For the contentions that loosen the very foundations of love, that crumble away all its fine traceries and carved work, about what miserable, worthless things do they commonly begin!--a dinner underdone, too much oil consumed, a newspaper torn, a waste of coal or soap, a dish broken!--and for this miserable sort of trash, very good, very generous, very religious people will sometimes waste and throw away by double-handfuls the very thing for which houses are built and coal burned, and all the paraphernalia of a home established,--_their happiness_. Better cold coffee, smoky tea, burnt meat, better any inconvenience, any loss, than a loss of _love_; and nothing so surely burns away love as constant fault-finding. For fault-finding once allowed as a habit between two near and dear friends comes in time to establish a chronic soreness, so that the mildest, the most reasonable suggestion, the gentlest implied reproof, occasions burning irritation; and when this morbid stage has once set in, the restoration of love seems wellnigh impossible. For example: Enthusius, having risen this morning in the best of humors, in the most playful tones begs Hermione not to make the tails of her g’s quite so long; and Hermione fires up with with-- “And, pray, what else wouldn’t you wish me to do? Perhaps you would be so good, when you have leisure, as to make out an alphabetical list of the things in me that need correcting.” “My dear, you are unreasonable.” “I don’t think so. I should like to get to the end of the requirements of my lord and master sometimes.” “Now, my dear, you really are very silly.” “Please say something original, my dear. I have heard that till it has lost the charm of novelty.” “Come now, Hermione, don’t let’s quarrel.” “My dear sir, who thinks of quarrelling? Not I; I’m sure I was only asking to be directed. I trust some time, if I live to be ninety, to suit your fastidious taste. I trust the coffee is right this morning, _and_ the tea, _and_ the toast, _and_ the steak, _and_ the servants, _and_ the front-hall mat, _and_ the upper-story hall-door, _and_ the basement premises; and now I suppose I am to be trained in respect to my general education. I shall set about the tails of my g’s at once, but trust you will prepare a list of any other little things that need emendation.” Enthusius pushes away his coffee, and drums on the table. “If I might be allowed one small criticism, my dear, I should observe that it is not good manners to drum on the table,” says his fair opposite. “Hermione, you are enough to drive a man frantic!” exclaims Enthusius, rushing out with bitterness in his soul, and a determination to take his dinner at Delmonico’s.