This is a subject on which Fanny ought to speak feelingly. Her article thus entitled, is, however, full of funny hits, doubtless much like the roses which crown the skeleton, or the smiles which hide the heart-ache. Poor Fanny!

Mr. Jeremiah Stubbs was rash enough to remark, one morning, to his wife Keziah, "that, after all, women had little or nothing to do; that he only wished she knew the responsibilities of a man of business." (Jeremiah kept a small shop, well stocked with maple sugar, suspicious looking doughnuts, ancient pies and decayed lemons.)—"Yes, Keziah, if you only knew the responsibilities of a man of business,' said Jeremiah, fishing up the corner of his dickey from a questionable looking red neckerchief that protected his jugular.

"'Well, let me know 'em, then,' said his wife, tying on her bonnet. 'Seeing is believing. We will change works for one day. You get breakfast, tend the baby, and wash and dress the other three children, and I'll go down and open shop.'

"Jeremiah didn't exactly look for this termination to the discussion; but he was a man, and of course never backed out; so he took a survey of the premises, wondering which end to begin, while Keziah went on her way rejoicing, took down the shutters like a master-workman, opened shop, made a fire, arranged the tempting wares above mentioned, with feminine ingenuity; putting the best side of everything uppermost, and wishing she had nothing else to do, from day to day, but stand behind the counter and sell them.

"This accomplished, she went home to breakfast. There sat Jeremiah, in a chair, in the middle of the room, with one side of his beard shaved off, and the lather drying on the remainder, trotting a little blue-looking wretch, in a yellow flannel night-gown, who was rubbing some soft gingerbread into his bosom with his little fists, by way of amusement. The coffee had boiled over into the ashes, and Thomas Jefferson and Napoleon Buonaparte Stubbs were stirring up the miniature pond with Jeremiah's razor. James Madison was still between the sheets, vociferating loudly for 'his breakfast.'

"Looking with a curious eye over the pile of scorched toast for a piece that was eatable, Keziah commenced her breakfast, referring her interesting young family to their paternal derivative for a supply of their numerous wants. At last he placed a cup of muddy coffee before him, congratulating himself that his labors were ended, when the baby, considering it an invasion of his rights, made a dive at it, and he sprang from his chair with the scalding contents dripping from his unwhisperables, and—a word that church-members don't use—hissing from between his teeth.

"Calm as a summer morning, Keziah replaced her time-worn straw upon her head, telling Jerry that her children must be prepared for school at nine o'clock, the room must be swept and righted, the breakfast things washed, the potatoes boiled, and the mince-meat prepared for dinner by twelve. Her husband grinned a ghastly smile, and told her 'that was easy done.' No such thing. The comb couldn't be found; he had to wipe James Madison's presidential phiz-mahogany on the corner of the table-cloth. Napoleon Buonaparte's pinafore had been used to wipe the dishes; Thomas Jefferson had rejoiced twice in a pair of boxed ears, for devouring the contents of the sugar-bowl; and that little yellow flannel night-gown was clutching at his heels, every step he took over the floor.

"Miserable Jeremiah! didn't you wish you were a woman? Well, 'time and tide wait for no man.' Twelve o'clock came, and so did Keziah. Her husband would rather have seen the —— hem! The bed was unmade, the children's hair stood up 'seven ways of a Sunday,' the cat was devouring the meat, the baby had the chopping-knife, and Napoleon Buonaparte was playing ball with the potatoes.

"Jeremiah's desire for immediate emancipation overcame his pride, and passing his arms half-way around Keziah's waist, (it was so large that he always made a chalk mark where he left off embracing, that he might know where to begin again,) he told her she was an angel, and he was a poor miserable wretch, and was ready to acknowledge his mistake. Keziah very quietly withdrew from his arm, told him the bargain was made for the day, and she would change works at night; and treating herself to a piece of bread and butter, she departed. Jerry sat for a minute looking into the fire, then reaching down a huge parcel of maple-sugar, he put it on the floor, and seating all the young hopefuls round it, turned the key on them and the scene of his cares, mounted his beaver on his aching head, and rushed to ——'s for a whiskey punch! The room was nice and tidy, the fire was comfortable, the punch was strong, and Jeremiah was weak. He woke about dark, from troubled dreams of broomsticks and curtain lectures, and not having sufficient courage to encounter their fulfilment, has left Keziah to the glorious independence of a 'California widow.'"