vanities to be cherished, no artificial distinctions to be sustained, no conventional wants to be supplied, the few hundred dollars do all for happiness that _money_ can do. The king who has to ask his Commons for supplies, and the Croesuses of our land who still desire more than they have, might envy our contented colonel, or rather might have envied him, till, after a life of perfect exemption from worldly cares, he came, for the first time, to feel a chill from the shadows of the coming day--a distrustful fear that the morrow might _not_ take care of itself. Among other luxuries of a like nature, (the colonel was addicted to such indulgences,) he had allowed himself to adopt a little destitute orphan-girl, Paulina Morton. She came to the old people after all their own girls were married and gone, and proved so dutiful and so helpful, that she was scarcely less dear to them than their own flesh and blood. Paulina, or Lina--for by this endearing diminutive they familiarly called her--was a pretty, very pretty girl, in spite of red hair, which, since it has lost the favor some beauty, divine or mortal, of classic days, won for it, is considered, if not a blemish, certainly not an attribute of beauty. Paulina's friends and lovers maintained that hers was getting darker every day, and that even were it fire-red, her soft, blue eyes, spirited, sweet mouth, coral lips, and exquisitely tinted skin would redeem it. Indeed, good old Mrs. Barnard insisted it was only red in certain lights, and those certain Ithuriel lights Loyd Barnard never saw it in; for he often expressed his surprise that any one could be so blind as to call _auburn_ red! In these days of reason's supremacy, we have found out there are no such 'dainty spirits' as Ariel, Puck, and Oberon. Still the lover is not disenchanted. 'Lina, my child,' said the old lady, one evening, just at twilight, while the burning brands sent a ruddy glow over the ceiling, and were reflected by the tea-things, our 'neat-handed lass was arranging,' 'Lina, do you expect Mr. Lovejoy this evening?' 'No, ma'am.' 'To-morrow evening, then?' 'No, ma'am; I never expect him again.' 'You astonish me, Lina. You don't mean you have given him his answer?' Lina smiled, and Mrs. Barnard continued; 'I fear you have not duly considered, Lina.' 'What is the use of considering, ma'am, when we know our feelings?' 'We can't afford always, my child, to consult feelings. Nobody can say a word against Mr. Lovejoy; he made the best of husbands to his first wife.' 'That was a very good reason why _she_ should love him, ma'am.' Mrs. Barnard proceeded, without heeding the emphasis on _she_. 'He has but three children, and two of them are out of the way.' 'A poor reason, as I have always thought, ma'am, to give either to father or children for taking the place of mother to them.'