mum?" was her invariable ejaculation, and then, hearing your reply,
would break in on whatever you said by "It ain't worth more than
_'arf_ that to me, mum," in the most aggrieved voice. I became used to
her in time, and knowing she would halve whatever I said, used to
demand double the worth of the thing. "What d'yer think yerself, mum?"
You grow so tired of your opinion being thus asked. I wonder how many
times she says it in a day! It is a cautious way of going about it, at
any rate. If that woman ever appeared in a police court on a charge of
dishonesty, and the magistrate asked her what she had to say to the
charge, the answer would undoubtedly be, "Well, what d'yer think
yerself, sir?"

Some of those bills are still unpaid. Quarter day is coming round
again, so I expect there will be some more soon. Alas! I am an unlucky
being, born under an unlucky star.

You may think it a strange notion, but I attribute all my ill-luck to
spiders:

"If you wish to live and thrive,
Let a spider run alive."

I am not superstitious as a rule, but I cannot help thinking that my
wholesale massacre of this obnoxious insect has something to do with
my misfortunes by way of retribution.

I hate spiders! Nearly everybody has a pet aversion of some sort. I
have heard people shriek at the sight of a caterpillar, and turn pale
in the neighborhood of a toad. My great antipathy is a spider! Not
that I object to its treatment of flies--nasty little worries, they