“Mrs Bogle--how strange. I was just discussing her.” “I told her you was.” This from me. “WHAT!!!!” This from her. I repeat. Loud silence. Sew-machine stop, gossip stop, dressmake stop. “Annie,” I hear Mrs Jno W. Smith say, “Bring me glass of water to faint with. Also discharge Togo sooner than possible.” This sound so unwelcome to me that I refuse my situation by going away. So I elope to trolley with suit-case, feeling quite the reverse. Hoping you are the same Yours truly _Hashimura Togo_. IV THE HUSBAND’S PLACE IN THE HOME _To Editor Woman’s Page, who give Ladies such delicious advice how to preserve raspberries, beauty and other species of vegetables._ Hon. Mr: At home of Mrs. Washington Fillups where I was employed as recently as 3 days of yore I obtain many chances to observe some ladies when they call. One day Mrs. Oliver Hix approach & make ring-ring to front door which I oped to permit her in. I notice she was displayed very stylishly with calling-card appearance. Her goldy hair contained one (1) velvet hat of extreme blackness and her dress was all surrounded with fringes like a piano-cover or like that Indian costume of Hon. Buffalo Bill. “Are Mrs. Fillups to home?” she inquire pridefully poking forth her name with card. “She are,” I report. “Yet I must go to see if she will acknowledge it.” Hon. Mrs. Fillups were up in sewing-room mending sox with considerable darn. When I told her who was there she report, “Her again?” Then she dust off her nose, reorganise her hairpins and trot downward to where Mrs. Hix was. Kiss-kiss heard. Joy shreeks. Conversations in soprano duet. It was my duty to massage off the mahogany furniture in dining-room annexed to parlour, so how could I avoid overhearing what they said? I did not attempt to do so, however much I tried. It was my duty to polish that furniture in dining-room, so there I was. If ladies cannot keep their conversation hushed, Servants cannot make their ears behave. This is human-natural. After dis-cussing topicks like baby, coal-bills & other luxuries, they commenced gossiping about some articles of furniture I could not understand. Their voices was so interrupted I could not catch-all, but this is what I heard: Mrs. Hix say: “I permit mine to set in parlour when company comes. This is most ostentatious place.” From this I thought she was talking about a piano. “I move _mine_ into library every night after dinner,” revoke Mrs. Fillups. “He are too smoky for parlour.” From that I supposed she was talking about a stove. “I have had mine for ten continuous years,” say Mrs. Hix saddishly, “and from experience I am sure they are all alike. No use to be neat and tidy when they are there. They will not stay put like other furniture. Set them in one place and you will find they have moved somewhere else. Dust seems to collect wherever they stand.