and a family life."

But the scene was suddenly changed; a quick step came round the
hot-house; the birds flew away, and the mother called piteously to her
child to follow. But the little thing, heavy and stupefied with all it
had eaten, could not so quickly lift its weak wings. A cut from Fink's
riding-whip caught him, and sent its little body dead among the flowers.
An angry exclamation arose, and all faces looked darkly on the murderer.
As for Sabine, she went to the bed, picked up the bird, kissed its
little head, and said, in a broken voice, "It is dead." Then she put it
down on the bench near the door, and covered it with her handkerchief.

An awkward silence ensued. At length Jordan said reproachfully, "You
have killed Miss Sabine's favorite bird."

"I am sorry for it," replied Fink, drawing a chair to the table. Then
turning to Sabine, "I did not know that you extended your sympathy to
this class of rogues. I really believed that I deserved the thanks of
the house for disposing of the young thief."

"The poor little fellow!" said Sabine, mournfully; "his mother is
calling for him; do you hear her?"

"She will get over it," rejoined Fink; "I consider it overdone to expend
more feeling upon a sparrow than his own relatives do. But I know you
like to consider all around you in a tender and pathetic light."

"If you have not this peculiarity yourself, why ridicule it in others?"
asked Sabine, with a quivering lip.

"Why," cried Fink, "because this eternal feeling, which here I meet with
every where, expended on what does not deserve it, makes people at
length weak and trivial. He who is always getting up emotions about
trifles will have none to give when a strong attachment demands them."

"And he who ever looks on all around him with cold unconcern, will not
he too be wanting in emotion when a strong attachment becomes a duty?"
returned Sabine, with a mournful glance.

"It would be impolite to contradict you," said Fink, shrugging his
shoulders. "At all events, it is better that a man should be too hard
than too effeminate."

"But just look at the people of this country," said he, after another
uncomfortable pause. "One loves the copper kettle in which his mother
has boiled sausages; another loves his broken pipe, his faded coat, and
with these a thousand obsolete customs. Just look at the German
emigrants! What a heap of rubbish they take away with them--old
birdcages, worm-eaten furniture, and every ki