——What luck some people have! The Ringwoods have let their house the very first day! Just now, I was very much surprised by a call from Mr. Ringwood, who looked much more gentlemanlike than he did yesterday, and said, with a very pleased look, “Mrs. Cheerlove, I am sure you will be glad to hear the good news, and therefore intrude to tell you of it myself. I called on Norris just now, and found the Hawkers are wanting a ready-furnished house, while their own is painting—that is to say, for six weeks; so I’ve seen Mr. Hawker, and we came to terms immediately; supposing, of course, that the ladies make it out together. But I am sure Emma will be glad to make every concession to Mrs. Hawker, so I look on it as a done thing. Don’t you wish me joy?” I told him I did, very sincerely. “So you see,” said he, laughing triumphantly, “we literary people _are_ the practical ones, after all!” “Mrs. Ringwood must be much obliged to you,” said I, “for so promptly carrying out her wishes.” “Yes,” said he, drumming on his hat; “but I own I don’t see that I ought to be expected to do everything in my office and out of it too. A man, or even a woman, who fills the housekeeping purse, ought not to be liable to every other branch of bother.” I thought with him, but only observed, that where there was one clever head in the family, the others might accustom themselves, unconsciously, to depend too much on it. “I believe you are right,” said he, stroking the important member in question with a thoughtful air as he spoke. “I spoilt Emma myself in the first instance—instead of remonstrating when I should have done so, about one little matter and another. The consequence is—— No matter; but we shall _never_ get straight now—never, never! I utterly despair of it.” “Ah, you are too sensible to do that! To make the best of untoward circumstances, even if they result from our own fault, is not only more prudent, but more noble, than to sit down in Ugolino-like despair.” “‘Ugolino-like’ is the light in that sentence!” said he. “Excuse me, but you know I make a business of these things, and often have to insert them in heavy articles. That phrase will fix your saying in my memory, and I will endeavour to act upon it too—without which I know you won’t care a half-penny for my remembering, or even quoting it. Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, you owe the world something from your pen. Why not try?” in a tone intended to be very insinuating. “There are plenty in the field already,” said I. “Plenty, such as they _are_,” responded he. “Plenty—and too many! Oh, if you knew the curiosities of literature that I hand over to my subeditor! Now, I’ll read you a _morçeau_ I received this morning. I think I might _defy_ you to make anything like it. The subject is the fancy bazaar our ladies are going to hold at Willington:—