Our Missis's ockypation, a table and a tumbler of water (no sherry in it,
thankee) was placed beside it. Two of the pupils, the season being
autumn, and hollyhocks and dahlias being in, ornamented the wall with
three devices in those flowers. On one might be read, "MAY ALBION NEVER
LEARN;" on another "KEEP THE PUBLIC DOWN;" on another, "OUR
REFRESHMENTING CHARTER." The whole had a beautiful appearance, with
which the beauty of the sentiments corresponded.

On Our Missis's brow was wrote Severity, as she ascended the fatal
platform. (Not that that was anythink new.) Miss Whiff and Miss Piff
sat at her feet. Three chairs from the Waiting Room might have been
perceived by a average eye, in front of her, on which the pupils was
accommodated. Behind them a very close observer might have discerned a
Boy. Myself.

"Where," said Our Missis, glancing gloomily around, "is Sniff?"

"I thought it better," answered Mrs. Sniff, "that he should not be let to
come in. He is such an Ass."

"No doubt," assented Our Missis. "But for that reason is it not
desirable to improve his mind?"

"Oh, nothing will ever improve _him_," said Mrs. Sniff.

"However," pursued Our Missis, "call him in, Ezekiel."

I called him in. The appearance of the low-minded cove was hailed with
disapprobation from all sides, on account of his having brought his
corkscrew with him. He pleaded "the force of habit."