he wears on his right hand.  I was attracted by a very handsome red stone, a ruby or carbuncle or something of the sort, to notice his left hand, the other day.  It is a handsome hand, and confirms my suspicion that the cast mentioned was taken from his arm.  After all, this is just what I should expect.  It is not very uncommon to see the upper limbs, or one of them, running away with the whole strength, and, therefore, with the whole beauty, which we should never have noticed, if it had been divided equally between all four extremities.  If it is so, of course he is proud of his one strong and beautiful arm; that is human nature.  But he does not make himself ridiculous, at any rate, as people who have any one showy point are apt to do,—­especially dentists with handsome teeth, who always smile back to their last molars.

Sitting, as he does, next to the young girl, and next but one to the calm lady who has her in charge, he cannot help seeing their relations to each other.

That is an admirable woman, Sir,—­he said to me one day, as we sat alone at the table after breakfast,—­an admirable woman, Sir,—­and I hate her.

Of course, I begged an explanation.

An admirable woman, Sir, because she does good things, and even kind things,—­takes care of this—­this—­young lady—­we have here, talks like a sensible person, and always looks as if she was doing her duty with all her might.  I hate her because her voice sounds as if it never trembled, and her eyes look as if she never knew what it was to cry.  Besides, she looks at me, Sir, stares at me, as if she wanted to get an image of me for some gallery in her brain,—­and we don’t love to be looked at in this way, we that have—­I hate her,—­I hate her,—­her eyes kill me,—­it is like being stabbed with icicles to be looked at so,—­the sooner she goes home, the better.  I don’t want a woman to weigh me in a balance; there are men enough for that sort of work.  The judicial character isn’t captivating in females, Sir.  A woman fascinates a man quite as often by what she overlooks as by what she sees.  Love prefers twilight to daylight; and a man doesn’t think much of, nor care much for, a woman outside of his household, unless he can couple the idea of love, past, present, or future, with her.  I don’t believe the Devil cares half so much for the services of a sinner as he does for those of one of these folks that are always doing virtuous acts in a way to make them unpleasing.—­That young girl wants a tender nature to cherish her and give her a chance to put out her leaves,—­sunshine, and not east winds.

He was silent,—­and sat looking at his handsome left hand with the red stone ring upon it.—­Is he going to fall in love with Iris?

Here are some lines I read to the boarders the other day:—­

  THE CROOKED FOOTPATH.

  Ah, here it is! the sliding rail
  That marks the old remembered spot,—­
  The gap that struck our schoolboy trail,—­
  The crooked path across the lot.