om the capes to the city.

At last the _Voltaire_ cast anchor at the foot of Market Street, and our
ladies could scarcely refrain from walking down to the wharf to see the
ship that held the box that held the china. But invitations were
immediately sent out for a long projected dinner-party, which Mrs.
Atmore had persuaded her husband to defer till they could exhibit the
beautiful new porcelain.

The box was landed, and conveyed to the house. The whole family were
present at the opening, which was performed in the dining-room by Mr.
Atmore himself--all the servants peeping in at the door. As soon as a
part of the lid was split off, and a handful of the straw removed, a
pile of plates appeared, all separately wrapped in India paper. Each of
the family snatched up a plate and hastily tore off the covering. There
were the flowers glowing in beautiful colors, and the gold star and the
gold A, admirably executed. But under the gold star, on every plate,
dish and tureen were the words, "THIS IN THE MIDDLE!"--being the
direction which the literal and exact Chinese had minutely copied from a
crooked line that Mr. Atmore had hastily scrawled on the pattern with a
very bad pen, and of course without the slightest fear of its being
inserted _verbatim_ beneath the central ornament.

Mr. Atmore laughed--Mrs. Atmore cried--the servants giggled aloud--and
Marianne cried first, and laughed afterwards.

SUPPRESSED CHAPTERS[1]

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Zenobia, they tell us, was a leader born and bred;
Of any sort of enterprise she'd fitly take the head.
The biggest, burliest buccaneers bowed down to her in awe;
To Warriors, Emperors or Kings, Zenobia's word was law.

Above her troop of Amazons her helmet plume would toss,
And every one, with loud accord, proclaimed Zenobia's boss.
The reason of her power (though the part she didn't look),
Was simply that Zenobia had once lived out as cook.

Xantippe was a Grecian Dame--they say she was the wife
Of Socrates, and history shows she led him a life!
They say she was a virago, a vixen and a shrew,
Who scolded poor old Socrates until the air was blue.

She never stopped from morn till night the clacking of her tongue,
But this is thus accounted for: You see, when she was young--
(And 'tis an explanation that explains, as you must own),
Xantippe was the Central of the Grecian telephone.

[Footnote 1: By permission of