But now we have everything that is handsome about us--nothing like management.

Saturday pies are very nice things, and then you start clear with your joint on Sunday.

A good wife like you should never neglect the Saturday's pie!" "Yes," said the bride, mournfully; "but Mr.Tiddy does not like pies." "Not like pies! that very odd--Mr.Hobbs likes pies--perhaps you don't have the crust made thick eno'.

How somever, you can make it up to him with a pudding.

A wife should always study her husband's tastes--what is a man's home without love?
Still a husband ought not to be aggravating, and dislike pie on a Saturday!" "Holla! I say, ma, do you see that 'ere gipsy?
I shall go and have my fortune told." "And I--and I!" "Lor, if there ben't a tramper!" cried Mr.Hobbs, rising indignantly; "what can the parish be about ?" The object of these latter remarks, filial and paternal, was a young woman in a worn, threadbare cloak, with her face pressed to the openwork of the gate, and looking wistfully--oh, how wistfully!--within.