in on our despair with one of those practical suggestions of hers that
she occasionally threw out for us to accept or not, as we chose.

"Maybe," said she, "I'd better light it in the old way just for to-day."

"Do, Amenda," said Ethelbertha, rising. And then she added, "I think
we'll always have them lighted in the old way, Amenda, if you please."

Another time he showed us how to make coffee--according to the Arabian
method. Arabia must be a very untidy country if they made coffee often
over there. He dirtied two saucepans, three jugs, one tablecloth, one
nutmeg-grater, one hearthrug, three cups, and himself. This made coffee
for two--what would have been necessary in the case of a party, one dares
not think.

That we did not like the coffee when made, MacShaughnassy attributed to
our debased taste--the result of long indulgence in an inferior article.
He drank both cups himself, and afterwards went home in a cab.

He had an aunt in those days, I remember, a mysterious old lady, who
lived in some secluded retreat from where she wrought incalculable
mischief upon MacShaughnassy's friends. What he did not know--the one or
two things that he was _not_ an authority upon--this aunt of his knew.
"No," he would say with engaging candour--"no, that is a thing I cannot
advise you about myself. But," he would add, "I'll tell you what I'll
do. I'll write to my aunt and ask her." And a day or two afterwards he
would call again, bringing his aunt's advice with him; and, if you were
young and inexperienced, or a natural born fool, you might possibly
follow it.