And Mrs. Mitchell said, "I mun awa' tae for I've jist left my tatties on the fire; that's the warst o' gaun to Mrs. Broon's hoose,--there's nae gettin' oot o't." And Mrs. Brown said to herself, "Thank guidness, that's Mrs. Mitchell awa' at last; there that graith cauld. I thocht I'd never see her back,--bletherin' besom." SPRING CLEANING "Now spring returns, but not to me return The vernal joys." I wonder if the poet's wife had an attack of cleaning fever when he composed the above sentiment; if so, I can feel with him, as no doubt most householders can at present. I thought our house was in first-rate order, but my wife said I knew perfectly well it was in a filthy state, and that most of the rooms required papering. It seems she had called on a neighbour, and found the house handed over to the painters. So, not to be outdone in this respect, she went straight to the landlord and wrestled with him, as did Jacob of old, the blessing going the length of papering the drawing-room and lobby. I knew nothing of this till yesterday morning, when I heard whistling, which I rightly judged to be too good to emanate from our domestic. It was the painters; they make themselves at home wherever they go. On emerging into the lobby, I found it heaped up with furniture, and to get to the bathroom I had to traverse three sides of a square. I enjoy my morning ablution, especially at this season, and was consequently annoyed to find the bath heaped up with pictures, &c.; in fact, every part of the house seemed crowded with furniture. After dressing, I thought I would look into the drawing-room to see what was being done, but on approaching the door I heard "three," "pass three," and looking through the keyhole I saw the painters sitting astride a plank playing "nap." I turned the handle, but found the door was barricaded by a pair of steps being placed against it, another pair, connected with a plank, being at the far side of the room. I shouted through the door that it was "all right," and went away to get breakfast, but found the dining-room empty, with the exception of the girl, who said, "If ye please, yer to take yer breakfast in yer ain room." She had a strange get-up. Her head was in the Arabian style, wound up in a red handkerchief, and her apron was made out of a sack with an announcement on it about somebody's dog biscuits. Breakfast was set on a little gipsy table, and I had hardly got started when I noticed the _Scotsman_; and, wishing to see what number had visited the Exhibition and how the voting had gone in the Assembly, I half rose to reach for the paper, when my knee caught the table and landed the contents on the floor. I tried to explain how easily a three-legged table was upset, but my wife said she had told me often not to read at breakfast. She could never get a word out of me when I got a paper in my hand.