with him much like
his pipe-bowl, which burned bright a moment at one sturdy puff, but
generally gave out smoke in fantastical wreaths. He told me frankly he
had a poor idea of my erudition. My fancifulness he commended as
something to be turned to use in writing stories. 'Give me time, and I'll
do better things,' I groaned. He rarely spoke of the princess; with grave
affection always when he did. He was evidently observing me
comprehensively. The result was beyond my guessing.

One night he asked me what my scheme of life was.

On the point of improvizing one of an impressive character, I stopped and
confessed: 'I have so many that I may say I have none.' Expecting
reproof, I begged him not to think the worse of me for that.

'Quite otherwise,' said he. 'I have never cared to read deliberately in
the book you open to me, my good young man.'

'The book, Herr Professor?'

'Collect your wits. We will call it Shakespeare's book; or Gothe's, in
the minor issues. No, not minor, but a narrower volume. You were about to
give me the answer of a hypocrite. Was it not so?'

I admitted it, feeling that it was easily to have been perceived. He was
elated.

'Good. Then I apprehend that you wait for the shifting of a tide to carry
you on?'

'I try to strengthen my mind.'

'So I hear,' said he dryly.

'Well, as far as your schools of teaching will allow.'

'That is, you read and commit to memory, like other young scholars.
Whereunto? Have you no aim? You have, or I am told you are to have,
fabulous wealth--a dragon's heap. You are one of the main drainpipes of
English gold. What is your object? To spend it?'

'I shall hope to do good with it.'

'To do good! There is hardly a prince or millionaire, in history or
alive, who has not in his young days hugged that notion. Pleasure swarms,
he has the pick of his market. You English live for pleasure.'

'We are the hardest workers in the world.'

'That you may live for pleasure! Deny it!'

He puffed his tobacco-smoke zealously, and resumed:

'Yes, you work hard for money. You eat and drink, and boast of your
exercises: they sharpen your appetites. So goes the round. We strive, we
fail; you are our frog-chorus of critics, and you suppose that your
brekek-koax affects us. I say we strive and fail, but we strive on, while
you remain in a past age, and are proud of it. You reproach us with lack
of common sense, as if the belly were its seat. Now I ask you whether you
have a