ime was, in the earlier and purer
ages--the golden ages of the world's existence--when the countenance
was the true index to the mind. Then it was a well-tuned instrument,
and the mind within a skilful player; to whose touch every muscle,
and chord, and minute fibre gave answering melody. That time has
passed. Men now school their faces to deception; it is an art which
nearly all practise--I and you too often. We study to hide our real
feelings; to appear, in a certain sense, what we are not. Look at
some men whom we meet every day, with faces whose calmness, I should
rather say rigidity, gives no evidence that a single emotion ever
crosses the waveless ocean of their minds. But it is not so; the
mind within is active with thought and feelings; but the instrument
formed for it to play upon has lost its tune, or bears only relaxed
or broken chords."

"You have a strange, visionary way of talking sometimes, Rose,"
replied Annette, as her friend ceased speaking. "All that may do for
your transcendentalists, or whatever you call them; but it won't do
when you come down to the practical matter-of-fact business of
life."

"To me, it seems eminently a practical principle, Annette. We must
act, in all important matters in life, with a just discrimination;
and how can we truly discriminate, if we are not versed in those
principles upon which, and only upon which, right discriminations
can be made?"

"I must confess, Rose," replied her young friend, "that I do not see
much bearing that all this has upon the matter under discussion; or,
at least, I cannot see the truth of its application. Gold never
assumes a leaden exterior."

"Well?"

"We need not be very eminent philosophers to tell one from the
other."

"No, of course not."

"Very well. Here is Marcus Gray, with a genuine golden exterior, and
James Hambleton with a leaden one."

"I do not grant the position, Annette. It is true that Mr. Hambleton
is not so brilliant and showy; but I have found in him one quality
that I have not yet discovered in the other."

"What is that?"

"Depth of feeling, and high moral principle."

"You certainly do not pretend to affirm that Mr. Gray has neither
feeling nor principle?"

"Of course I do not. I only say that I have never yet perceived any
very strong indications of their existence."

"Why, Rose!"

"I am in earnest, Annette. I doubt not that he possesses both, and,
I trust, in a high degree. But he seems to be so cons