"I mean as I say. Self-culture is our first duty, both moral and intellectual. I might add, also, that to take care of Number One is a dictate of common prudence. You allow that? Well. First, then, the body cared for, all right. Then the morals,--attend to your own, and let other people's alone. Then, thirdly, your intellect. Now, then, it becomes a positive duty, 'the duty that lies nearest to me,' to cultivate that. And to do that, Minnie, I am obliged to draw on myself to my very last dollar. To refine the taste by familiarity with the highest objects of taste, to appreciate Art, to develop the intellect, to bring one's self to conceive and grasp the Universal, the Beautiful, to raise one's self in the scale of created things by creative fancies imitating the Highest,--ah! in fact, Minnie, self-culture becomes a duty,--indeed, our first duty." Something in Minnie's face--it was not a smile--made Fred turn the subject a little. "Now, really, if every one would take care of one, and that one himself, don't you see there would be no more want or suffering in this weary world? no more need of blankets or dispensaries? Each is happy, comfortable, and self-cultured in his proportion. A universal harmony prevails. Like the planets, self-revolving, and moving, each in his chosen orbit, they shout and sing for joy. How much better this than to be eccentrically darting off in search of somebody's tears to wipe, somebody's wounds to bandage,--who, indeed, would have neither wounds nor grief, if they would follow my simple rule!" Minnie laughed a little at her brother's grave sophistry, but had no wish to contest the point with him. "It is no merit in me, but, as you say, rather self-indulgence, to be looking up and relieving destitute cases. But it would be merit in you, if you don't like it; and you might have all that, and none of the annoyances." Her bright face glowed; and Fred liked to look at her when she was excited; the coloring beat Titian's, he thought. "You don't know how painful to me it is to hold out empty hands to so many sufferers"-- But now Minnie's face looked so sorrowful that there was nothing specially beautiful in the coloring, and Fred said, impatiently,-- "You bore me, Minnie. I am waiting to take my afternoon nap." And he turned positively over towards the wall. The sight of Minnie, swiftly walking through the driving storm to-day, brought up to Fred's memory all the talk they had had in that very room, he lying in the same place, a fortnight ago. Since that day he had not seen Minnie, except casually; and, indeed, she seemed very busy and very happy, if one might judge by her lighted face and her laden arm. Something keener than philosophy, subtiler than Epicurus, pricked Fred, as Minnie vanished into the cloud of snowflakes. "Pshaw!"