MRS. PARTINGTON GROWS DESULTORY.
“There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,”
said Mrs. Partington, with a philosophical upraising of
the index-finger, putting her specs up on her head, “and
it 's no use to be particular about the portion which Providence
sends us; for, however much we may say we 'd
rather have this and we 'd rather have that, we can't
any of us have the druthers that we want. It has been
said that doubtful things is very uncertain, and that we
can't tell who 's to be mayor till after election; and that
reminds me to say that them that buys the most of cheap
goods has to pay the most for 'em, and heaven knows
when the costiveness of the times will be any better.”
She ran down here, like an eight-day clock, and those
who heard her wondered at the wisdom of her remarks,
which, though they could n't make out what it all meant,
glistened in the light of affectionate partiality, like a
piece of glass beneath the rays of the moon.
