ards a great deal oftener than many
materialists suppose. Nevertheless, there is always a day of
retribution.

I wish I had adhered to my original orthodox determination. During the
whole period of the honeymoon, I remained blameless as to shares. Uncle
Scripio relinquished the suggestion of "dodges" in despair. He was, as
usual, brimful of projects, making money by the thousand, and bearing or
bulling, as the case might be, with genuine American enthusiasm. I
believe he thought me a fool for remaining so easily contented, and very
soon manifested no further symptom of his consciousness of my existence
than by transmitting me regularly a copy of the Railway Gazette, with
some mysterious pencil-markings at the list of prices, which I presume
he intended for my guidance in the case of an alteration of sentiment.
For some time I never looked at them. When a man is newly married, he
has a great many other things to think of. Mary had a decided genius for
furniture, and used to pester me perpetually with damask curtains,
carved-wood chairs, gilt lamps, and a whole wilderness of household
paraphernalia, about which, in common courtesy, I was compelled to
affect an interest. Now, to a man like myself, who never had any fancy
for upholstery, this sort of thing is very tiresome. My wife might have
furnished the drawingroom after the pattern of the Cham of Tartary's for
any thing I cared, provided she had left me in due ignorance of the
proceeding; but I was not allowed to escape so comfortably. I looked
over carpet patterns and fancy papers innumerable, mused upon all manner
of bell-pulls, and gave judgment between conflicting rugs, until the
task became such a nuisance, that I was fain to take refuge in the
sacred sanctuary of my club. Young women should be particularly careful
against boring an accommodating spouse. Of all places in the world, a
club is the surest focus of speculation. You meet gentlemen there who
hold stock in every line in the kingdom--directors, committeemen, and
even crack engineers. I defy you to continue an altogether uninterested
auditor of the fascinating intelligence of Mammon. In less than a week
my vow was broken, and a new _liaison_ commenced with the treacherous
Delilah of scrip. As nine-tenths of my readers have been playing the
same identical game towards the close of last year, it would be idle to
recount to them the various vicissitudes of the market. It is a sore
subject with most of us--a re