than rake the dead leaves from the grass, sweep the steps, or do something to stir her laggard blood. If it is cold, let her plant herself at the sunniest window, sew, run her machine, lounge, and eat there, till she is no more afraid of sunshine than of any other blood relation. Our women want to imitate French sense, and sit in the balconies and parks to do their work. When they lose the detestable vice of self-consciousness that saps American well-being in all ways, they will be able to live at their casements, sewing, singing, reading, as thoughtless and unnoticed as the white doves soaring above them where the sunshine is widest. It is matter of custom merely.
But Christiana's breakfast is ready by this time, and we will see what she eats. Coffee: well, housekeepers buy the ready-ground coffee now, and it is mixed trash, wanting the heartiness of a good pure cup, but no great harm at worst. Meat: do you call that bit the width of two fingers, crisped, greased at one end, raw and bleeding at the other, fit sus-
