"Don't talk to me, Mrs. Howe," said her husband, slamming to the door, and dumping down in his arm-chair as if to try the strength of the seat. "If there is any thing I hate, Mrs. Howe, it is that tribe of popinjays, one of whom has just gone through that door; hate don't express it, Mrs. Howe, I detest, and abominate, and despise him."

"Well, now, Mr. Howe, I am athtonithed," lisped his wife, that lady not having yet accommodated her speech to the play of her new set of teeth. "I am thure he ith the moth elegant and refined and thivil thpoken young man I ever thaw; I never heard him thay an offenthive thing to any one in my life."

"Of course you haven't, Mrs. Howe; and that's just what I hate him for; a man who is so loaded and primed with civil speeches is always rotten at the core. I always steer clear of such a fellow," said John, forgetting the compliments to himself which he had heretofore swallowed.

"That man never sneezes without calculating the effect of it; he has the same smile and bow and obsequious manner for every body; it is his aim to be popular, and it may go down with women and softheaded men, but he don't take John Howe in. He is an oily-tongued hypocrite. That's plain Saxon, Mrs. Howe. I am astonished at you—no, I am not, either," said John, slamming himself down again into the chair.

"Mrs. Howe!"

And John wheeled his chair close up to her, "didn't you hear him the other day, when that tiresome, stupid Mrs. Frink was here, inquire so touchingly after a bad cough which he recollected she had when he met her a year ago? Did you see the effect it had on the silly old thing? I wonder she got out the door without having it widened, she was so puffed up.

"Mrs. Howe!"

And John moved up still closer, "if that man should meet our old cat in the entry after a month's absence, he'd take off his hat, and inquire after that very precocious kitten of hers he had the pleasure of seeing on the stairs when he was last here. Fact—I'm astonished at you, Mrs. Howe," and John dumped himself down again into the chair; "the man is a jackass, a fool, a perfume-bottle on legs—faugh!

"Mrs. Howe!"

And John wheeled round again, "didn't he upset that old squirrel-eyed Miss Price, by repeating a common-place remark of hers which she made him two or three years ago, and which he had the brass to say struck him so forcibly at the time that he never forgot it? Didn't she go home in the full belief that she had up to that time been terribly underrated by her folks at home? Certainly;—now do you suppose he does all that for nothing, Mrs. Howe? No—he gets his pay out of you all by an invitation to a good dinner. He does the same here, whenever it is more convenient to stop here than down town, and then you and all the rest of these silly women become his trumpeters.

"For his fine speeches to steamboat captains, he gets a free pass in their boats; landlords of hotels, ditto; that's it, Mrs. Howe.

"I am astonished at you, Mrs. Howe.

"He gets presents of hats, presents of coats, presents of canes, presents of pictures, presents of books and stationery.

"As for the women, of course, as I said before, such flummery takes them right down—just as it did you, Mrs. Howe.

"May he be strangled in his pink and blue cravat before he comes here to another dinner.

"That's right, Jonathan, come in," said Mr. Howe, as an unpolished, but good-hearted country cousin strode over the carpet in his thick-soled boots; "that's right. You have come just in time to save me from being sick at the stomach; sit down—any where, top of the piano if you like; put your feet on that Chinese work-table, and hang your hat on that Venus. It will do me good. And give me that bit of hay sticking on your outside coat. Let us have something natural, somehow."

Mrs. Howe retired in disgust, although she was too much under the yoke to make any remonstrance, which she felt sure would be thrown in her teeth!

In default of any more children, Mrs. Howe, like many other ladies similarly situated, consoled herself with her dog, Consuelo.

Seating herself in what she called her "boudoir," a little room whose walls were covered with red satin paper, which Mrs. Howe imagined particularly in harmony with her rubicund complexion, she took Consuelo on her lap, and stroking his long silken ears, said: "How like Mr. Howe, to prefer that clumsy country cousin of his to the elegant Finels. There is just the same difference between them that there is between you, my lovely Consuelo, and that hideous yellow terrier of the butcher's boy. I think I may say, Consuelo, that both you and I are quite thrown away in this house," and wrapping her pet in his embroidered blanket, she laid him down in her lap to sleep.

"Jealous! ah, ha! That's it, Consuelo. That is what sets Mr. Howe so against Finels; as for his coming here for our good dinners, that is all sheer nonsense. He sees plainly enough, with all his politeness to John, that I am miserably sacrificed to him. I was not aware of it myself until after I became acquainted with Mr. Finels. Finels always pays so much attention when I speak. John, on the contrary, half the time, does not seem to hear me. It is not at all uncommon for him to leave the room or to fall asleep in the middle of one of my conversations. It is very irritating to a sensible woman. Finels always remembers some little remark I have made him. I think I must have been in the habit of throwing away a great many good things on John. John has grown very stupid since I married him.

"Finels says such pretty French words; I have not the slightest idea what they mean, but doubtless there is some delicate compliment conveyed in them, if I only understood the language. I think I will study French. Oh! that would be delightful, and then John can't understand a word dear Finels and I say;" and Mrs. Howe tied on her hat, and went in pursuit of a French grammar.

"What on earth is this?" exclaimed Mrs. Howe, as she entered the parlor two hours after, with her French bonnet and French grammar. "What on earth is this?" applying a tumbler which stood on the center-table to her nose, and tasting some remaining crumbs in a plate.

"What is it?" repeated John, puffing away, not at the chibouk, but at the old clay pipe. "What is it? Why, it is the dregs of some molasses and water Jonathan has been drinking, and those crumbs are all that remain of a loaf of brown bread, for which I sent Mary to the grocer's. If he likes country fare he shall have it—why not, as well as your superfine Finels his olives, and sardines, and gimcracks? I pay the 'damages,' you know, Mrs. Howe;" and John's eye gave a triumphant twinkle.

"Of course, my dear—of course," replied that subjugated lady; "it is all right, my dear, and does great credit to your kindness of heart; but it is such a very odd, old-fashioned taste, you know;" and applying her embroidered handkerchief to her nose, she motioned Mary to remove the remains of the homespun feast.