associated with worth. My Olivia, I
could see, associated her very obesity with
honesty.

"Just put me to something; work is
what I want. Ah, ma'am, a true servant
won't be asking what is her duty and what
is not; but she'll just see the work is to be
done, and—do it."

On this she loosened the strings of her
great cloak, and revealed a physical
structure that suggested the idea of having
been put together in compartments, which
seemed very insecurely joined. As she
moved, separation seemed always
impending. After all, there was something
almost heroic in a daughter of toil, there
in protest against such a serious disability;
and there was a gallantry in her thus
boldly facing the charge—though, in truth,
she could hardly have shirked it.

She was engaged on experiment. She
was willing to do anything, accept any
terms, "save that we would not ask her
to bemean herself:" which seemed to rob
the concession of any practical value. In
succeeding interviews with the lady and
females of the house, she invariably
dissolved in tears, and begged to be excused,
as she had never thought she would come
so low as this. "No blame to you," she
added handsomely. "But it came hard on
one, who at Mr. Hocker's of Lupus-street
had her fourteen copper saucepans about
her, and a kitching maid to fetch and
carry."

This Belisarius-like reverse caused deep
sympathy, and at dinner I heard many
remarks pointed with a "Mrs. Brennan
thinks," and "now that Mrs. Brennan is
here," In an hour or so she had called
down the mistress of the house, to exhibit
some new arrangement of her kitchen
apparatus. "Ah, yes, ma'am! That's what
I love and like—to have everything in its
own place. Excuse me, m'm; but you're
beginning housekeeping, and don't know
the ways of this great place—pardon me
the liberty of telling you so. But there
are people going about, and in respectable
houses, who have every trick to shirk their
work, and it is a shame, indeed. I'm not
one of those, ma'am."

Mrs. Brennan could not, unhappily,
reside with us, as she had to go back every
night to her "Phil;" a gentleman
connected with the tailoring profession: her
"darling boy," as she called him. Her
way of putting it was characteristic. "It's
a long way and a sore one to Whitechapel;
but poor people must walk; and there was
One in the Scripters, ma'am, that we all
know—how He walked, footsore and weary.
Ah, yes, m'm. The poor may love their
husbands as well as the rich, and I wouldn't
give up my darling boy, no, not for all the
wealth of the universe! I couldn't do that,
low as I'm come to. Ah, no!"

All day long we could hear from below a
ceaseless hum and clatter, which resolved
itself into Mrs. Brennan delivering shrill
and sustained commentaries on the most
various subjects. She had made her mark
in the house, and at once took a position of
command. I had misgivings, but was
overborne by the united female voices, who
seemed to rejoice in what I saw would be
their enslavement, and hugged their chains.

In a few days I noted some other
symptoms that disquieted me; one of which
was, the little mouse of work which
resulted from a vast mountain of words. Like
some other clever persons in the world, she
had the art of overlaying the most meagre
sliver of work with such an incrustation of
verbiage, that you were persuaded in spite
of yourself. We rubbed our eyes, and
fancied we saw.

"These seem very dusty, Mrs. Brennan,"
I say doubtfully. They were thick with
dust.

"Dusty! dusty, sir?" as if she could
not have heard. "Where, sir? How?"

"Everywhere, everyhow, Mrs. Brennan."

"Well, sir, I tell you this, and you will
excuse me if I speak plain, but you are
only beginning 'ousekeeping, sir, and you
will pardon me, but I've been in the City
sixteen year on end. And I can assure
you I have not always been in this way, or
come down to this; for when with Mr.
Hocker, of Lupus-street, Pimlico——"

I was getting rather tired of this
formula and the implied slight to our
mansion; and I cut short her reminiscences by
firmly requesting her immediate attention
to the work in hand. She obeyed smiling.

The period of probation was sliding by.
She was sorry to leave, she announced, but
she could not be longer separated from her
darling boy. The poor had their feelings
as well as the rich, &c. Go she must. My
Olivia came later with a wistful face. It
was a pity to lose such a treasure—to have
to begin all over again; such a good cook.
Really it was a very good sign to see such
affection among the lower classes. Mr.
Philip Brennan had already appeared below;
had come to partake of tea, and escort
his lady home. I could not account for
the interest this gentleman inspired, until I