e it,
for it is no bodily ill, that can be doctored and studied and
experimented upon, a subject for dissertation and barbarous,
semi-classic nomenclature; quacks do not pretend to cure it with patent
medicines, and great physicians do not write nebulous articles about it
in the reviews. There is little room for speculation in the matter of
grief, for most people know well enough what it is, and need no Latin
words with Greek terminations to express it. It is the breaking of the
sea of life over the harbor bar where science ends and humanity begins.

Poor John! It needed something strong indeed to sadden his cheerfulness
and leaden his energy. That evening I talked with Hermione in the
drawing room. She looked more lovely than ever dressed all in white,
with a single row of pearls around her throat. Her delicate features
were pale and luminous, and her brown eyes brighter than usual,--a mere
girl, scarcely yet gone into the world, but such a woman! It was no
wonder that Paul glanced from time to time in admiration at his cousin.

We were seated in Chrysophrasia's corner, Hermione and I. There was
nothing odd in that; the young girl likes me and enjoys talking to me,
and I am no longer young. You know, dear friend, that I am forty-six
years old this summer, and it is a long time since any one thought of
flirting with me. I am not dangerous,--nature has taken care of
that,--and I am thought very safe company for the young.

"Tell me one of your stories, Mr. Griggs. I am so tired this evening,"
said Hermione.

"I do not know what to tell you," I answered. "I was hoping that you
would tell me one of yours, all about the fairies and the elves in the
park, as you used to when you were a little girl."

"I do not believe in fairies any more," said Hermione, with a little
sigh. "I believed in them once,--it was so nice. I want stories of real
life now,--sad ones, that end happily."

"A great many happy stories end sadly," I replied, "but few sad ones
end happily. Why do you want a sad story? You ought to be gay."

"Ought I? I am not, I am sure. I cannot take everything with a laugh, as
some people can; and I cannot be always resigned and religious, as mamma
is."

"The pleasantest people are the ones who are always good, but not always
alike," I remarked. "It is variety that makes life charming, and
goodness that makes it worth living."

Hermione laughed a little.

"That sounds very good,--a little goody, as we used t