the city, get a few instructions and some materials, "then we shall
see what we shall see."

The next day was a harbinger for a hot day; but what of that? What
would not one undergo when pottery was in question? So she spent the
sultry-summer days examining all the different styles of vases with
the same eager minuteness that an amateur milliner studies hats on
"opening day." Her vases should be precisely like that elegant pair
of Copenhagen ware that cost fifty dollars. Then this ambitious,
energetic, deluded woman went home, and proceeded to shut herself in
her room, and dabbled in paint from morning till night. Her
enthusiasm arose to such a pitch, that she neglected her sewing and
her calls; and after she had produced a really creditable pair of
vases, she was stimulated to go on. She painted lovely little
bouquets on her tea-set, and decorated everything in the house from
china to coal-scuttle.

About this time Mrs. Williams received an invitation to a party, not
an unusual thing, but this was a very select affair; the very highest
stratum of society. She was holding a counsel with herself, and doing
some very close thinking on the all-important subject of her
wardrobe, and she came to the usual feminine conclusion that
"positively" she had "nothing to wear," when she was interrupted by a
call from the collectors of the missionary society--the faithful,
punctual collectors, whose visits were as sure as the sun and the
dews. Mrs. Williams had decided that self-defence required her to
become a member of that society, afford it she must, in some way. Her
bills for the pottery had amounted to a considerable sum, home
industry notwithstanding, and the fact stared her in the face that
she must have a new silk for that party--but it was plain she had