I thought I would call your attention to the following incident, while the dinner table is getting ready for the soup.

There are several families & several little children in this pension. One of these little children, Marie Haŭff, has an ailment which requires a peculiar treatment—therefore she is the envy & admiration of the rest of the little tribe.

Scene, Our Nursery Parlor—Time, This Afternoon.—Enter a male friend from up town & introduces his little daughter, aged 6 or 7. I introduce the little maid into our nursery & tell our children who she is. My friend & I close the nursery door, but leave a crack to peep through. Little Miss Minnie stands bold upright in the centre of the nursery, in her white silk head-gear, her hands still in her little muff, & stares at Susie & Bay, who stand before her and stare back. Presently—

Minnie—I’ve got a cat at home—a live one.

Our children can’t “call this hand,” so they are silent. After a pause,—

Minnie—And I’ve got a dog, too,—a live dog.

Our children can’t “size this pile” either. Silence, & a pause. Then—

Minnie—I’ve seen the Queen!—I’ve seen her ever so many times!

Bay (with triumph)—But you’ve never seen Marie Haŭff. I have. And I know her, too. She has an injection every day! So there, now!

That let Miss Minnie out, you see.

And now the soup has arrived.