“Make slops for yourself and go to bed and swallow them, Mr. Bettyman, but indeed I will not poison the baby with your mixtures. Nor can I allow your lady, sir, to drink that mess you’ve been cooking half the day.” Nurses are privileged people, and poor Edwin had to surrender. Josy’s grateful smiles, however, were some consolation, and the lovely babe another. I inquired of Isabel how long he kept the keys. “Until Josephine’s confinement,” was her reply. “I was determined to give him a hard lesson; and never was man more ruffled than he. However, my dear, don’t think he is cured! By no means; he comes to me constantly as he did formerly to Josy; but I pay no attention to him, except by offering him again the housekeeping. He shall never annoy Josy again, depend upon it. The baby is enough occupation for her now, and Cousin Edwin stands enough in awe of me to let me have my way about every thing. He will meddle, and he may, but to no purpose.” “And when you leave them, Isabel?” “I shall not leave them though.” “And should you marry, dear Bella?” “_Pas si beta!_ I love Josy too well to leave her, now that I find myself necessary to her happiness. I love Edwin, too; he has behaved nobly to me, and generously. The only man I ever could have married is lost to me. So, Ellen, I can lead a single life, and be a nice old maid.” And she kept her word, reader; never was there so kind, so pleasant a companion as my friend Isabel. * * * * * THE SONG OF THE AXE. BY ALFRED B. STREET.