ubbornness."

Schlagbein shook his head sadly.

"A father cannot do what is inconsistent with paternal duty," said he.
"Shall I join in the course of my wife? Whither does this course lead?
To the destruction of all family ties, to financial bankruptcy--to
dishonor. For home my wife has no mind, no understanding. My means she
throws carelessly into the bottomless pit of pleasure-seeking and love
of dress. She does not think of the future of her children. Every day
brings to her new desires for prodigality. If her wishes are fulfilled,
ruin is unavoidable. If they are not fulfilled, she sits ill-humored
and obstinate in her room, and leaves the care of the house to her
domestics, and the children to the nurses. How often have I consented
to her vain desire for show, only to see her extravagant wishes thereby
increased. She is without reason."

The unfortunate man's head sunk upon his breast. Lutz stood still
without uttering a word.

"Yes, Angela is a noble woman," continued Emil, "she is the spirit of
order, the angel of peace and love. Just hear Richard's father. He
revels in enthusiasm about her. 'My Richard is the happiest man in the
world,' said he to me lately. 'I myself must be thankful to him for his
prudent choice. Abounding in every thing, my house was empty and
desolate before Angela came; but now every thing shines in the sun of
her orderly housekeeping, of her tender care. Although served with
fidelity, I have been until the present almost neglected. But now that
the angel hovers over me, observes my every want, and with her smile
lights my old age, I am perfectly happy.' Has my wife a single
characteristic of this noble woman?"

"Angela is unapproachable in the little arts that win the heart and
drive away melancholy," said Lutz. "A few weeks ago, Herr Frank came
home one day from the counting-room all out of sorts. He sat silently
in his easy-chair drumming on his knee. Angela noticed his ill-humor.
She sought to dissipate it--to cheer him; but she did not succeed. She
then arose, and, going to him, said with unspeakable affection,
'Father, may I play and sing for you the "Lied der Kapelle?"' Herr
Frank looked in her face, and smiled as he replied, 'Yes, my angel'
When her sweet voice resounded in the next room in beautiful accord
with the accompaniment, which she played most feelingly, the old man
revived and joined in her song with his trembling bass."

"How often we have twitted Richard with his