personal criticism; and to be obliged to stand apparently unconscious,
when I know I am being looked at and commented upon, is harrowing to my
feelings. I feel sometimes as if I should drop down on the floor, but
then folks would never stop laughing if I did, at what they would be
pleased to term my extreme ladylikeness! I have actually prayed that I
might get the small-pox, and once walked through the small-pox hospital
for that purpose, but escaped unharmed.

I suppose I must have been vaccinated. In fact, I know I have been, for
how often have I looked at the scar on my arm, and wished it had been on
my cheek, or at the end of my nose, or, in fact, on any place where it
might be considered a blemish.

When I was a child I came near killing myself one night by going to bed
with two large bottle-corks thrust into my nostrils, to make them large,
like other boys'; and have made my mouth sore by stretching it with my
fingers, or forcing melon-rinds into it, to enlarge it. But it was
useless; perhaps the mouth might be sore for a couple of days, but its
shape remained unaltered.

Now that I am a man, I am as unfortunate as ever. My hair _will_ curl,
even when shaved within half-an-inch of the scalp; my moustache will
stay jet-black, although I sometimes wax the ends of it with soap, and
walk on the sunny side of Broadway; my teeth are perfect, and I never
need a dentist; and my hands are shameful for a man,--so all my
old-maid-aunts and bachelor-uncles say.

My affections have been trifled with several times, "because," as they
said, "when they had drawn me to the proposing point, I was too handsome
to be good for anything as a husband--I did very well for a beau."