," we began, "what your feelings are
with regard to the Americans."

"Ah," said Mrs. Bloggins, speaking with deep emotion, "you may well
call 'em Americans, for I've never bin so troubled about anythink
before. Some people seem to git the notion into their 'eads that
bed-makers do no work. Why we're arst to slave from mornin' till
night, and our pay is paltry. Things in Cambridge isn't like what they
was. Time was when our young gentlemen used to 'ave big dinners
in their rooms, and a careful bed-maker could save a bone or two.
Nowadays they,'re only cheese-parers, that's what I call 'em. You
won't believe me, I know, but my mother, who was a bed-maker afore me,
used to 'ave a month at the seaside every year, all paid for out of
money give to 'er by 'er young gentlemen. To be sure there was a
wrangler, or somethink of that kind, who didn't come up to the mark,
so she soon got rid of 'im; 'e used to find 'is butter was took by the
cat, and accidents of that kind.

"Mind yer," she continued, "I ain't got nothink to say against the
Americans. They may be the most liberal-'earted gentlemen in the world
for all I know. But it's the principle of the thing I'm objectin' to.