es! Poison me!"
cries the terrified woman.

"Olivia," she again ejaculates, after a moment's pause, from overtasked
nature!

"Yes'm," the blushing, tickled _blonde_ replies.

"Go call Vanilla, you are quite soiled now. I want a fresh servant,
retire."

"Ah, Vanilla, girl, have you got your gloves on?"

"Yes'm," the yellow girl modestly answers.

"Then do go and bring me six handkerchiefs from my boudoir, in the fifth
drawer of my black _papier mache_ bureau. Let me see your gloves, dear.

"Ah, Vanilla, you are to be depended upon; your gloves are clean--now
run along, dear, for I'm suffering for a fresh, new, and untouched
handkerchief.

"Ah, that's well. Now, Vanilla, go to Mrs. Brown's, my laundress--say
that I wish her to come here, immediately."

"Yes'm," says the bright quadroon, and away she spins for the domicil of
democratic Mrs. Brown, the laundress.

"Now what's up, I'd like to know?" quoth the old woman.

"Dunno, missus wants to see you--guess you better come," says Vanilla.

"Deuce take sich fussy people," says Mrs. Brown; "I wouldn't railly put
up with all her dern'd nonsense, ef she wa'n't so poorly, so weak in her
mind and body, and so good about paying for her work. No, I declare I
wouldn't," said the strong-minded woman.

"Bring the creature up," said Mrs. Pompaliner, as one of her fresh
attendants announced the washerwoman.

"Ah, you are here?"

"Yes," said the fat, hardy, and independent, if awkward, Mrs. Brown, as
she stood in the august presence of Mrs. Pompaliner, and the gorgeous
trappings of her own private drawing-room.

"Yes, I believe I am, ma'am!" says the she-democrat.

"Vanilla, tell Olivia to bring Jessamine here."

"Yes'm."

"Now Mrs. a--what is your name?"

"Brown, Dorcas Brown; my husband and I--"

"Never mind, that's sufficient, Mrs. a--Brown," said the reclining Mrs.
Pompaliner. "I wish to know if anybody is permitted to touch or handle
any of my wardrobe, my linen, handkerchiefs, hose, gloves, laces, etc.,
in your house?"

"Tetch 'em!" echoes the rotund laundress; "why of course we've got to
tetch 'em, or how'd we get 'em ironed and put in your baskets, ma'am?"

"Do you pretend to say, Mrs. a--Brown--O dear! dear! I am afraid you
have ruined all my clothes!"

"Ruined 'em?" quoth Mrs. Brown, coloring up, like a fresh and lively
lobster immersed in a pot of highly caloric water.

"I want to know if the things ain't been done this week as well as I
ever