nothing else, will lie about a picture. On a small income we must make
the world believe that we are affluent, and our life becomes a cheat,
a counterfeit, and a sham.

Few persons are really natural. When I say this, I do not mean to slur
cultured manners. It is right that we should have more admiration for
the sculptured marble than for the unhewn block of the quarry. From
many circles in life fashion has driven out vivacity and enthusiasm.
A frozen dignity instead floats about the room, and iceberg grinds
against iceberg. You must not laugh outright: it is vulgar. You must
_smile_. You must not dash rapidly across the room: you must _glide_.
There is a round of bows, and grins, and flatteries, and oh's! and
ah's! and simperings, and namby-pambyism--a world of which is not
worth one good, round, honest peal of laughter. From such a hollow
round the tortured guest retires at the close of the evening, and
assures his host that he has enjoyed himself.

Thus social life has been contorted, and deformed, until, in
some mountain cabin, where rustics gather to the quilting or the
apple-paring, there is more good cheer than in all the frescoed
ice-houses of the metropolis.

We want, in all the higher circles of society, more warmth of heart
and naturalness of behavior, and not so many refrigerators.

Again: inordinate fashion is incompatible with happiness. Those who
depend for their comfort upon the admiration of others are subject to
frequent disappointment. Somebody will criticise their appearance, or
surpass them in brilliancy, or will receive more attention. Oh! the
jealousy, and detraction, and heart-burnings of those who move in this
bewildered maze!

The clock strikes _one_, and the company begins to disperse. The host
has done everything to make all his guests happy; but now that they
are on the street, hear their criticisms of everybody and everything.
"Did you see her in such and such apparel?" "Wasn't she a perfect
fright!" "What a pity that such an one is so awkward and uncouth!"
"Well, really,--I would rather never be spoken to than be seen with
such a man as that!"

Poor butterflies! Bright wings do not always bring happiness. "She
that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth." The revelations
of high life that come to the challenge and the fight are only the
occasional croppings out of disquietudes that are, underneath, like
the stars of heaven for multitude, but like the demons of the pit for
ha