Goodies.

Guided by the exhilarating smells of boiled onions and cabbage, one afternoon in January, a reporter wound his way through the narrow streets and alleys of a certain Irish quarter in Cambridge. The odors of the cooking vegetables were abroad in full force, and with them were all the pleasant street smells peculiar to such quarters. Our reporter cut his way through them, and at last succeeded in finding the house he was after. He was gracefully ushered into the parlor and motioned to a seat. It was then that the interview began.

"Mrs. Obrien," said he remembering to give the name its latest pronunciation, that is, with the accent of the first syllable, "I represent the Harvard CRIMSON, a paper, you know that is published by the college students. I am writhing up an article about the women who work in the college buildings. I hope to persuade the students to do something for you. We all realize that yon have a hard time of it. get poor pay, have five or more children apiece, and so on, but we want to know a little more, you know. Are you willing to tell me a little more about yourself and your work?"

"Indade, sor, and it's very good it is for you to be a asking" afther the loike o' us, and I'll be afther a tellin' yer all you'd loike ter know if no harm'll come ter me fer it."

Mrs. Obrien I assure you we mean you no harm, quite to the contrary."

"Wa al, sor; I haven't got nuthin' agin the gintlemin at the college and I don't mind, tillin' yer a few things. The gintlemin's always pretty good to us ; we gits poor pay and if now and thin we takes a few things, yer know, of no rale value, why who kin blame the loike o' poor us? We've got ter live somehow, yer knows, sor."

"Certainly, Mrs. Obrien."

"We gits rale tasty sometimes, sor, in the arranging o' the gintlemin's rooms. There's a hilthy rivalry amongst us too, sor. We thinks ourselves mighty lucky if we kin git inter Holworthy. Last month, sor, I was meself promoted from College House ter Hollis. This rivalry, sor, is a hilthy thing, We all takes a great deal 'o pains in what we does. Why, sor, I makes some 'o my rooms looks jest so sweet'nd pretty loike that yer wouldn't know' em, sor. I have a way o' leavin' the dust on things, sor, a purpose. Yer see, sor, I onct heard that a good painter always made his pictures look kind 'o dusty loike. That, sor, 's why I have the dust in some 'o my rooms, becus it makes 'em look loike rale nice paintings. Thin, too, sor, it makes 'em look more antique loike. Let me till yer, sor, a trick o' the trade that we all has. Yer see, if we lite things git covered up with dust, they disappears so gradual loike that they arn't noticed when they gits all buried. Thin, sor, we just exhumes 'em, and takes 'em, sor. It's quite an art, sor, this buryin' and exhumin'. But thin, I didn't mean ter till this to the loike o' you, sor. You won't till nobody, sor?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Obrien."

"Thin, sor, there's nobody what can make beds the loike 'o me. I well remembers the time whin me little boy tommy was down with the fever, he's dead now, sor, and it's a poor woman that I am, sor, -whin I found in one 'o the beds sich a nice soft blanket, sor, that I knowed it wud make him well, sor; so I jest borrowed it fer a day or two, sor, and it cured him completely. I've always felt so grateful loike ter that blanket that I've niver been able ter part with it at all at all, sor. Mebbe it was yourn, sor. With tears in me eyes, I wants ter thank yer, sor.

"Never mind that small matter Mrs. Obrien, go on."

"It's very kind that you is, sor. I've no more ter say, sor, exceptin" that sometimes the gintlemin is rale ganerous now. Onct, sor, I found a table drawer open just wide enough fer the loike o' me ter see in, and in there, sor, was a five dollar bill, sor. I knowed that it wus put there fer me ter see, sor, and so I tuk it, sor, jest as any xise woman'd have did. It kept me and me five chillers a hull week, sor. The nixt day afther that, sor, I got promotion. That's all, sor, and it's very welcome that yer be, sor."

Thanking Mrs. Obrien for her courtesy, the reporter withdrew, and picked his way out of the alley, pondering deeply on the hard fate of goodies in general, and Mrs. Obrien in particular, and mentally noting, in his odorous surrounding's, some excellent material for an essay on "The Cholera Fiend," illustrated a la the Boston Herald.