MY GRANDMOTHER'S KEYS.

"In tenui labor, at tenuis non gloria."

THERE is one point to which I would draw the attention of the gudewives of the present day, and that is, to my "Grandmother's Keys." I say

nothing of the pocket-nor of the scissors, nor of the pincushion-but I come at once, and for the sake of unity—the parent, they tell us, of interest -to speak of the "keys." These keys hung suspended from my grandmother's zone with a grace and freedom which could never be overlooked; amongst them there prevailed the most complete republican equality-from him, the lord of the cellar, even down to her, the tiny regulator

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of the time-piece. It was a kind of Jack Goodfellow golden age, when great and small, important and unimportant, rusted and ward-worn, met together and fondly embraced, united in the same jingle, and bobbed at the same step. Like the human faculties, as described by our worthy faculty-mongers, these keys rested upon a background of complete unity; yet, whenever circumstances called them into play, they were ever separately and individually at hand, ready to execute the appropriate task assigned to them.

But how are the keys managed now-a-days? -for this, after all, is the matter of discourse and inquiry. Is the above beautiful and convenient arrangement: adopted? or is another, and if any other, a better or a worse, adopted in its stead? I hate the German Illuminati, and the French Revolution, and lament the decay of the age of chivalry and respect for loyalty; and this I do, not only on the score that, by means of such unhallowed agencies, society has been torn from its moorings, and dashed into a thousand separate and independent fragments, but that along with, and I verily believe in sympathy with, these events, my grandmother's keys have broken from their ring and been dispersed. They have, in fact, become, since the period alluded to, a kind of refugees-unconnected, ununited, insubordinate and useless-never at hand unless when not wanted, and always a-seeking when most required.

You look upon that three-cornered and tesselated piece of net-work or velvet, commonly called a reticule, but you may save yourself the trouble of search, the keys are not there: and if not there, where can they be? not, assuredly, on the person of the mistress, for on her whole person, from head-dress to shoe-point, there is neither lap, pocket, nor fastening. The keys would escape from her like a drop of water over the burning face of a tailor's goose; she would absolutely faint at the imputation of any thing so gothic as a key, a pocket, or a pincushion, on her person: ornament has superseded and banished utility; and, in the scuffle, the associated keys have run riot, and become entirely unmanageable. You may call spirits, but will they come? You may sing out from morn to night, "Nanny! Mary!→ what's your name?-Jane! Tibby! bring me my napery-press key! you will find it on the side

board." Na, mem; it's no there."-"It must

be there! go search the table-drawer!". I canna find it.'

"Mem,

Stupid idiot! stand out of

my road. I'm sure such servants! it cannot be far off. for I had it not ten minutes ago;" and so

"The maids are running through the house

Ilk door is cast a-jee,

And there's no a hole in a' the house,

But's searching for the key.'"

but all in vain. The smith's fingers are put in operation; and just as he has removed the lock, at the expense of the splintered timber, Peggy comes bouncing in with an "Eh, mem, here's the key!" Nor is this the worst-by no means. Sickness is in the house, and the doctor orders an immediate use of jams and jellies; but the key has taken this opportunity of paying a visit to the terra incognita of "somewhere." It was seen by somebody sometime ago, but nobody