These Germans seem an odd race, a mixture of clay and spirit—what with their beer-drinking and smoking, and their slow, stolid ways, you would think them perfectly earthy; but ethereal fire is all the while working in them, and bursting out in most unexpected little jets of poetry and sentiment, like blossoms on a cactus. MY WIFE AND I. [Sidenote: Physiognomy of a house.] Houses have their physiognomy as much as persons. There are commonplace houses, suggestive houses, attractive houses, mysterious houses, and fascinating houses, just as there are all these classes of persons. There are houses whose windows seem to yawn idly—to stare vacantly; there are houses whose windows glower weirdly, and glance at you askance; there are houses, again, whose very doors and windows seem wide open with frank cordiality, which seem to stretch their arms to embrace you, and woo you kindly to come and possess them.... Is not this a species of high art, by which a house, in itself cold and barren, becomes in every part warm and inviting, glowing with suggestion, alive with human tastes and personalities? Wall-paper, paint, furniture, pictures, in the hands of the home artist, are like the tubes of paint, out of which arises, as by inspiration, a picture. It is the _woman_ who combines them into the wonderful creation which we call a home. When I came home from my office, night after night, and was led in triumph by Eva to view the result of her achievements, I confess I began to remember, with approbation, the old Greek mythology, and no longer to wonder that divine honors had been paid to household goddesses. LETTERS. [Sidenote: Heaven.] You _do_ like to do good, and live a life worth living, and when you get to heaven you will always want to do exactly the thing by which you can best please the dear Lord. The fashions there in Heaven are set by Him who made himself of no reputation, and came and spent years among poor, ignorant, stupid, wicked people, that He might bring them up to himself,—and I dare say the saints are burning with zeal to be sent on such messages to our world,—I don’t think they “sit on every heavenly hill,” paying compliments to each other, but they are flying hither and thither on messages of mercy to the dark, the desolate, the sorrowful. That’s the way you’ll be when you get there, and spite of all you say about yourself, you’ll get to liking that sort of work more and more here. * * * * * [Sidenote: His own house.] I shall be glad when he is in a house of his own,—a man isn’t half a man till he is. FINIS. INDEX OF BOOKS. THE MINISTER’S WOOING, 1, 55, 84, 105, 118, 134, 158, 171. OLDTOWN FOLKS, 13, 58, 89, 105, 119, 135, 159, 175, 188. SAM LAWSON’S STORIES, 60, 119, 188. PEARL OF ORR’S ISLAND, 19, 60, 91, 108, 119, 161, 178. LITTLE FOXES, 21, 62, 93, 121, 189. HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS, 24, 65, 95, 122, 161, 189.