your symptoms are getting
alarming."

"Nay, now, Cousin Florence," said Edward, "you are a girl of moderately
good sense, with all your nonsense. Now don't you (I know you _do_)
think just so too?"

"Think just so too!--do you hear the creature?" replied Florence. "No,
sir; you can speak for yourself in this matter, but I beg leave to enter
my protest when you speak for me too."

"Well, now, where is there, coz, among all our circle, a young girl that
has any sort of purpose or object in life, to speak of, except to make
herself as interesting and agreeable as possible? to be admired, and to
pass her time in as amusing a way as she can? Where will you find one
between fifteen and twenty that has any serious regard for the
improvement and best welfare of those with whom she is connected at all,
or that modifies her conduct, in the least, with reference to it? Now,
cousin, in very serious earnest, you have about as much real character,
as much earnestness and depth of feeling, and as much good sense, when
one can get at it, as any young lady of them all; and yet, on your
conscience, can you say that you live with any sort of reference to any
body's good, or to any thing but your own amusement and gratification?"

"What a shocking adjuration!" replied the lady; "prefaced, too, by a
three-story compliment. Well, being so adjured, I must think to the best
of my ability. And now, seriously and soberly, I don't see as I am
selfish. I do all that I have any occasion to do for any body. You know
that we have servants to do every thing that is necessary about the
house, so that there is no occasion for my making any display of
housewifery excellence. And I wait on mamma if she has a headache, and
hand papa his slippers and newspaper, and find Uncle John's spectacles
for him twenty times a day, (no small matter, that,) and then----"

"But, after all, what is the object and purpose of your life?"

"Why, I haven't any. I don't see how I can have any--that is, as I am
made. Now, you know, I've none of the fussing, baby-tending,
herb-tea-making recommendations of Aunt Sally, and divers others of the
class commonly called _useful_. Indeed, to tell the truth, I think
useful persons are commonly rather fussy and stupid. They are just like
the boneset, and hoarhound, and catnip--very necessary to be raised in a
garden, but not in the least ornamental."

"And you charming young ladies, who philosophize in kid slippers and
French d