to impress ideas of wisdom on the minds of the young Norwegians. Between
the wife of Gudbrand and the wife of Peter the Graybeard they must
choose, at their own risk and peril.

'The choice is an easy one,' says an amiable lady-friend of mine, who
has just become a grandmother. 'Gudbrand's wife is the one to imitate,
not only on account of her prudence, but for her worth. You men are much
more amusing than you fancy: when your own self-esteem is at stake, you
love truth and justice about as much as bats love a glare of light. The
greatest enjoyment these gentlemen experience is in pardoning us when
they are guilty, and in generously offering to overlook our errors when
they alone are in the wrong. The wisest thing we can do is to let them
talk, and to pretend to believe them. That is the way to tame these
proud, magnificent creatures, and, by pursuing the plan perseveringly,
one may lead them about by the nose, like Italian oxen.

'But, aunty,' says a fair young thing beside us, 'one can't keep quiet
all the time. Not to yield when you're not in the wrong, is a right.'

'And when you're wrong, my dear niece, to yield is a royal pleasure.
What woman ever abandoned this exalted privilege? We are all somewhat
akin to that amiable lady who, when all other arguments had been
exhausted, crushed her husband with a magnificent look, as she said,--

'"Sir, I give you my word of honor that I am in the right."

'What could he reply? Can one contradict the veracity of one's own wife?
And what is strength fit for if not to yield to weakness? The poor
husband hung his head, and did not utter another word. But to keep still
is not to acknowledge defeat, and _silence is not peace_!'