last touches on her new sofa cushion, "I have had this girl here about long enough. I think I have more than fulfilled all my obligations to Dr. Wendon, real and imaginary. There is nothing really pretty about her, and yet somehow people do like her, and men do take such strange freaks, particularly men of genius. I do get into such a fidget sometimes about that will. No matter how tight you tie Tabby in the bag, there's never any knowing when the cat's head may appear; and once give such a secret any airing, like Tabby, only let her see the road she came, and she 'll know well how to trace her way back again. So give a secret a little airing, and you never know where it may go; it may go back to head quarters. But I'd rather marry the girl off than send her away. I never set my heart on anything yet without accomplishing it, but I don't believe in intellectual women. I agree with Lessing in Emilia Galotti that I was reading this morning. La femme doit rire, toujours rire; cela suffit a sa noble mission sur la terre cela suffit pour maintenir en joyeuse humeur l'auguste roi de la creation." When Mrs. Elliott wished to say or think anything very wise, it was always said or thought in French. She prided herself upon this. She sat up late that night. She had in that evening's mail received a letter that gave her much uneasiness. She locked her door, and looked over old papers, and burned up several old and worn documents. She lay awake almost all night, and the text of that self-denial sermon kept ringing in her ears-Withhold not any good from him to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it. CHAPTER XXVIII. NEPENTHE REFUSES A SELF MADE MAN AND WORTHY HUSBAND. "There's such a thing as dwelling On the thoughts ourselves have nursed, CURRER BEll "You can't expect another such an offer, Nepenthe Stuart," said Mrs. Elliott, coolly, after wasting no little logic and rhetoric in vainly trying to persuade Nepenthe to ac cept of certain recent proposals of a very flattering and eligible nature," of which," as she said most emphatically, ány girl in her senses might be proud,"-she ended her first series of arguments with this terrible prophecy, "you'll die an old maid." "Well," said Nepenthe, "there's nothing disgraceful in that nothing criminal." "No," said Mrs. Elliott, "it is not a penal offence to remain unmarried, but you very well know old maids are universally let alone. The way they are sometimes treated in society is no better than actual solitary confinement. Young married couples seek their own companionship, young men and maidens get together by themselves, old people are too old to be their companions, children too noisy, old bachelors and widowers are hunting up young wives. What are these old maids, nurses, stocking-darners, corner-fillers, appendages, incumbrances, the world calls them. Their sayings and doings are much more criticised, even if their manners are circumspect, than those of the most weak-minded and ordinary women well-married. A husband is a shield to a woman; a shield from criticism; but an unmarried woman is very often the subject of remark. If she be vain or weakminded, she is foolish; if independent and outspoken, she is eccentric, or one of the strong-minded, so the world says, and if she lives as retired and sequestered as a nun, if she looks at a widower, or talks to a bachelor, if she sits within two feet of him in a large parlor, somebody will have it that she is after him. She is setting her cap, and some one will ill-naturedly say, though she is just his age, she looks old enough to be his mother,' and such trouble will be taken to find out exactly what her age really is from family Bibles, old nurses, or cotemporary school-mates, and all these estimates will often be summed up with the conclusion that though she looks, with her curls and youthful dress, only thirty, she's not a day under forty." " said "A man may live alone for good and noble reasons,' Nepenthe," and I have a far greater respect for a woman who will not marry because she does not love, than for a young girl who marries to avoid the odium of being called an old maid. There are women with the warmest and noblest of hearts living unmarried for the best of reasons. Could their lives be written out, there would be some thrilling accounts of self-sacrifice and self-devotion. A woman may be lonely, and, at times, unhappy, unmarried, but if she be married to an uncongenial man, she is doubly miserable, twice as lonely, twice as unhappy as if living alone. She may have had forty offers, and yet somebody will ask, Why couldn't she marry?' while it will be said of the ugliest, crustiest, fussiest old bachelor, 'I wonder why he never married. It is very strange.'' "But Mr. Nicholson is a benevolent man, certainly," said Mrs. Elliott. "I see his name on the list of all our prominent charities. Were you to marry him, you might be able to do very much good." Marry him!" said Nepenthe; "he would regret more the loss of a favorite horse than the death of his mother, who really suffered from his neglect. He is always offering his services, yet he would never take one step out of his comfortable path to save a hundred beggars from starvation. He'll smooth down his luxuriant whiskers as he exclaims, often audibly, more often mentally, no industrious person need starve.' This prudent, sagacious idea checks effectually all his rising generosity. He comes to me with his new neck tie, his patent-leathers, his costly bouquets, and wants me to be induced by these preliminary trifles' to promise to help him to offer up to his most worshipful self his daily matins and vespers. 