der, but
saved her energy for her work. You know I'm not vindictive, but I never
look at that man without wishing he were at the bottom of the duck pond,
securely anchored to a rock.

Otherwise he'd pop up and float.

Singapore respectfully salutes you, and is very glad that you can't see
him as he now appears. A shocking calamity has befallen his good looks.
Some bad child--and I don't think she's a boy--has clipped that poor
beastie in spots, until he looks like a mangy, moth-eaten checkerboard.
No one can imagine who did it. Sadie Kate is very handy with the
scissors, but she is also handy with an alibi! During the time when the
clipping presumably occurred, she was occupying a stool in the corner of
the schoolroom with her face to the wall, as twenty-eight children can
testify. However, it has become Sadie Kate's daily duty to treat those
spots with your hair tonic.

I am, as usual,

SALLIE.

P.S. This is a recent portrait of the Hon. Cy drawn from life. The man,
in some respects, is a fascinating talker; he makes gestures with his
nose.

Thursday evening.

Dear Judy:

Sandy is back after a ten-days' absence,--no explanations,--and plunged
deep into gloom. He resents our amiable efforts to cheer him up, and
will have nothing to do with any of us except baby Allegra. He took
her to his house for supper tonight and never brought her back until
half-past seven, a scandalous hour for a young miss of three. I don't
know what to make of our doctor; he grows more incomprehensible every
day.

But Percy, now, is an open-minded, confiding young man. He has just been
making a dinner call (he is very punctilious in all social matters), and
our entire conversation was devoted to the girl in Detroit. He is lonely
and likes to talk about her; and the wonderful things he says! I hope
that Miss Detroit is worthy of all this fine affection, but I'm afraid.
He fetched out a leather case from the innermost recesses of his
waistcoat and, reverently unwrapping two layers of tissue-paper, showed
me the photograph of a silly little thing, all eyes and earrings and
fuzzy hair. I did my best to appear congratulatory, but my heart shut up
out of pity for the poor boy's future.

Isn't it funny how the nicest men often choose the worst wives, and the
nicest women the worst husbands? Their very niceness, I suppose, makes
them blind and unsuspicious.

You know, the most interesting pursuit in the world is studying
character. I