"Olivia," said she, one morning, to one of her waiting maids, for Mrs. Pompaliner kept three, alternating them upon the principle of varying her handkerchiefs, gloves and linen, as they--in her double-distilled refined idea of things, became soiled by use, from time to time. "Olivia, come here--Jessamine, you can leave:" she was so intent upon odor and nature's purest loveliness, that she either sought sweet-scented cognomened waiting-maids, or nick-named them up to the fanciful standard of her own.
"Olivia, here, take this handkerchief away, take the horrid thing away. I believe my soul somebody has touched it after it was ironed. Do take it away," and the poor victim of concentrated, double extract of human extravagance, almost fainted and fell back upon her lounge, in a fit of abhorrence at the idea of her _mouchoir_ being touched, tossed, or opened, after it entered her camphorated drawers in her highly-perfumed _boudoir_.
"Yes'm," was the response of the fine, ruddy, and wholesome looking maid.
"Go down to Mrs. Brown's," she faintly says--"tell her to come here this very day."
"Yes'm," replied the fine-eyed, real woman.
"Well, take this key, go to my boudoir, in the fifth drawer of my _papier mache_ black bureau, you will find a case of handkerchiefs."
"Take out three, yes, four, close the case, lock the drawer, close the boudoir door, and bring down the handkerchiefs upon my rosewood tray. Do you comprehend, Olivia?"
"But come here; let me see your hands. O, horror! such gloves! touch my handkerchiefs or bureau drawers with those horrid gloves! Poison me!" cries the terrified woman.
"Olivia," she again ejaculates, after a moment's pause, from overtasked nature!
"Yes'm," the blushing, tickled _blonde_ replies.
"Go call Vanilla, you are quite soiled now. I want a fresh servant, retire."
"Ah, Vanilla, girl, have you got your gloves on?"
"Yes'm," the yellow girl modestly answers.
"Then do go and bring me six handkerchiefs from my boudoir, in the fifth drawer of my black _papier mache_ bureau. Let me see your gloves, dear.
"Ah, Vanilla, you are to be depended upon; your gloves are clean--now run along, dear, for I'm suffering for a fresh, new, and untouched handkerchief.
"Ah, that's well. Now, Vanilla, go to Mrs. Brown's, my laundress--say that I wish her to come here, immediately."