120.
truth about herself than she has, probably, ever
heard in all her life.       So much so, indeed, that
it ended in a jolly row.                    Down stairs, on
the next story, in the back room sits Mrs Patten,
the industrious loquacious Down - Easter, busily plying
her sewing-machine, which I doubt not, has been in
brisk motion all the live-long day.        She hopes that
the New Year may see her great, big, heavy dogmatic
Hippopatamus of a husband may get �an office� under
the new president Buchanan � whom he (Patten)
worked hard against at the polls. (There are only
five or six hundred candidates for the berth.)     I
hope he�ll get it for his good wife�s sake.       Also
she probably hopes that their boy George will break
himself of theiving.      He goes to his father�s pockets
for money, spends it in candy, spoils his appetite,
and then don�t want breakfast.        Also he invariably
asks for something that is not, (an ought not to
be) on the table, contradicts his parents and is
generally insolent to them.   Altogether a promising
young gentleman.            In the front room Mrs
Levison and her daughter Ellen are setting out a
table for to-morrows �calls�, when upwards of
a hundred or more of those whom Mrs L would
call �friends� � and who wouldn�t care for half
an hour if she and her husband were hanged �
will drop in and do the conventualism of the season.
(Not that it isn�t a kindly custom enough � when