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he is after all called upon to pay for. You do
not smirk at the salmon in your fishmonger's
window, or ogle the lamb at your butcher's; you
go in boldly and say, "How much the pound?"
If you sighed outside for a week, you'd get it
never the cheaper. Why not then make an
honest market of what is so saleable? What a
saving of time to know that the splendid creature
yonder, with the queenly air, can only be had at
ten thousand a year, but that the spicy article
with the black ringlets will go for two!
Instead of all the heart-burnings and blank
disappointments we see now, we should have a
practical, contented generation; and in the same
spirit that a man of moderate fortune turns
away from the seductions of turtle and whitebait,
while he orders home his mutton chop, he
would avert his gaze from beauty, and fix his
affections on the dumpy woman that can be
"got a bargain."

Why did not the poet say, Venality, thy name
is Woman? It would suit the prosody about as
well, and the purpose better. The Turks are
our masters in all this; they are centuries
whole centuries in advance of us. How I wish
some Babbage would make a calculation of the
hours, weeks, years, centuries of time, are lost
in what is called love-making. Time, we are
told, is money, and here, at once, is the fund to
pay off our national debt. Take the "time that's
lost in wooing" by a nation, say of twenty-eight
or thirty millions, and at the cheapest rate of
labourtake the prison rate if you likeand see
if I be not right. Let the population who now
heave sighs, pound oyster-shells, let those who
pick quarrels, pick oakum, and we need no

"I'll not sing any more," broke in Catinka.
"I don't think you have been listening to me."

"Listening to you!" said I, contemptuously;
"certainly not. When I want a siren, I take a
pit ticket and go to the Opera; seven-and-
sixpence is the price of Circe, and dear at the
money." With this rude rebuff I waved her
off, and walked along once more alone.

At a sudden bend of the road we found Vaterchen
seated under a tree waiting for us, and
evidently not a little uneasy at our long absence.

"What is this?" said he, angrily, to Catinka.
"Why have you remained so long behind?"

"We sat down to rest at a well," said she,
"and then he took out a great bag of money to
count, and there was so much in it, so many
pieces of bright gold, that one could not help
turning them over and over, and gazing at them."

"And worshipping them too, girl!" cried he,
indignantly, while he turned on me a look of
sorrow and reproach. I returned his stare
haughtily, and he arose and drew me to one side.

"Am I, then, once more mistaken in my
judgment of men? Have you, too, duped me?"
said he, in a voice that shook with agitation.
"Was it for this you offered us the solace of
your companionship? Was it for this you
condescended to journey with us, and deigned to be
our host and entertainer?"

The appeal came at an evil moment: a vile,
contemptible scepticism was at work within me.
The rasp and the file of Doubt were eating away
at my heart, and I deemed "all men liars."

"And is it to mePottsyou address such
words as these, you consummate old humbug?
What is there about me that denotes dupe or

The old man shook his head, and made a
gesture to imply he had not understood me; and
now I remembered that I had uttered this rude
speech in English and not in German. With
the memory of this fact came also the consciousness
of its cruel meaning. What if I should
have wronged him? What if the poor old
fellow be honest and upright? What if he be
really striving to keep this girl in the path of
virtue? I came close to him, and fixed my eyes
steadfastly on his face. He looked at me
fearlessly, as an honest man might look. He never
tried to turn away, nor did he make the slightest
effort to evade me. He seemed to understand all
the import of my scrutiny, for he said at last,

"Well, are you satisfied?"

"I am, Vaterchen," said I, "fully satisfied.
Let us be friends." And I took his hand and
shook it heartily.

"You think me honest?" asked he.

"I do think so."

"And I am not more honest than she is.
No," said he, resolutely, "Tintefleck is true-

"What of me?" cried she, coming up and
leaning her arm on the old man's shoulder
"what of me?"

"I have said that you are honest, and would
not deceive!"

"Not you, Vaterchennot you," said she,
kissing him. And then, as she turned away,
she gave me a look so full of meaning, and so
strange withal, that if I were to speak for an
hour I could not explain it. It seemed to mean
sorrow and reproach and wounded pride, with a
dash of pity, and, above all and everything,
defiance: ay, that was its chief character, and I
believe I winced under it.

"Let us step out briskly," said Vaterchen.
"Constance is a good eleven miles off yet."

"He looks tired already," said she, with a
glance at me.

"I? I'm as fresh as when I started," said
I. And I made an effort to appear brisk and
lively, which only ended in making them laugh

Now ready, price Fourpence,