bidding him a joyous welcome and while the storm is at its height, a
smile of tenderness has passed over the face of the old creature, making
her look almost young, when the door opens; a figure in a wet winding
sheet, with hair in which was mingled sea weed, glides to the bed-side,
a whispered utterance from the dying woman, "he has come," the figure
moves again to the door. An invisible power has extinguished the light,
and the flame of the lamp and the woman's soul, have gone out together,
while from the bedside to the door there is the trail of wet garments.

Again I hear the voice of the Cynic.

This is an age of shoddyism, and it is difficult at times to distinguish
the real from the sham. The woman who is covered with jewelry, looking
like a travelling doorplate, is the kind from whom we expect the bow to
vary, in coldness or cordiality, according to the clothes we wear, or
the entertainments we are able to give. With such people money means
everything, brains and breeding being secondary considerations. And it
is very amusing on meeting Madam Shoddy to note the look with which she
scans one from head to foot, balancing in her mind the cost of each
article of apparel, her mind wholly given up to dollars and cents, and
woe unto the person, who does not come up to the proper standard, of
pounds, shillings and pence.

In talking with such a one you will find their conversation frequently
interlarded with the use of the words _ladies_ and _gentlemen_. But
madam shoddy does really very little actual harm, all these things being
a harmless sort of imbecility.

But at the hands of Madam Snob, one will not fare as well, for having
nothing noble in her own nature she is constantly picking flaws in the