Chapter L: A Hum Transaction

Mrs. Billings lately becum helpless.

This kalamity was so well published, that the door bel ov the house waz kept on a titter for a week, with "_out ov place_," "Bridgets," "Margarets," and "Matildys."

From so profuse a crop, it was difficult tew select; each one had a karakter, that would hav lasted an economikal person for life, and each one was az demure az if they were about to take the veil.

They could all bile, and stew--hash, and frigasee, wash, mend, and iron, bake, bru, and starch--in fackt they were perfecktly elaborate, in aul cook and laundry doings, and _never staid out ov nights_.

For sum reason, (bless the ladys, they never dew ennything without a good reason,) a prodigious emerald selekshun was made from the applicants, happy in the immaculate prefix ov Mary, a queen among pots and kittles, soups, gravy, and compounds.

She could do evrything!

She could sweep without disturbing enny dust; she could bile a dumplin so light, az almost tew disfranchise the long cherished principle ov gravitashun; in fackt, if it was safe tew bet on her, she was a fust-klass kitchin, within a kitchen; "_ne plus ultra_," _a bonny fide_ "_Eureka_,"--the last one out.

She was sworn in, with the usual serimony ov pinteing out the ways and means, the kittles, and closets, the coal, and cesspool, the pump, and bred tickets, and lots ov other things, in the matter ov nails for this rag, and rags for that nail.

The dinner tew be got up was quite ordnary, and Mrs. Billings, willing tew levy but a light tax upon the almost omniscient cook genius ov the accomplished Mary, suggested for sass, that most simple az well az most agreeable ov aul wheaten kompounds, known amung fluent housewifes, az a "minnit puddin."

"Ah, mum, it will plaze yee's to see me be after makin the puddin."

The mistick hour iz clus at hand, when the platter iz tew smoke in the senter ov the snowy damask; a gentle tap iz herd at the parler door; the glistening Mary relates the vicktory ov meat and vegatables below, and with a plezant pride nestling in her ize, in virgin innocense, asks:

"_Now mum, pleze, whare dew yu keep yure minits?_"

P.S.--Comment seems tew be almoste unnecessary--but perhaps it will be safe tew add, that, if "ignorance iz bliss," Irish cooks must be the verry broth ov happiness.