ling, awkward Mr. Regulus, I should not have a wish ungratified.

It is true I sometimes wished I had something to do, but we had
supernumerary servants, and if I found any employment it must have been
similar to that of Jack the bean-boy, who poured his beans on the floor
and then picked them up again. I was fond of sewing. But the wardrobe of
a young bride is generally too well supplied; at least mine was, to
admit of much exercise with the needle. I was passionately fond of
reading, and of hearing Ernest read; and many an hour every day was
devoted to books. But the mind, like the body, can digest only a certain
quantity of food, and is oppressed by an excessive portion.

Had Ernest welcomed society, our superb parlor would have been thronged
with nightly guests; but he put up bars of ceremony against such
intrusion; polished silver they were, it is true, but they were felt to
be heavy and strong. He never visited himself, that is, socially. He
paid formal calls, as he would an inevitable tax, rejoicing when the
wearisome task was over; out beyond the limits of ceremony he could not
be persuaded to pass.

Gradually our evening visitors became few,--the cold season advanced,
the fountain ceased to play in the grotto, and the beautiful flowers
were inclosed in the green-house.

Our rooms were warmed by furnaces below, which diffused a summer
temperature through the house. In mine, the heat came up through an
exquisite Etruscan vase, covered with flowers, which seemed to emit odor
as well as warmth, and threw the illusion of spring over the dullness
and gloom of winter. But I missed the glowing hearth of Mrs. Linwood,
the brightness and heartiness of her winter fireside.

I never shall forget how I started with horror, when I was conscious of
a feeling of _ennui_, even in the presence of Ernest. It was not
possible I should be weary of the joys of heaven, if I were capable of
sighing in my own Eden bower. I tried to banish the impression; it
WOULD return, and with it self-reproach and shame.

If Ernest had not been lifted by wealth above the necessity of exertion;
had he been obliged to exercise the talents with which he was so
liberally endowed for his own support and the benefit of mankind; had he
some profession which compelled him to mingle in the world, till the too
exquisite edge of his sensibilities were blunted by contact with firmer,
rougher natures, what a blessing it would have been! With what pride
wou