used indiscriminately to express the superlative of ire-exciting folly. He delighted in showing things as they were. Men were machines, moved by secret springs of policy and knavery; the world a stage, viewed by others in the deceptive glare of artificial lights, and so made attractive. He had penetrated into the mysteries behind the curtain, and examined, in the unflattering day, the clumsy contrivances, gaudy daubing and disgustful hollowness of the whole. Fancy and the pleasures of imagination were empty, bombastic names; he would have seen in Niagara only a sizeable fall, and "calculated," amidst the rushing shout of its mighty waters, as to the number of cotton-mills it would turn, and the thousands it would net him, could he transport it, patent right secured, to Virginia. He tore the cloud-covering from the storm-god's brow, and beheld a roaring, vaporing giant, whose insane attacks might be warded off by philosophical precautions, and discretion in the disposition of lightning rods. The party returned to the parlor. "You play, I presume, Miss Ross?" said her guardian. Inexpressibly hurt by this new proof of insensibility to her situation, Ida faltered an excuse of fatigue and want of practice; and with a very perceptible shrug, he addressed his daughter. "What apology have _you_, Josephine?" She replied by going to the instrument, but had just taken her seat, when the door opened to admit three visitors--two school-fellows of Miss Read's, and their brother. "The Misses and Mr. Talbot" were presented in due form to the stranger, who had risen to leave the room. Josephine saw the movement, and arrested it by the introduction. No attention was paid to her; and in the midst of the lively conversation, she seized an opportunity to speak aside to Josephine. "I wish to retire, if you please." Josephine started. If not so measured, the tone was as haughty as hers, at its proudest pitch. With a word of apology to her guests, she led the way into the hall, and lighted a lamp. Ida took it from her. "I will go up without you. Good night." She walked up the staircase with a steady step, for she was followed by a gaze of wonderment and anger; but when her chamber was gained, she sprang through the door--locked and double locked it, and dashed herself upon the floor. A hurricane raged within her--grief, outraged feeling and desperation. The grave had gorged her past, black walls of ice bounded the future. Meanwhile the sound of jocund voices came up through the flooring; bursts of laughter; and then music; brilliant waltzes and triumphant marches, to where the orphan lay sobbing, not weeping, with hysterical violence; her hands clenched upon her temples, through which each convulsion sent a pang that forced from her a moan of anguish. "She is a weak, foolish baby! it will take an immensity of schooling to make her endurable;" said Mr. Read, when the guests had gone.