She hung on his neck caressingly, kissing his furrowed brow, and leaving a tear there, and thus coaxed him till he set-to quietly at his meal; and Sophy shared it—though she had no appetite in sorrowing for him—but to keep him company; that done, she lighted his pipe with the best canaster, —his sole luxury and expense; but she always contrived that he should afford it.
Mr. Waife drew a long whiff, and took a more serene view of affairs. He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, or refuseth himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from Heaven. "What, softer than woman?" whispers the young reader. Young reader, woman teases as well as consoles. Woman makes half the sorrows which she boasts the privilege to soothe. Woman consoles us, it is true, while we are young and handsome! when we are old and ugly, woman snubs and scolds us. On the whole, then, woman in this scale, the weed in that, Jupiter, hang out thy balance, and weigh them both; and if thou give the preference to woman, all I can say is, the next time Juno ruffles thee, —O Jupiter, try the weed.
CHAPTER VII.
The historian, in pursuance of his stern duties, reveals to the scorn of future ages some of the occult practices which discredit the march of light in the nineteenth century.
"May I come in?" asked the Cobbler, outside the door. "Certainly come in," said Gentleman Waife. Sophy looked wistfully at the aperture, and sighed to see that Merle was alone. She crept up to him.
"Will they not come?" she whispered. "I hope so, pretty one; it be n't ten yet."
"Take a pipe, Merle," said Gentleman Waife, with a Grand Comedian air.
"No, thank you kindly; I just looked in to ask if I could do anything for ye, in case—in case ye must go tomorrow."
"Nothing: our luggage is small, and soon packed. Sophy has the money to discharge the meaner part of our debt to you."
"I don't value that," said the Cobbler, colouring.