And now, so enraptured does this reasonable youth seem with the picture he has sketched, that not having any thing else, you see, to hug, he throws his arms most lovingly around himself. There, now he frowns again, and—hark what more he has to say.
"In fact, I am not sure I have a real friend in the world, for, gild a fool or a monkey, and mark what a troop of flatterers fawn around and follow admiringly at his heels! And as for choosing a wife, why, were I toothless, one-eyed, or deaf as a post, the magic of gold would transform me into an Adonis!"
Now stopping before a full-length mirror, he appears to console himself for such suppositions, by very complacently regarding his truly elegant figure and classic countenance.
A tap at the door, and an arch face, already shaded by the night-coif, peeps in.
"What, not yet gone to bed, brother—why what are you studying, to be up so late?"
"Studying human nature, Helen—a book with great pretensions to excellence, but—"
"Hush, hush, Frank! not a word more," exclaimed Helen, placing her little hand over his mouth, "not a word more—you read with defective vision! I proclaim the book of human nature to be charming, every page teeming with interest, every line traced by the hand divine, a lesson for a lifetime. Ah! Frank, remove the film of distrust from your eyes, and read this book as it ought to be read, therein you will find truth, goodness, and beauty!"
"Would I could think as you do, Helen. I tell you candidly, I am sick of the world as I find it, and would gladly give all my wealth and expectations to be sure there was one heart that truly loved me—loved me for myself alone."
"A very pretty theory, indeed! Well, you must get married, Frank; I see no other way to cure you—then you will have a dear little book of your own to study—a choice edition of human nature, traced by the feather of Cupid."
"Ah! the very thing I was thinking of; but tell me, Helen, where can I find that same beautiful work?"