moratas arranged in chronological order!"
"It would be a curious and instructive spectacle."
"You may well say that! Let me sketch a few of them."
"I think I could do it better."
"No, every man thinks his own experience peculiar; but life has a wonderful sameness, after all. Besides, you would flatter the portraits. Not to begin too early, and without being particular about names, there was, first, Amanda, aged fourteen; face circular, cheeks cranberry, eyes hazel, hair brown and wavy, awkward when spoken to, and agreeable only in an osculatory way. Now, being twenty-five, she is married, has two children, is growing stout, and always refers to her lord and master as 'He,' never by any accident pronouncing his name. Second, Julia; sixteen, flaxen-haired, lithe, not ungraceful, self-possessed, and perhaps a little pert. She is unmarried; but, having fed her mind with no more solid aliment than country gossip, no sensible man could talk to her five minutes. Third, Laura; eighteen, black hair, with sharp outlines on the temples, eyes heavily shaded and coquettishly managed, jewelry more abundant than elegant, repeats poetry by the page, keeps a scrap-book, and writes endless letters to her female friends. She is still romantic, but has learned something from experience,—is not so impressible as when you knew her. I won't stop to sketch the pale poetess, nor the dancing hoyden, nor the sweet blue-eyed creature that lisped, nor the mature and dangerously-charming widow that caused some perturbations in your regular orbit.
"Now, my dear fellow," Easelmann continued, "you fancied that your whole existence depended upon the hazel or the blue or the black eyes, in turn; but at this time you could see their glances turned in rapture upon your enemy, if you have one, without a pang."
"One would think you had just been reading Cowley's charming poem, 'Henrietta first possest.' But what is the moral to your entertaining little romance? That love must always be transient?"
"Not necessarily, but generally. We are travelling at different rates of progress and on different planes. Happy are the lovers who advance with equal step, cultivating similar tastes, with agreeing theories of life and its enjoyments!"
"Wise philosopher, how comes it, that, with so just an appreciation of the true basis of a permanent attachment, you remain single? I see a gray hair or two, not only on your head, but in that favorite moustache of yours."
"Gray? Oh, yes! gray as a badger, but immortally young. As for marriage, I'm rather past that. I had my chance; I lost it, and shall not throw again."
Easelmann did not seem inclined to open this sealed book of his personal history, and the friends were silent. Greenleaf at length broke the pause.
"I acknowledge the justice of your ideas in their general application, but in my own case they do not apply at all. I was not in my teens when I went to Innisfield, but in the maturity of such faculties as I have. Alice satisfies my ideal of a lovely, loving woman. She has capabilities, taste, a thirst for improvement, and will advance in everything to which I am led."
"I won't disturb your dreams, nor play the Mephistopheles, as you sometimes call me. I am rather serious to-day. But here you are where every faculty is stimulated, where you unconsciously draw in new ideas with your daily breath. Alice remains in a country town, without society, with few books, with no opportunity for culture in Art or in the minor graces of society. You are not ready to marry; your ambition forbids it, and your means will not allow it. And before the time comes when you are ready to establish yourself, think what a difference there may be between you! The thought is cruel, but worth your consideration none the less.—But let us change the subject. What are you doing? Any new orders?"
"Two new orders. One for a large picture from Mr. Sandford. The price is
