was fed continually from the exhaustless fountains of her own thought-wealthy soul. Her calm, clear eyes mirrored the bright fancies that flitted through her brain. The chestnut hair, brushed away from the youthful brow, revealed the tiny blue veins on the white expanding temples; while the high, straight nose and curved nostrils, with the sweet little mouth and tapering chin that smiled below, made up a face whose regular features were its least claim to beauty. It was the soul within which shone over these features and lighted them at times with supernatural loveliness. And was this brilliant being understood and appreciated by the man who had won her for his bride? Faugh!—we blush at our own stupidity in asking the question. Are such lofty souls ever appreciated by even one of the swarming masses that people the earth with their corporeal bodies? Let those answer who can. 

 But Louise, soaring as was her nature, was yet cursed with that weakness which too often possesses souls like hers, swaying e'en a more tyrant sceptre than in meaner breasts, as though in envious hate of those sky-aspiring pinions, and a demon wish to make them lick the dust. She was an orphan, with no relative save a maiden aunt, with whom she dwelt. She felt alone in the wide world, and she wanted—O, pity her, reader, if you can!—she wanted somebody to lean on, somebody to look up to. Could she not lean on her own strong intellect, and look up to the stars?—or could she not breathe forth her rich-laden soul in lofty song and romance, and lean upon the pillars of a world-wide fame? No, O, no! With all her strength of soul and intellect, she had weak woman's heart. She must love and be loved; and when the wealthy Mr. Leroy Edson knelt, an enamored knight, at the shrine of her youth and beauty, she gave him her hand. He thought he had done a most generous deed in thus raising a poor, lone orphan girl from comparative obscurity to a position among the highest circles of society. Her superior education and gem-freighted soul were all the fortune she brought him; a fortune greater than the treasures of Ind., but of whose princely value he had not the power to form the most distant estimate. To behold her tall, graceful figure flitting through his elegant mansion, performing some light household duty, receiving her guests or chatting and singing gayly through the long evenings, was, to him, life's whole of happiness. And was Louise altogether content with the man of her choice? No, or she had not gathered Wimbledon about her to make merry the midnight hour. People do not give fêtes to display their happiness. They give them too often to relieve a tedious monotony, to silence a gnawing discontent, and forget for the moment in hilarious 

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