"That in your youth you scorned love, preferring art."

"I did, boy; and what is the end of it? Behold me here a barren stock,
while the women of my youth have a troop of children at their side, and
grandchildren at their knee I gave up the sweet joys of wifehood and
motherhood for what? For my dear brothers. They have gone and left me
long ago. For my art. It has all but left me too. I have the knowledge
still, but what avails that when the hand trembles. No, Gerard; I look
on you as my son. You are good, you are handsome, you are a painter,
though not like some I have known. I will not let you throw your youth
away as I did mine: you shall marry this Margaret. I have inquired, and
she is a good daughter. Reicht here is a gossip. She has told me all
about it. But that need not hinder you to tell me."

Poor Gerard was overjoyed to be permitted to praise Margaret aloud, and
to one who could understand what he loved in her.

Soon there were two pair of wet eyes over his story; and when the poor
boy saw that, there ware three.

Women are creatures brimful of courage. Theirs is not exactly the same
quality as manly courage; that would never do, hang it all; we should
have to give up trampling on them. No; it is a vicarious courage. They
never take part in a bull-fight by any chance; but it is remarked that
they sit at one unshaken by those tremors and apprehensions for the
combatants to which the male spectator-feebla-minded wretch!--is
subject. Nothing can exceed the resolution with which they have been
known to send forth men to battle: as some witty dog says,