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“Children of the present day,” sighed the Rev.
Adoniram Spaid, as he was visiting Mrs. Partington
during the spring anniversaries — “children of the
present day, ma'am, sadly ruffle the bosoms of their
parents.”

He crossed his legs as he spoke, and tied his handkerchief
in a hard knot over his knee, at the same
time looking at Ike through the back window, as that
young gentleman was performing a slack-rope exercise
upon the clothes-line, endangering the caps and handkerchiefs
that swung like banners in the breeze. Mrs.
Partington suspended washing, and looked round at her
visitor, at the same time wiping her hands to take a
pinch of snuff.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I think so; but it is n't so
bad, either, as it used to be before the soap-powder was
found out.”

Mr. Spaid quietly protested that he could not see the
relevancy of the remark.

“Why,” continued she, inhaling the rappee, and handing
the box to the minister, “then it was a great labor
to wash and do 'em up; but now the washing-powder
makes it so easy, that the children can rumple bosoms
or anything else with perfect impurity. We don't make
nothing of it. I consider washing-powder” — holding
up a pair of Ike's galligaskins that had just gone through

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a course of purification — “as a great blessing to mothers.”

The minister smiled, and thought what a curious
proposition it would be, in the “Society for the Mitigation
of Everything,” to recommend washing-powder as
an auxiliary to other operative blessings, and thanked
Mrs. Partington for the hint.