“Don’t swear; ’tis not fashionable for ladies. I do it myself; but ’tis a bad habit. Now shall I tell you what you _did think_ of the picture?” “I would rather have your opinion than mine.” “To relieve you from the horns of the dilemma? Well then; you thought it the ugliest, most repulsive, and withal the oddest phiz you ever saw; and you wondered how any one with such a hideous, morose countenance, could ever sit for the picture?” “Indeed I did.” “Good!” cried her tormentor, clapping his hands. “You and I must be friends. You wonder how I came to guess your thoughts; I know them by my own. Had any one asked my opinion of the picture of another man as ugly as that, I should have spoken out plainly enough. Fortunately the qualities of the mind do not depend upon the beauty of the face; though personal beauty is greatly increased by the noble qualities of the mind; and I know my inner man to be as vastly superior to its outer case, as the moon is to the cloud she pierces with her rays. To mind, I am indebted for the greatest happiness I enjoy,—the confidence and affection of my wife and children. “Mrs. W. was reckoned pretty in her youth; I think her so still. She was of a good family too; with a comfortable independence, and had lovers by the score. Yet, she fell in love with the ugly fellow, and married him, though he had neither fame nor fortune to offer her in exchange. Nothing but the mental treasures he had hid away from the world in this rough casket. My daughters are elegant, accomplished girls; not beauties, to be sure, but pleasing enough to be courted and sought after. Yet, they are proud of being thought like their ugly old father. That picture must be a likeness; it is pourtrayed by the hand of love. My dear girl there drew it with her own pencil, and rejoiced that she had caught the very expression of my face. To her, my dear lady, it is beautiful—for love is blind. She does not heed the ugly features; she only sees the mind she honours and obeys, looking through them.” “Ah, dear papa, who that knows you, as we know you, could ever think you ugly?” said Mary W., laying her hand on the old man’s shoulder, and looking fondly and proudly in his face. “But I have forgotten all this time to introduce you to Mrs. Lyndsay.” “My old friend Lyndsay’s wife? I ought not to be pleased with you, madam, for you disappointed a favourite scheme of mine.” “How could that possibly be?” said Flora. “I loved that man of yours; I wanted him for a son-in-law. Of course, neither I nor the girls hinted such a wish to him. But had he asked, he would not have been refused.” “Mrs. Lyndsay!” broke in Mary W., “you must not mind papa’s nonsense. He will say just what he likes. Mr. Lyndsay was always a great favourite with us all; and papa would have his joke at our expense.”