chairs, a part of the mahogany ornament in the back of one of them
fell off. On the next day, another showed the same evidence of
imperfect workmanship. A few evenings afterwards, as we sat at the
centre table, one of our children leaned on it rather heavily, when
there was a sudden crack, and the side upon which he was bearing his
weight, swayed down the distance of half an inch or more. The next
untoward event was the dropping of one of its feet by the sofa, and
the warping up of a large piece of veneering on the back. While
lamenting over this, we discovered a broken spring ready to make its
way through the hair cloth covering.

"So much for cheap furniture," said I, in a tone of involuntary
triumph.

My husband looked at me half reproachfully, and so I said no more.

It was now needful to send for a cabinet maker, and submit our sofa
and chairs to his handy workmanship. He quickly discovered other
imperfections, and gave us the consoling information that our fine
furniture was little above fourth-rate in quality, and dear at any
price. A ten dollar bill was required to pay the damage they had
already sustained, even under our careful hands.

A more striking evidence of our folly in buying cheap furniture was,
however, yet to come. An intimate friend came in one evening to sit
a few hours with us. After conversing for a time, both he and my
husband took up books, and commenced reading, while I availed myself
of the opportunity to write a brief letter. Our visitor, who was a
pretty stout man, had the bad fault of leaning back in his chair,
and balancing himself on its hind legs; an experiment most trying to