her, as life presented its dark or sunny side to
him. To me, he was very interesting, from the first; and my husband was
delighted with him. The Dominie starved in Weston for congenial
intellectual nutriment. Nobody but myself could tell what a drain it was
on him always to impart, always to simplify, to descend, to walk on the
ground with wings folded flat to his back, and the angel in him
habitually kept out of view. The most he could do was to insinuate now
and then a thought above the farming interest, and in a direction aside
from Bombay. More than that exposed him to suspicion, and hindered his
usefulness in Cooes County.

Somehow, we got talking of Mr. Remington, which we might well do, seeing
him there before us, sleeping like a baby.

"That he could always do, like Napoleon," said Mr. Lewis, "and so can
accomplish much without fatigue."

"Is he married?" said I.

"Yes. His wife is in delicate health."

I was surprised to hear that he was married.

"He hasn't a married look, has he?"

"You are talking about me," said Remington, waking up. "I felt it
mesmerically. And, to give you a good opportunity, I will walk a mile or
two. Give me a good character, Lewis. Hold up, driver!"

Springing down, he went on, laughing, before us, now and then calling
back to ask if we were nearly through?

"He has not the 'subdued domestic smile upon his features mild', that
marks the man who has a wife at home," said I.

"No. He is a man, however, born under a lucky star, and his cup filled
with good-fortune to the brim. His self-lordship has been to him no
heritage of woe, thus far."

"A certain happiness, but necessarily of a poor quality, comes from
being able to gratify our wishes. If he has no more, it is poor enough."

"Do you mean that pleasure must be an outgrowth of pain to be properly
appreciated?" said Mr. Lewis.

"Somewhat,--mostly," said the minister; "since the insensibility that
protects one from pain prevents also delicate picture. I think, indeed,
a rational being must suffer in order to enjoy, after infancy."

"His eyes don't look as if they had been in training of any sort," said
I, without knowing what my words implied, till I saw the harsh
expression on Mr. Lewis's face.'

"I mean that they have a sort of undisciplined expression, as if he had
never been tamed by suffering or sorrow of any sort," said I.

"That sadness is the true human look," said the minister, "the look that
redeems us from