st, tenderest, purest ties between them; and even then, except
that 'twill revive again sometimes at the touch of an old memory.

"You dear boys!" says Margaret, coming over to us, to reward Tom with
a kiss on the cheek, and me with a smile. "What a vain thing you will
make me of my looks!"

"Nay," says candid Tom, "that work was done before ever we had the
chance of a hand in it."

"Well," retorted Margaret, with good-humoured pertness, "there'll
never be reason for me to make my brother vain of his wit."

"Nor for my sister to be vain of hers," said Tom, not in nettled
retaliation, but merely as uttering a truth.

"You compliment me there," says Margaret, lightly. "Did you ever hear
of a witty woman that was charming?"

"That is true," I put in, remembering some talk of Phil's, based upon
reading as well as upon observation, "for usually a woman must be
ugly, before she will take the trouble to cultivate wit. The
possession of wit in a woman seems to imply a lack of other reliances.
And if a woman be pretty and witty both, her arrogance is like to be
such as drives every man away. And men resent wit in a woman as if
'twere an invasion of their own province."

"Sure your explanation must be true, Mr. Philosopher," said Margaret,
"'tis so profound. As for me, I seek no reasons; 'tis enough to know
that most witty women are frights; and I don't blame the men for
refusing to be charmed by 'em."

"Well, sis," said Tom, "I'm sure even the cultivation of wit wouldn't
make you a fright. So you might amuse yourself by trying it, ma'am. As
for charming the men, you married ladies have no more to do with
that."

"Oh, haven't we? Sure, I think 'tis time little boys were in bed, who
talk of things they know nothing about. Isn't that so, Bert?"

"Why," said I, "for my part, I think 'tis unkind for a woman to
exercise her charms upon men after she has destroyed the possibility
of rewarding their devotion."

"Dear me, you talk like a character in a novel. Well, then, you're
both agreed I mustn't be charming. So I'll be disagreeable, and begin
with you two. Here's a book of sermons Mr. Cornelius must have left.
That will help me, if anything will." And she sat down with the volume
in her hands, took on a solemn frown, and began to read to herself.
After awhile, at a giggle of amusement from schoolboy Tom, she turned
a rebuking gaze upon us, over the top of the book; but the very effort
to be severe emphasised the fact th