h the unrestrained exhibition,
though it may be sometimes amusing, never fails to be wearisome and
unpleasant. Couples who dote upon their children, therefore, are best
avoided.

THE COOL COUPLE

There is an old-fashioned weather-glass representing a house with two
doorways, in one of which is the figure of a gentleman, in the other the
figure of a lady. When the weather is to be fine the lady comes out and
the gentleman goes in; when wet, the gentleman comes out and the lady
goes in. They never seek each other's society, are never elevated and
depressed by the same cause, and have nothing in common. They are the
model of a cool couple, except that there is something of politeness and
consideration about the behaviour of the gentleman in the weather-glass,
in which, neither of the cool couple can be said to participate.

The cool couple are seldom alone together, and when they are, nothing can
exceed their apathy and dulness: the gentleman being for the most part
drowsy, and the lady silent. If they enter into conversation, it is
usually of an ironical or recriminatory nature. Thus, when the gentleman
has indulged in a very long yawn and settled himself more snugly in his
easy-chair, the lady will perhaps remark, 'Well, I am sure, Charles! I
hope you're comfortable.' To which the gentleman replies, 'Oh yes, he's
quite comfortable quite.' 'There are not many married men, I hope,'
returns the lady, 'who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as you
do.' 'Nor many wives who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as
_you_ do, I hope,' retorts the gentleman. 'Whose fault is that?' demands
the lady. The gentleman becoming more sleepy, returns no answer. 'Whose
fault is that?' the lady repeats. The gentleman still returning no
answer, she goes on to say that she believes there never was in all this
world anybody so attached to her home, so thoroughly domestic, so
unwilling to seek a moment's gratification or pleasure beyond her own
fireside as she. God knows that before she was married she never thought
or dreamt of such a thing; and she remembers that her poor papa used to
say again and again, almost every day of his life, 'Oh, my dear Louisa,
if you only marry a man who understands you, and takes the trouble to
consider your happiness and accommodate himself a very little to your
disposition, what a treasure he will find in you!' She supposes her papa
knew what her disposition was--he had kn