“If your countryman were amenable to the charge of plagiarism, so also is our Shakespeare, for in the comedy of Trinummus, Megaronides says, ‘The evil that we know is best. To venture on an untried ill,’ etc., and Shakespeare, two thousand years later, said, ‘Rather bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.’” “You call my divine countryman a plagiarist,” half-childishly, half-insanely repeated my noble lord, grinding my foot beneath his heel. A cry of pain escaped me, which a timely crash of cymbals in the orchestra had the effect to drown. “Well, what of it” blurted the American, throwing his full weight, as if by accident, against the baron’s shoulder, and then turning to me with an apology resumed his place. Now while I never take refuge in my sex for at least a verbal retaliation of the wrongs I receive from my husband, it goes without saying that the man who visits brutality in any form upon a woman is a coward. But I had never seen the baron insulted, and was therefore wholly unprepared for the profuseness with which he apologized to our guests, and the blandness with which he offered his hand as he bade them good-night. But the most humiliating part of this humiliating affair was the fact that I was forced to repeat an apology fashioned by himself, the entire length of our journey home, even until the carriage stopped at the door. It is not clear to me, my dear mother, that I am justified in rehearsing to you, or to anyone, details of my life, which may seem trivial, but for which I am able to offer no other excuse than your own solicitous insistence. I am always promising myself that every next letter shall be dictated in more cheerful spirit. Till then adieu. Present me with kindest love and beg papa to write me. I do so long for a sight of his letters. Love to those who love me. As ever, devotedly yours, ELLEN. _From the Baroness Von Eulaw to Mrs. Perces Thornton._ BERLIN, June 21, 1893. MY DEAREST MOTHER: How shall we account for our various moods? Yesterday I was miserable; to-day I am joyful; to-morrow I may be hopeful or heartbroken, according as—oh! I forgot to say I am all alone; the baron has gone to St. Petersburg. I am supposed to have accompanied him, and so nobody comes. But I am not lonely; now that I am left to myself I see how beautiful is the world about me.