—­If I thought I should ever see the Alps!—­said the schoolmistress.

Perhaps you will, some time or other,—­I said.

It is not very likely,—­she answered.—­I have had one or two opportunities, but I had rather be anything than governess in a rich family.

[Proud, too, you little soft-voiced woman!  Well, I can’t say I like you any the worse for it.  How long will school-keeping take to kill you?  Is it possible the poor thing works with her needle, too?  I don’t like those marks on the side of her forefinger.

Tableau.  Chamouni.  Mont Blanc in full view.  Figures in the foreground; two of them standing apart; one of them a gentleman of—­oh,—­ah,—­yes! the other a lady in a white cashmere, leaning on his shoulder.—­The ingenuous reader will understand that this was an internal, private, personal, subjective diorama, seen for one instant on the background of my own consciousness, and abolished into black nonentity by the first question which recalled me to actual life, as suddenly as if one of those iron shop-blinds (which I always pass at dusk with a shiver, expecting to stumble over some poor but honest shop-boy’s head, just taken off by its sudden and unexpected descent, and left outside upon the sidewalk) had come down in front of it “by the run.”]

—­Should you like to hear what moderate wishes life brings one to at last?  I used to be very ambitious,—­wasteful, extravagant, and luxurious in all my fancies.  Read too much in the “Arabian Nights.”  Must have the lamp,—­couldn’t do without the ring.  Exercise every morning on the brazen horse.  Plump down into castles as full of little milk-white princesses as a nest is of young sparrows.  All love me dearly at once.—­Charming idea of life, but too high-colored for the reality.  I have outgrown all this; my tastes have become exceedingly primitive,—­almost, perhaps, ascetic.  We carry happiness into our condition, but must not hope to find it there.  I think you will be willing to hear some lines which embody the subdued and limited desires of my maturity.

CONTENTMENT.

“Man wants but little here below.”

Little I ask, my wants are few;
I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brown stone will do,)
That I may call my own;—­
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten;—­
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank heaven for three.  Amen! 
I always thought cold victual nice;—­
My choice would be vanilla-ice.

I care not much for gold or land;—­
Give me a mortgage here and there,—­
Some good bank-stock,—­some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share;—­
I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know,
And titles are but empty names;—­
I would, perhaps, be Plenipo,—­
But only near St. James;—­
I’m very sure I should not care
To fill our Gubernator’s chair.