vicinity of this lively little lady. Her husband died two years
ago, of sleeplessness, and a harassing system of nursing.

The Flutter Budgets are a numerous family in America. They are not
all as restless as Madame, but the characteristics of the blood
are manifest among them all. They never know repose; and, what is
worse than this, they dread if they do not despise it. They are
immense workers--not that they do more work, and harder than their
neighbors, but they make a great fuss about it, and are always at
it. They rise early in the morning, and they sit up late at night;
and they do this from year's end to year's end, whether they
really have any thing to do or not. They cannot sit still. They
have an unhealthy impression that it is wrong for them not to be
"doing something" all the time. Nothing in the world will make
them so uncomfortable and so restless as leisure. Mrs. Flutter
Budget could no more sit down without knitting-work, or a sock to
darn, in her hands, than she could fly. As she has many times
remarked, she would die if she could not work. To her, and to all
of her name and character, constant action seems to be a
necessity. The craving of the smoker for his pipe or cigar, the
incessant hankering of the opium-eater for his drug, the terrible
thirst of the drunkard for his cups--all these are legitimate
illustrations of the morbid desire of the Budgets for action or
motion. The man who has the habit of using narcotics is not more
restless and unhappy without his accustomed stimulus, than they
are with nothing to do. In truth, I believe the desire for action
may become just as morbid a passion of the soul as that which most
degrades and demoralizes mankind.

If I were called upon to define happiness, I could possibly give