What so aristocratic a family found in me to admire is as much a secret now as then.  I don’t think it was intellect; for I am afraid that when Nature designed me the “shining” element was left out.  Somehow, at school, the composition sent to the village journal was never mine; the declamation repeated at every fresh arrival of directors was always another’s; and if, by any chance, a visitor asked to hear a recitation, under no circumstances was I ever invited to show off.  My modest part in society was not crowned with greater success.  Ma (dear heart!) objected to dancing, and I never learned; I didn’t go to picnics, for I don’t know how to drive; I tried smoking, and it made me sick; if I drank wine, I was sure to go to sleep:  in fact, none of the amusements of other young men ever amused me; and the result was, the money they spent, I saved.

Envious people have hinted at this as the attraction which first caught the respected mother of my Malinda Jane and the respected mother-in-law of myself; but ideas so unbecoming I repel with proper scorn.

I do not think myself more stupid than the average of mankind; but, somehow, while they walked through the middle of the streets, I sought the narrow alleys; and while others aspired to noise and distinction, I found retirement and Malinda Jane. (It was in an alley I first met Mrs. J. Moses Butterby—­though this in no way concerns the present narrative.)

Malinda Jane (I trust I am not violating any matrimonial law in thus familiarly speaking of my respected helpmeet)—­Malinda Jane, from the first time I beheld her, up to the present period of a long, and I may say intimate, acquaintance, appears to me a paragon of all the modest and retiring virtues.  If among her many attractions she is possessed of a distinguishing trait, it lies in the power of her eyes.  So much language do their depths contain, that to me, at least, any other is in a great measure a superfluity.  I should be afraid to count up the consecutive hours we have spent in this silent converse, reading each other’s hearts, as some pleasant poet has styled it, “through the windows of the soul.”  I would not have you suppose them almond-shaped or piercing.  No!  Malinda Jane’s eyes are round.  It was their gentle blue that enchanted me; and there I found the congeniality that cheered my drooping spirit.

Looking back now upon our courtship, I am inclined to think it must have been uninteresting to a third party; but there is no denying the fact that to us it was most soothing, and well calculated to develop our mutual affection.

I have no accurate recollection of the event vulgarly called “popping.”  Fortunately, I congratulate myself on escaping that breach of decorum.  If you join my friends in asking “how it came about,” I reply, “Naturally.”  The morning Malinda Jane’s mother asked me if I had decided upon October the 24th or November the 24th, I unhesitatingly answered, “November the 24th, if you please;” and the whole affair was accomplished.