incarnation of all human vanities and shortcomings.

"A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at last offered
her, and she posted away to secure it, having reached a state of
desperation and resolved to go as a first-class cook rather than sit
with her hands before her any longer.

A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties seemed things
to be grateful for, and Christie decided that going out to service
was not the hardest fate in life, as she stood at the door of a
handsome house in a sunny square waiting to be inspected.

Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected the artistic,
and the new applicant found her with a Roman scarf about her head, a
rosary like a string of small cannon balls at her side, and azure
draperies which became her as well as they did the sea-green
furniture of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers tripped over
coral and shells, grew sea-sick looking at pictures of tempestuous
billows engulfing every sort of craft, from a man-of-war to a
hencoop with a ghostly young lady clinging to it with one hand, and
had their appetites effectually taken away by a choice collection of
water-bugs and snakes in a glass globe, that looked like a jar of
mixed pickles in a state of agitation.

MRS. STUART.

Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's "Rain, Wind, and
Hail," that pleasing work which was sold upsidedown and no one found
it out. Motioning Christie to a seat she finished some delicate
sloppy process before speaking. In that little pause Christie