influence of some members of the Club, went on from little
to more, and our Candidate found himself, before he was aware of what he
was about, drawn into a regular carouse--all which operated most
disadvantageously upon his affairs--kept him out late at night, and only
permitted him to rise late in the morning, and then with headache and
disinclination to business.

There was, of course, no lack of good friends to bring these tidings to
Judge Frank. He was angry, and Elise was seriously distressed, for she
had begun to like Jacobi, and had hoped for so much from his connexion
with the children.

"It won't do, it won't do," grumbled Judge Frank. "There shall very soon
be an end to this! A pretty story indeed! I shall tell him--I, if
he----But, my sweet friend, you yourself are to blame in this affair;
you should concern yourself a little about him; you are so _fiere_ and
distant to him; and what amusement do you provide for him here of an
evening? The little quarrels between Mrs. Gunilla and Munter cannot be
particularly amusing to him, especially when he is always out-talked by
them. It would be a thousand times better for the young man if you would
allow him to read aloud to you; yes, if it were romances, or whatever in
the world you would. You should stimulate his talent for music; it would
give yourself pleasure, and between whiles you could talk a little sound
reason with him, instead of disputing about things which neither he nor
you understand! If you had only begun in that way at first, he would
perhaps never have been such a swashbuckler as he is, and now to get
order and good manners back into the house one must have scenes. I'll
not allow such goings on!--he shall hear about it to-morrow morning!
I'll give that pretty youth something which he shall remember!"

"Ah!" said Elise, "don't be too severe, Ernst! Jacobi is good; and if
you talk seriously yet kindly to him, I am persuaded it will have the
best effect."

Judge Frank made no reply, but walked up and down the room in very ill
humour.

"Would you like to hear some news of your neighbour the
pasquinade-writer?" asked Assessor Munter, who just then entered with a
dark countenance. "He is sick, sick to death of a galloping
consumption--he will not write any more pasquinades."

"Who looks after his little girl?" asked Elise; "I see her sometimes
running about the street like a wild cat."

"Yes, there's a pretty prospect for her," snorted out the Asses