And yet how much do I regret, now, when it is too late to remedy it, that I did not, readily and cheerfully, accede to every wish of this dear friend, whose truly consistent and beautiful character shone out most clearly at home. How much do I regret now, that I should have allowed his few little foibles to annoy me. The greatest of these, and the one that caused more unpleasant words between us than any and all things else, was his carelessness in dress. I do not know that I am scrupulously neat, but I did pride myself in the personal appearance of my husband, which was sometimes seriously marred by an unshaved beard or a soiled shirt. We were once traveling on a steamboat, and, standing on the guards, I discovered him on the wheel-house, and called to him to come to me. A lady asked if "that old gentleman" was my husband, and said: "You look so young, I am surprised that you should have married so old a man." She seemed to be an unoffending, simple-hearted woman, such as we frequently meet in traveling, and I replied, with a smile, "He suits me very well, ma'am;" but made use of the earliest opportunity to tell him of it--really taking pleasure in doing so--for I had often expressed my own views on that subject, assuring him that he looked at least twenty years older when he neglected to dress with care, especially if he had not shaved. Next morning he paid particular attention to making his toilet, declaring it to be his intention "to create a sensation," which he certainly succeeded in doing, much to our mutual amusement; for the same lady, eyeing him closely at breakfast; expressed to me afterwards her amazement at the change, giving it as her opinion, that "he was the handsomest young gentleman she had ever seen." I went too boldly to work in trying to correct his careless habits in dress. I formed an idea that it was my duty and my privilege, not only to attend to my husband's wardrobe, but to direct, too, how it should be disposed of; but soon found that he was not to be made to do anything. And, as "straws show which way the wind blows," I learned, in most things, to influence him by silken cords. He was willing to be led captive by love and tenderness. Why, when your dear mamma was not more than four or five years of age, she had learned the art of making "papa" do as she liked. I remember to have heard her say once (slyly to one side), "I am going to make papa let me do it." And when asked "Make papa?" answered, "Yes, the way mamma does;" and immediately turned to him with her most bewitching little smile, and said, "Do please, dear papa, let me."