screams of the women inside? It is bad enough
to be submitted to this sort of persecution when
one is alone; but it is far worse to be also
exposed to it—as I am constantly—in the
presence of visitors, whose conversation is
necessarily interrupted, whose ears are necessarily
shocked, whose very stay in my house is
necessarily shortened, by Major Namby's
unendurably public way of managing his private
concerns.

Only the other day, my old, dear, and most
valued friend, Lady Malkinshaw, was sitting
with me, and was entering at great length into
the interesting story of her second daughter's
unhappy marriage engagement, and of the
dignified manner in which the family ultimately
broke it off. For a quarter of an hour or
so our interview continued to be delightfully
uninterrupted. At the end of that time,
however, just as Lady Malkinshaw, with the tears
in her eyes, was beginning to describe the effect
of her daughter's dreadful disappointment on
the poor dear girl's mind and looks, I heard
the door of the major's house bang as usual;
and, looking out of the window in despair, saw
the major himself strut half way down the walk,
stop, scratch violently at his roll of red flesh,
wheel round so as to face the house, consider a
little, pull his tablets out of his waistcoat-
pocket, shake his head over them, and then
look up at the front windows, preparatory to
bawling as usual at the degraded female
members of his household. Lady Malkinshaw, quite
ignorant of what was coming, happened, at the
same moment, to be proceeding with her
pathetic story, in these terms:

"I do assure you, my poor dear girl behaved
throughout with the heroism of a martyr. When
I had told her of the vile wretch's behaviour,
breaking it to her as gently as I possibly could;
and when she had a little recovered, I said to
her——"

("Matilda!")

The major's rasping voice sounded louder
than ever, as he bawled out that dreadful name,
just at the wrong moment. Lady Malkinshaw
started as if she had been shot. I put down the
window in despair; but the glass was no
protection to our ears—Major Namby can roar
through a brick wall. I apologised—I declared
solemnly that my next door neighbour was mad
—I entreated Lady Malkinshaw to take no
notice, and to go on. That sweet woman
immediately complied. I burn with indignation when
I think of what followed. Every word from the
Nambys' garden (which I distinguish below
by parentheses) came, very slightly muffled
by the window, straight into my room, and
mixed itself up with her ladyship's story in
this inexpressibly ridiculous and impertinent
manner:

"Well," my kind and valued friend
proceeded, "as I was telling you, when the first
natural burst of sorrow was over, I said to
her——"

"Yes, dear Lady Malkinshaw?" I
murmured, encouragingly.

"I said to her——"

("By jingo, I've forgotten something!
Matilda! when I made my memorandum of errands,
how many had I to do?")

"'My dearest, darling child,' I said——"

("Pamby! how many errands did your
mistress give me to do?")

"I said, 'my dearest, darling child——'"

("Nurse! how many errands did your
mistress give me to do?")

"'My own love,' I said——"

("Pooh! pooh! I tell you, I had four errands
to do, and I've only got three of 'em written
down. Check me off, all of you—I'm going to
read my errands.")

"'Your own proper pride, love,' I said, 'will
suggest to you——'"

("Grey powder for baby.")

—" 'the necessity of making up your mind,
my angel, to——'"

("Row the plumber for infamous condition
of back kitchen sink.")

——" 'to return all the wretch's letters,
and——'"

("Speak to the haberdasher about patching
Jack's shirts.")

——" 'all his letters and presents, darling. You
need only make them up into a parcel, and write
inside——'"

("Matilda! is that all?")

—"'and write inside——'"

("Pamby! is that all?")

—" 'and write inside——'"

("Nurse! is that all?")

"'I have my mother's sanction for making
one last request to you. It is this——'"

("What have the children got for dinner
today?")

—" 'it is this: Return me my letters,
as I have returned yours. You will find
inside——'"

("A shoulder of mutton and onion sauce?
And a devilish good dinner, too.")

The coarse wretch roared out those last
shocking words cheerfully, at the top of his
voice. Hitherto, Lady Malkinshaw had
preserved her temper with the patience of an angel;
but she began—and who can wonder?—to lose
it, at last.

"It is really impossible, my dear," she said,
rising from her chair, "to continue any
conversation while that very intolerable person
persists in talking to his family from his front
garden. No! I really cannot go on—I cannot,
indeed."

Just as I was apologising to my sweet friend
for the second time, I observed, to my great
relief (having my eye still on the window), that
the odious major had apparently come to the
end of his domestic business for that morning,
and had made up his mind at last to relieve us
of his presence. I distinctly saw him put his
tablets back in his pocket, wheel round again on
his heel, and march straight to the garden gate.
I waited until he had his hand on the lock to
open it; and then, when I felt that we were
quite safe, I informed dear Lady Malkinshaw