shed the Stukeville collection would burn up.

As for myself, I am not willing to intrude my family affairs here beyond
the statement that my days of gloom are over. I ceased to try, and--but
as I wanted to add, Gabrielle is clever at housekeeping along the most
approved scientific lines. Cooking she regards as a form of chemistry,
and she keeps scales in her kitchen to save good dishes from disaster
due to the reckless "pinch of this and pinch of that" system. What a
contrast with Jim's system of frying eggs! And the marvel of it is,
that, in spite of this hospital-like regularity and method, her little
dinners at her beautiful home in our model industrial community are
amazingly gratifying--solid in breadth and foundation, and alluringly
decorated with the ornamental bisque congealments founded on the froth
and frosting of beaten egg and whipped cream. My experience as a
housekeeper helps me to appreciate fine work in this department of life.
I should say that an epicure would make no mistake in marrying a woman
lawyer.

The one hundred and sixty-two letters and fitments I have preserved in a
leather-bound scrap-book. I have not the slightest idea what they would
be worth in the literary market, but I do know they brought us much joy
and sorrow, and I would not part with these flowery souvenirs of the
days of youth when all jokes seemed legitimate. They contained more
poetry than truth, I fear; but like good fiction, they brought me face
to face with some of the most interesting phases of life.

Oh, I forgot to add that Gabrielle's beautiful home was the father's
gift to the bride, estimated to cost just $10,572.68, but I know there
were many "extras." Was Gabrielle surprised at this? Why, she thinks I
am a wonderfully fine fellow, and so does Jim.

What does Hygeia think?

Well--ahem!

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[A] These cuts were too blurred to reproduce.

[B] Acting under Section 1519 of the Poetic License Act, I have deducted
one eye from the flounder. He is about to lose both, anyway.

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