e very glad to
have the help of glasses; but Mr. Titbottom seems to find very little
pleasure in his."

"It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps," interrupted
Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard.

We sipped our wine after dinner, and Prue took her work. Can a man be
too far-sighted? I did not ask the question aloud. The very tone in
which Prue had spoken convinced me that he might.

"At least," I said, "Mr. Titbottom will not refuse to tell us the
history of his mysterious spectacles. I have known plenty of magic in
eyes"--and I glanced at the tender blue eyes of Prue--"but I have not
heard of any enchanted glasses."

"Yet you must have seen the glass in which your wife looks every
morning, and I take it that glass must be daily enchanted." said
Titbottom, with a bow of quaint respect to my wife.

I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue's cheek since--well,
since a great many years ago.

"I will gladly tell you the history of my spectacles," began
Titbottom. "It is very simple; and I am not at all sure that a great
many other people have not a pair of the same kind. I have never,
indeed, heard of them by the gross, like those of our young friend,
Moses, the son of the Vicar of Wakefield. In fact, I think a gross
would be quite enough to supply the world. It is a kind of article for
which the demand does not increase with use. If we should all wear
spectacles like mine, we should never smile any more. Oh--I am not
quite sure--we should all be very happy."

"A very important difference," said Prue, counting her stitches.

"You know my grandfather Titbottom was a West Indian. A large
proprietor, and an easy man, he basked in the tropical sun, leading
his quiet, luxurious life. He lived much alone, and was what people
call eccentric, by which I understand that he was very much himself,
and, refusing the influence of other people, they had their little
revenges, and called him names. It is a habit not exclusively
tropical. I think I have seen the same thing even in this city. But he
was greatly beloved--my bland and bountiful grandfather. He was so
large-hearted and open-handed. He was so friendly, and thoughtful, and
genial, that even his jokes had the air of graceful benedictions. He
did not seem to grow old, and he was one of those who never appear to
have been very young. He flourished in a perennial maturity, an
immortal middle-age.

"My grandfather lived