every day. In the evening she read Reynolds's
Miscellany, had her tea and buttered muffins, took a thimbleful of
brandy and water at nine, and then went to bed. The work of her
life consisted in sewing buttons on to Moulder's shirts, and seeing
that his things were properly got up when he was at home. No doubt
she would have done better as to the duties of the world, had the
world's duties come to her. As it was, very few such had come in her
direction. Her husband was away from home three-fourths of the year,
and she had no children that required attention. As for society, some
four or five times a year she would drink tea with Mrs. Hubbles at
Clapham. Mrs. Hubbles was the wife of the senior partner in the firm,
and on such occasions Mrs. Moulder dressed herself in her best, and
having travelled to Clapham in an omnibus, spent the evening in dull
propriety on one corner of Mrs. Hubbles's sofa. When I have added to
this that Moulder every year took her to Broadstairs for a fortnight,
I think that I have described with sufficient accuracy the course of
Mrs. Moulder's life.

On the occasion of this present Christmas-day Mr. Moulder entertained
a small party. And he delighted in such occasional entertainments,
taking extraordinary pains that the eatables should be of the
very best; and he would maintain an hospitable good humour to the
last,--unless anything went wrong in the cookery, in which case he
could make himself extremely unpleasant to Mrs. M. Indeed, proper
cooking for Mr. M. and the proper starching of the bands of his
shirts were almost the only trials that Mrs. Moulder was doomed to
suffer. "What the d---- are you for?" he would say, almost throwing
the displeasing viands at her head across the table, or tearing the
rough linen from off his throat. "It ain't much I ask of you in
return for your keep;" and then he would scowl at her with bloodshot
eyes till she shook in her shoes. But this did not happen often, as
experiences had made her careful.

But on this present Christmas festival all went swimmingly to the
end. "Now, bear a hand, old girl," was the harshest word he said
to her; and he enjoyed himself like Duncan, shut up in measureless
content. He had three guests with him on this auspicious day. There
was his old friend Snengkeld, who had dined with him on every
Christmas since his marriage; there was his wife's brother, of whom
we will say a word or two just now;--and there was our old friend,
Mr. K