Doubtless there are people capable of a love terrible in its strength; but I never knew such a case that some one did not consider its expediency as "a match" in the light of dollars and cents.

As for heroines, of course I have seen beautiful women, and good as fair.

The most beautiful is delicate and pure enough for a type of the Madonna, and has a heart almost as warm and holy.

(Very pure blood is in her veins, too, if you care about blood.) But at home they call her Tode for a nickname; all we can do, she will sing, and sing through her nose; and on washing-days she often cooks the dinner, and scolds wholesomely, if the tea-napkins are not in order.

Now, what is anybody to do with a heroine like that?
I have known old maids in abundance, with pathos and sunshine in their lives; but the old maid of novels I never have met, who abandoned her soul to gossip,--nor yet the other type, a life-long martyr of unselfishness.
They are mixed generally, and not unlike their married sisters, so far as I can see.