66 If he were never so handsome, wealthy and wonderful, I could never tolerate him if he were selfish. The highest order of goodness and of genius is never selfish. He always says with his eyes, when he comes out with his new suit, Don't I look well this evening, Miss Nepenthe? Who can resist such attractions? I have graduated with the highest honors of the best tailors in the city. I am finished and complete.' Were William Nicholson to robe me in ruby and wreath me with diamonds, and place me in a house of pearl, feed me on nectar and ambrosia, I would rather marry blindfold the first plough-boy I might meet. I would rather have a possibility of a heart than a certainty of unmitigated self ishness. "A guinea on his counter's brim A yellow guinea is to him, That guinea he'll adore." "Don't get excited, Nepenthe-there goes Mrs. Joshua Jenkins," said Mrs. Elliott, rising and going to the window. She was only three years ago a young lady, beautiful and accomplished, but poor-no better off than yourself. See what an elegant carriage, footman and livery--how splen didly she's dressed. I saw her the other day at Ball & Black's, and she was all diamonds, ermine and velvet. I am sure Joshua Jenkins makes an unexceptionable husband, yet I would much prefer Mr. Nicholson. Mr. Nicholson's money is invested in bond and mortgage, the best of all security-and Mr. Jenkins' is all in bank stock; and banks may fail. Then Mr. Nicholson can't be illiterate, for he is one of the Board of Education." "It may be possible for him to be one of that highly respectable Board," said Nepenthe, "yet he does not write his name remarkably well. He always says convalescent, voilent, and volumnious and tremengeous, and serup, and sperit; and I get so tired of hearing him say meetin' for meeting, and smilin', speakin', and larnin' and takin' of it; but I do not envy Mr. or Mrs. Joshua Jenkins. Nobody ever borrows money of him—he never loses a debt-he pays his servants low wages-insists on the utmost penny due him. He runs no risks. He never reads-he can't see the difference between Byron and Dr. Watts, but he keeps his thoughtful eye on the banks. His young wife was beautiful, he rich. There was a brief acquaintance, short engagement, and a splendid wedding. Now she has ermine, and velvet, and diamonds. Ermine is a beautiful fur. I should like to wear it-it suits my taste. I fancy it would be very becoming to me; and velvet is an elegant dress. I would like a very long velvet cloak, a black velvet dress, and a blue velvet and a violet-colored velvet waist; and I do admire the flash and gleam of a diamond. I wish I had a diamond ring. My hand has always looked lonesome to me without one. This life has so many dull, dark hours, I'd like to have something so pure and radiant always about me. There is such a celestial, transparent gleam in a diamond's light, my eyes seem to brighten as I look at one, and I feel the sparkle in my soul too. Yes, I like diamonds. "But love is a softer ermine for the soul, a richer, more radiant jewel in the heart; and my heart would be so cold and ache if it couldn't be clasped in the embrace of a faith warmer and richer than costliest velvet folds. I should starve and freeze without love's little pearl set in my heart But Mrs. Joshua Jenkins' life must be dull. She has not a single taste in common with her husband, and in society she can't help being annoyed by his blunders. If he only knew enough to keep still-but he will talk, and he overacts and overdoes everything. He says the flattest things about nice days and pretty music. When I see them together, I think of a fair lily of the valley planted beside a cabbage. I have heard it said in every wedding there is a loss. There was a terrible loss in that wedding. Poor woman! His money can't buy her happiness. His loves are dogs, horses, wine and beafsteaks. Hers are music, painting, books, and flowers. When she was so ill last season, some one suggested having some beautiful painting hung on the wall near her bed, to divert her thoughts from her sufferings; so he brought home one afternoon the engraving of Mary Queen of Scots, signing the death-warrant of Lady Jane Grey, and Peale's Court of Death.' These were wonderfully calculated to relieve the gloom of the sick-room. "If I marry William Nicholson, Esq., five years to come we'll be walking together, like Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, like two parallel lines, our heart-chords never meeting, though stretching on side by side in the horizon of years." "He is a self-made man," said Mrs. Elliott, dignifiedly; "that surely is in his favor, and he has attained a fine position among business men by his own unaided efforts." 66 "I'd rather he'd be a God-made man than a self-made man," said Nepenthe. 'Of all things I dislike this selfstyled, self-made man. Some of them are regular bores, always taking such infinite pains to show you they know something. They are great show-cases on the walls of society, just like the show-cases in the small fancy stores way up town. Everything they have is stuck up in the windows. or in a glass box, always out on exhibition-gloves, collars, caps, laces, hosiery, handkerchiefs, undersleeves, all ar ranged conspicuously to show the full dimensions and style of each article, to attract the attention of passing pedestrians. If you enter the store, you'll find nothing, absolutely nothing that you want. It is all in the windows. You can't even perhaps get a yard of narrow pink satin rib |