disagreeable, and displeasing Misfortune, from whom I expect no relief. "Alas, alas, and again alas! What yearnings have besieged me, what woe has bound me, what orphanage (_i.e._ bereavement) has subdued me! What longings and more than longings have overwhelmed me, and still overwhelm me from day to day, from hour to hour, so that I know of them neither beginning, nor middle, nor end. I am like a child that has been separated from its mother before the time, like a kitten which, though not yet grown up, is deprived of milk. As the colt of an ass that has not yet acquired strength is driven and forced to work before the time, thus I, evil Misfortune, am subject to you and given over to you before the time and in my youthful years; and still I do not know in what manner and wherefore and by whose orders. Alas, alas, O Misfortune! were it but possible that you, instead of Lot's wife, could be changed into that statue of salt, then at last your end would be certain. For it is you, O Misfortune, evil and shameful, and yet again evil Misfortune, who hast made of me more than a widower, more than an orphan, more than a man in whom all hope is dead. Every widower, when he is deprived of her who comforts him and loses her--knowing that it cannot be otherwise, and that his wife cannot return to him--gets over it, and so to speak forgets her, if not for ever, yet occasionally. But how should I forget my dearest, my most excellent and most beloved serving-maid? for she is yet alive, she is yet in good health, she is full of strength; she is as the pastime for another, not for me. And yet greater therefore is my bitterness, my sorrow, my anguish." A short extract from one of Misfortune's replies to the Weaver will be sufficient. I shall here quote from Mr. Wratislaw's translation: "How much more fortunate then dost thou desire to be that I may honour thee more than the Emperor Julius or the King Alexander, or the excellent, truly excellent Emperor Charles, at this time king of Bohemia? who, powerful as they were, could not at times escape my power and my contrariety. Prithee, imagine how many of my misadventures have happened to those only whom thou knowest, and of whom thou hast heard in thine own days, whether of higher or lower rank; and neither thou nor any one else will be able to express in writing or words how many times this has happened to them.... If thou wilt, as thou canst, recollect thine own adversities only in thine own mind, how many of them hast thou also had from me? For it would have been more proper to cry out against me about them, or to argue with me about that which once threatened thy life, thy property, thy honour, and all the good that thou hadst, and it would have been convenient to speak of that rather than of that damsel of thine. Therefore, Weaver, hold thy peace, speak no more with me of thy darling."