I had obtained a "treasure" in a new cook, who was not only good tempered and cleanly, but understood her business reasonably well.

Kitty was a little different from former incumbents of her office in this, that she took an interest in reading, and generally dipped into the morning paper before it found its way up stairs.

To this, of course, I had no objection, but was rather pleased to see it.

Time, however, which proves all things, showed my cook to be rather too literary in her inclinations.

I often found her reading, when it was but reasonable for me to expect that she would be working; and overdone or burnt dishes occasionally marked the degree in which her mind was absorbed in her literary pleasures, which I discovered in time, were not of the highest order-such books as the "Mysteries of Paris" furnishing the aliment that fed her imagination.
"Jane," said my husband to me one morning, as he was about leaving the house, "I believe I must invite my old friend Green to dine with me to-day.