now she is cruel. Those uncertain social honors can never be mine;
therefore a reconciliation is out of the question. Men come to the
house frequently and in fair numbers, but frequent and merely polite
attentions do not satisfy mamma. I have never had a real lover. Men seem
to like me well enough; they send me flowers, take me out, and do not
let me suffer at balls or parties for want of attention. But they do not
make love or ask me the all--important question, "Will you be my wife?"
This confession would surprise most people. My name is constantly
mentioned in a tender way with some one man of my acquaintance, but
there is never any thing beyond the mention.

During the past winter mamma has been trying a new plan. She has
determined to marry me off, having proved to be such worthless material
for the make up of a reigning belle. She has made earnest, successful
effort to induce a batch of clever young lawyers into a frequent and
regular attendance at the house, under pretext of a quasi-ideal Literary
Association. A wise bait, which always ensnares the eager-nibbling
lawyer. It _sounds well_ to have people say that he is a gifted
young lawyer and a member of a most delightful and highly select
literary association--and the average young lawyer acknowledges a
fondness--inexpensive, of course--for all things which _sound well_;
the legal mind bows down before the mighty shrine of "Euphony."

Any thing can be readily organized in this town, but to keep it going is
a different matter and a desperate hard thing to do after the novelty
wears off. But mamma seldom allows any of her organizations to die a
natural death. Her present venture, of a literary nature, is thriving;
it has grown to be the idle fashion of the social hour. Mamma alternates
with her always coadjutor, Mrs. Babbington Brooks, in entertaining the
motley, and somewhat cultured crowd. Mamma, First Director and Chief