Next piece paper I try were less backward. He stand very tame & quiet while I measure him. He sat still and wagg his tail while I paste him by brush. I love very much to think how polite he act. Pretty soonly he were ready to be hung, so I elope up ladder filled with happy thoughts to think how happy Mrs Mac Frenzie would get when she seen her wall so broke out with buds. With art expression peculiar to Michael Angelo I upraise Hon. Wall Paper aboveward. He lay still and quiet like eggs. Adjusting my thumbs I was entirely ready to paste him when--O pounce! Oozing damp glue from his annointed back he suddenly fall on my head and surround me where I stood on that ladder. It were like riding an airship while being buried in a tent full of mucilage. It were like sleeping between sheets of fly-paper. I were in a very perdiculous position. Must I leap from ladder, thusly bursting neck so far from Japan? Or must I stood there and be gradually smothered up in mural decorations? I could feel sticky substance drooping from my hair & eyebrows. I stood on my perch like a blind bird. “What this?” I could see a voice beside me saying so. It were Mrs Mac Frenzie, I could told by the claws in her speech. “Gug!” I response with all the language I could. I knew she was observing my wallpaper face. “Come down at oncely!” she holla. I obey by tittering backwards from my perch and walking on air which had a hole in it thus permitting me to fall 12 feet to central room where most of the furniture was, including Hon. Paste Bucket which got confused in everything else including me. When I pick myself uply from that rumpus, my head was intruding from wallpaper hood like a fanciful millinary. Hon. Floor were covered by paste, paper, and relics of where I fell. “You done nice job!” snarred Hon. Mrs who stood in midst. “I shall do better next place,” I recover. “You have papered everything in the room except the wall,” she dib sarcastly. “I are going to paper that next,” are answer for me. “There shall never not be no Next!” she squabble, while poking me forthly into frostbite of street. There I stood in coldness without any other overcoat except wall paper I wore. So I slushed saddishly to trolley remembering words of Hon. Mild Standish. “If you want a thing done wrong, do it yourself!” Hoping you do so, Yours truly, _Hashimura Togo_. XI HON. GLADYS OBTAIN MATRIMONY _To Editor Woman’s Page, who do so much to make family life less lonesome._ Dear Mr Sir:-- Home of Hon. Samule Scott, East Orange, N. J., is one of the nicest homes from which I ever was discharged from. When I first went there to work that family contained following list of persons: Mrs Scott Mr ” Miss ” (retired).