and a modest effort was made to furnish the back gallery.  One day I was astonished to find in the hall two hat-racks, and was nearly knocked down by the end of a great four-post bedstead that followed me in.  I turned on the intruder, and discovered the little cobbler, apparently as much under the influence of liquor as on the day of his previous eccentricity, stupidly endeavoring to push one post in the door while the other bade fair to thrust itself through the ventilator.  It was then I learned that in the array consisted the entire household treasures of Mrs. Mountchessington Lawk.

I may here mention that the cobbler had contracted a chronic habit of hanging around my back gate, but slunk away whenever I happened to observe him.

Gradually (leaving out the patients) our house began to wear the aspect of a hospital.  The doctor made his appearance three times daily.  An aged, red-faced nurse, smelling strong of whisky, wandered about like a disembodied spirit; and a lively young woman, her assistant, clattered up and down stairs at all hours of the day and night.  Had the entire city concluded to multiply and replenish, the preparations could not have been on a grander scale.

Of the exact particulars of the event, I fear I am not altogether clear.  I have an indistinct recollection of battling with a midnight thunder-storm, in a hopeless search for our medical man, and that, immediately on my return, that functionary (who had arrived during my absence) dispatched me on an equally important errand.

I remember pulling a great many night-bells and arousing an unlimited number of apothecaries; but the only act at all fresh in my recollection was slinking in the back gate at three o’clock A.M. (I had been locked out the front way), and finding the little cobbler, and a surrounding crowd of damp newsboys, cheering lustily for “Jinny.”  The cause of that commotion was also a mystery; but, when I entered the house, Master Moses Alphonso Butterby feebly echoed their shout of triumph.

Under different auspices, my paternal affection might have developed rapidly; but really, during the first few weeks of Moses Alphonso’s existence, our intercourse was so exceedingly limited I scarcely knew him.  Any intrusion within his little horizon of flannel or atmosphere of paregoric was so severe a tax on the nerves of Mrs. Lawk, that, out of consideration for her feelings, I rather avoided it.  Indeed, had it not been for the activity of that eminently respectable lady, I would have fancied Moses Alphonso a brother-in-law instead of a son.

Bolted in by flannel bandages, barred with a cambric shirt, locked up in towels, imprisoned in petticoats, and finally incarcerated in a dungeon of wrappers and shawls,—­from the first he had the appearance of an unhappy little convict.  Mrs. Lawk invariably acted as chief jailer, and, taking him into custody, changed his various places of confinement with the austerity of a keeper of the Tower.  My own position hourly became more ambiguous; indeed, had it not been for the monthly bills, I would have scarcely believed myself possessed of a house at all.  I impatiently awaited the promised evacuation; and when Moses Alphonso reached his third birthday (babies have these interesting periods monthly instead of annually) I ventured a hint that our own furniture was ample for all requirements.