for "imitation is the sincerest flattery." But to have your ideas
stolen and brought out in such a way as to convey the impression that
you are the imitator, to say the least, arouses murderous intentions
in your heart!

There are times, too, when you receive a shock to your vanity; times
when you are quite satisfied with your appearance, and find to your
dismay that everyone is not of the same opinion.

I remember once when I was dining out and feeling very pleased with my
_tout ensemble_, I was disillusioned in a way that not only upset my
self-confidence, but my gravity at the same time. To heighten the
general effect, I had stuck a patch near my mouth. (Oh, the minds of
the last century! From whose fertile brain did it emanate, I wonder,
the fact that a piece of black plaster on the face, should be so
eminently becoming!) Imagine my horror when the maid, an old servant I
knew very well, took me aside and whispered confidentially, "Oh, Miss!
you've got _such_ a big smut on your chin!"

Clothes are altogether a great nuisance, I think. How tired you get of
the regular routine of the morning toilet; always the same, never any
variety. Why are we not born, like dogs, with nice cosy rugs all over
us, so that we should just have to get out of bed in the morning,
shake ourselves, and be ready at once to go down to breakfast and do
the business of the day?

"Ah well! God knows what's best for us all," as an old charwoman said
to me, years ago, when she was remarking on how I had grown. I never
saw the application of the remark, and do not think I ever shall.
Whether my growth was a subject to deplore, and she tried to comfort