MRS. PARTINGTON AT TEA.
“Adulterated tea!” said Mrs. Partington, as she
read in the Transcript an account of the adulteration of
teas in England, at which she was much shocked. “I
wonder if this is adulterated?” and she bowed her head
over the steaming and fragrant decoction in the cup before
her, whose genial odors mingled with the silvery
vapor, and encircled her venerable poll like a halo.
“It smells virtuous,” continued she, smiling with satisfaction,
“and I know this Shoo-shon tea must be good,
because I bought it of Mr. Shoo-shon himself, at Redding's.
Adulterated!” she meandered on, pensively
as a brook in June, “and it 's agin the commandment,
too, which says — don't break that, Isaac!” as
she saw that interesting juvenile amusing himself with
making refracted sunbeams dance upon the wall, and
around the dark profile, and among the leaves of the
sweet fern, like yellow butterflies or fugitive chips of
new June butter. The alarm for her crockery dispelled
all disquietude about the tea, and she sipped her beverage,
all oblivious of dele-tea-rious infusions.
