"Well, in town this morning they chose me as one of the judges of vegetables at the fair next month. I said, 'Gentlemen, I expect to be married before that time, and I do not intend to be separated from my wife. Will she have the privilege of accompanying me among these competing vegetables? And last month they made me director of a turnpike company--I suppose because it runs through my farm. To-day at a meeting of the directors I said, 'Gentlemen, how far is this turnpike to run? I will direct it to the end of my farm and not a step farther. I do not wish to be separated from my wife.'" Georgiana has teased me a good deal in my life. It is well to let a woman taste of the tree of knowledge whose fruit she is fond of dispensing. "You'd better be careful!" she said, archly. "Remember, I haven't married you yet." "I _am_ careful," I replied. "I haven't married _you_ yet, cither! My idea, Georgiana," I continued, "is to plant a grove and raise cocoons. That would gratify my love of nature and your fancy for silk dresses. I could have my silk woven and spun in our manufactory at Newport, Kentucky; and you know that we couldn't possibly lose each other among the mulberry-trees." "You'd better take care!" she repeated. "Do you expect to talk to me in this style after we are married?" "That will all depend upon how you talk to me," I answered. "But I have always understood married life to be the season when the worm begins to turn." Despite my levity, I have been secretly stricken with remorse at the monstrous selfishness that lay coiled like a canker in my words. I was really no better than those men who say to their wives: "While I was trying to win you, the work of my life was secondary--you were everything. Now that I have won you, it will be everything, and you must not stand in the way."