oney!" said Jennie, shaking her little
head wisely. "You men don't think of that. You want us girls, for
instance, to be patterns of economy, but we must always be wearing
fresh, nice things; you abhor soiled gloves and worn shoes: and yet how
is all this to be done without money? And it's just so in housekeeping.
You sit in your arm-chairs and conjure up visions of all sorts of
impossible things to be done; but when mamma there takes out that little
account-book, and figures away on the cost of things, where do the
visions go?"

"You are mistaken, my little dear, and you talk just like a
woman,"--(this was my only way of revenging myself,)--"that is to say,
you jump to conclusions, without sufficient knowledge. I maintain that
in house-furnishing, as well as woman-furnishing, there's nothing so
economical as beauty."

"There's one of papa's paradoxes!" said Jennie.

"Yes," said I, "that is my thesis, which I shall nail up over the
mantel-piece there, as Luther nailed his to the church-door. It is time
to rake up the fire now; but to-morrow night I will give you a paper on
the Economy of the Beautiful."

* * * * *

"Come, now we are to have papa's paradox," said Jennie, as soon as the
teachings had been carried out.

_Entre nous_, I must tell you that insensibly we had fallen into the
habit of taking our tea by my study-fire. Tea, you know, is a mere
nothing in itself, its only merit being its social and poetic
associations, its warmth and fragrance,--and the more socially and
informally it can be dispensed, the more in keeping with its airy and
cheerful nature.

Our circle was enlightened this evening by the cheery visage of Bob
Stephens, seated, as of right, close to Marianne's work-basket.

"You see, Bob," said Jennie, "papa has undertaken to prove that the most
beautiful things are always the cheapest."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Bob,--"for there's a carved antique
bookcase and study-table that I have my eye on, and if this can in any
way be made to appear"--

"Oh, it won't be made to appear," said Jennie, settling herself at her
knitting, "only in some transcendental, poetic sense, such as papa can
always make out. Papa is more than half a poet, and his truths turn out
to be figures of rhetoric, when one comes to apply them to matters of
fact."

"Now, Miss Jennie, please remember my subject and thesis," I
replied,--"that in house-furnishing there is nothing so econo