“As to my country's claims,” said I, haughtily, “I make light of them. All that I have seen of life only shows the shallowness of what is called the public service. I am resolved to leave it, and forever.” “And for what?” “A life of retirement,--obscurity if you will.” “It is what I should do if I were a man.” “Indeed!” “Yes. I have often reflected over the delight I have felt in walking through some man's demesne, revelling in the enjoyment of its leafy solitude, its dreary shade, its sunlit vistas, and I have thought, 'If all these things, not one of which are mine, can bring such pleasure to my heart, why should I not adopt the same philosophy in life, and be satisfied with enjoying without possessing? A very humble lot would suffice for one, nothing but great success could achieve the other.'” “What becomes, then, of that great stimulus to good they call labor?” “Oh, I should labor, too. I 'd work at whatever I was equal to. I 'd sew, and knit, and till my garden, and be as useful as possible.” “And I would write,” said I, enthusiastically, as though I were plotting out my share in this garden of Eden. “I would write all sorts of things: reviews, and histories, and stories, and short poems, and, last of all, the 'Confessions of Algernon Sydney Potts.'” “Oh, what a shocking title! How could such names have met together? That shocking epithet Potts would vulgarize it all!” “I really cannot agree with you,” said I, angrily. “Without,” said she, “you meant it for a sort of quiz; and that Potts was to be a creature of absurdity and folly, a pretender and a snob.” I felt as if I was choking with passion; but I tried to laugh, and say, “Yes, of course.” “That would be good fun enough,” went she on. “I 'd like, if I could, to contribute to that. You should invent the situations, and leave me occasionally to supply the reflective part.” “It would be charming; quite delightful.” “Shall we do it, then-? Let us try it, by all means. We might begin by imagining Potts in search of this, that, or t'other,--love, happiness, solitude, climate, scenery, anything, in short. Let us fancy him on a journey, try and personate him; that would be the real way. Do you, for instance, be Potts, and I 'll be his sister Susan. It will be the best fun in the world, as we go along, to see everything, note everything, and discuss everything Potts-wise.” “It would be too ridiculous, too absurd,” said I, sick with anger. “Not a bit; we are travelling with our old grandmother, we are making the tour of Europe, and keeping our journal. Every evening we compare notes of what we have seen. Pray do so; I 'm quite wild to try it.” “Really,” said I, gravely, “it is a sort of trifling I should find it very difficult to descend to. I see no reason, besides, to associate the name of Potts with what you are pleased to call snobbery!”