J. COLE. 33

Somehow I was never as comfortable as in
my snug cottage in the country. Rich, fash-
ionable people lived about us, and all day
long kept up the round of “society life.”

In the morning the large handsome houses
would seem asleep, nothing moving inside or
out, except a tradesman’s cart, calling for
orders, or workmen putting up or taking down
awnings, at some house where there would be,
or had been, a ball or entertainment of some
kind. About eleven a carriage or two would
be driven round from the mews, and stop be-
fore a house to take some one for a morning
drive; but very seldom was anybody on foot
seen about. In the afternoon it was differ-
ent, — carriages rolled along incessantly, and
streams of afternoon callers were going and
coming from the houses when the mistress was
“at home;” and at my door, too, soon began the
usual din of bell and knocker. Joe was quite
equal to the occasion, and enjoyed Friday, the
day I received. Dressed in his very best, and
with a collar that kept his chin in what seemed
to me a fearful state of torture, but added to
his height by at least half an inch, Joe stood