indomitable lady. In answer to a question as to what time Mr. Slocum
will be home, the maid of all work says: "Och! God love the poor
man, there's no tellin'. Sure there's not much left of the poor man.
An' the divil a one more inoffensive than poor Slocum. It's himsel'
works all day in the Shurance office beyant. He comes home dragged
out, does a dale of writing for Mrs. Slocum hersel', and goes to bed
sayin' nothin' to nobody." Lady Swiggs says: "God bless me. He no
doubt labors in a good cause-an excellent cause-he will have his
reward hereafter."

It must here be confessed that Sister Slocum, having on hand a
newly-married couple, nicely suited to the duties of a mission to
some foreign land, has conceived the very laudable project of
sending them to Aleppo, and is now spending a few weeks among the
Dutch of Albany, who are expected to contribute the necessary funds.
A few thousand dollars expended, a few years' residence in the East,
a few reports as to what might have been done if something had not
interposed to prevent it, and there is not a doubt that this happy
couple will return home crowned with the laurels of having very
nearly Christianized one Turk and two Tartars.

The maid of all work suddenly remembers that Mrs. Slocum left word
that if a distinguished lady arrived from South Carolina she could
be comfortably accommodated at Sister Scudder's, on Fourth Street.
Not a little disappointed, the venerable old lady calls a passing
carriage, gets herself and black box into it, and orders the driver
to forthwith proceed to the house of Sister Scudder. Here she is-and
she sheds tears that she is-cooped up in a cold, closet-like room,
on the third story, where, with the ends of her red shawl, she may
blow and warm her fingers. Sister Scudder is a crispy little body,