[My reflection. Oh! oh! no wonder you did n't get married. Served you right.] My remark. Surely, Madam,—if you mean by flattery telling people boldly to their faces that they are this or that, which they are not. But a woman who does not carry about with her wherever she goes a halo of good feeling and desire to make everybody contented,—an atmosphere of grace, mercy, and peace, of at least six feet radius, which wraps every human being upon whom she voluntarily bestows her presence, and so flatters him with the comfortable thought that she is rather glad he is alive than otherwise, isn't worth the trouble of talking to, as a woman; she may do well enough to hold discussions with.
—I don't think the Model exactly liked this. She said,—a little spitefully, I thought,—that a sensible man might stand a little praise, but would of course soon get sick of it, if he were in the habit of getting much.
Oh, yes,—I replied,—just as men get sick of tobacco. It is notorious how apt they are to get tired of that vegetable.
—That 's so!—said the young fellow John,—I've got tired of my cigars and burnt 'em all up.
I am heartily glad to hear it,—said the Model,—I wish they were all disposed of in the same way.
So do I,—said the young fellow John.
Can't you get your friends to unite with you in committing those odious instruments of debauchery to the flames in which you have consumed your own?
I wish I could,—said the young fellow John.
It would be a noble sacrifice,—said the Model, and every American woman would be grateful to you. Let us burn them all in a heap out in the yard.
That a'n't my way,—said the young fellow John;—I burn 'em one 't' time,—little end in my mouth and big end outside.