"Is he tall?" "Yes." "Is he stout?" "No." "An Adonis?" "No." "A Hercules?" "No." "Very clever, I believe." "Not at all." For my father had taught me to look down on that word. "Why did you marry him then?" "I didn't. He married me." "What did you marry him for then?" "For love." "What did you love him for?" "Because he was a philosopher." "That's the oddest reason I ever heard for marrying a man." "I said for loving him, Judy." Her bright eyes were twinkling with fun. "Come, cozzie," she said, "give me a proper reason for falling in love with this husband of yours." "Well, I'll tell you, then," I said; "only you mustn't tell any other body; he's got such a big shaggy head, just like a lion's." "And such a huge big foot,--just like a bear's?" "Yes, and such great huge hands! Why, the two of them go quite round my waist! And such big eyes, that they look right through me; and such a big heart, that if he saw me doing any thing wrong, he would kill me, and bury me in it." "Well, I must say, it is the most extraordinary description of a husband I ever heard. It sounds to me very like an ogre." "Yes; I admit the description is rather ogrish. But then he's poor, and that makes up for a good deal." I was in the humor for talking nonsense, and of course expected of all people that Judy would understand my fun. "How does that make up for any thing?" "Because if he is a poor man, he isn't a rich man, and therefore not so likely to be a stupid." "How do you make that out?" "Because, first of all, the rich man doesn't know what to do with his money, whereas my ogre knows what to do without it. Then the rich man wonders in the morning which waistcoat he shall put on, while my ogre has but one, besides his Sunday one. Then supposing the rich man has slept well, and has done a fair stroke or two of business, he wants nothing but a well-dressed wife, a well-dressed dinner, a few glasses of his favorite wine, and the evening paper, well-diluted with a sleep in his easy chair, to be perfectly satisfied that this world is the best of all possible worlds. Now my ogre, on the other hand"-- I was going on to point out how frightfully different from all this my ogre was,--how he would devour a half-cooked chop, and drink a pint of ale from the public-house, &c., &c., when she interrupted me, saying with an odd expression of voice,-- "You are satirical, cozzie. He's not the worst sort of man you've just described. A woman might be very happy with him. If it weren't such early days, I should doubt if you were as comfortable as you would have people think; for how else should you be so ill-natured?" It flashed upon me, that, without the least intention, I had been giving a very fair portrait of Mr. Morley. I felt my face grow as red as fire. "I had no intention of being satirical, Judy," I replied. "I was only describing a man the very opposite of my husband." "You don't know mine yet," she said. "You may think"--