Snip, snip went the scissors with professional rapidity, and a round piece was extracted from the back of the calf of the left leg. I shuddered with horror; and so did the Rev. Augustus Horne with cold. “I hardly think it’s proper to cut them up,” said Miss No. 2. “Oh isn’t it?” said the harpy. “Then I’ll do what’s improper!” And she got her finger and thumb well through the holes in the scissors’ handles. As she spoke resolution was plainly marked on her brow. “Well, if they are to be cut up, I should certainly like a bit for a pen-wiper,” said No. 2. No. 2 was a literary young lady with a periodical correspondence, a journal, and an album. Snip, snip went the scissors again, and the broad part of the upper right division afforded ample materials for a pen-wiper. Then the lady with the back, seeing that the desecration of the article had been completed, plucked up heart of courage and put in her little request; “I think I might have a needle-case out of it,” said she, “just as a suvneer of the poor general”—and a long fragment cut rapidly out of the waistband afforded her unqualified delight. Mamma, with the hot face and untidy hair, came next. “Well, girls,” she said, “as you are all served, I don’t see why I’m to be left out. Perhaps, Miss Grogram”—she was an old maid, you see—“perhaps, Miss Grogram, you could get me as much as would make a decent-sized reticule.” There was not the slightest difficulty in doing this. The harpy in the centre again went to work, snip, snip, and extracting from that portion of the affairs which usually sustained the greater portion of Mr. Horne’s weight two large round pieces of cloth, presented them to the well-pleased matron. “The general knew well where to get a bit of good broadcloth, certainly,” said she, again feeling the pieces. “And now for No. 1,” said she whom I so absolutely hated; “I think there is still enough for a pair of slippers. There’s nothing so nice for the house as good black cloth slippers that are warm to the feet and don’t show the dirt.” And so saying, she spread out on the floor the lacerated remainders. “There’s a nice bit there,” said young lady No. 2, poking at one of the pockets with the end of her parasol. “Yes,” said the harpy, contemplating her plunder. “But I’m thinking whether I couldn’t get leggings as well. I always wear leggings in the thick of the winter.” And so she concluded her operations, and there was nothing left but a melancholy skeleton of seams and buttons.