"Yes, sir," returned Moses, "and I know but of two such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open once a year, but our English wives are saleable every night." "You are right, my boy," cried his mother; "Old England is the only place in the world for husbands to get wives." "And for wives to manage their husbands," interrupted I. "It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the continent would come over to take pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live they will be our support and our pleasure here, and when we die they will transmit our honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song; let us have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia? That little cherub's voice is always sweetest in the concert." Just as I spoke, Dick came running in. "O papa, papa, she is gone from us! she is gone from us; my sister Livy is gone from us for ever!" "Gone, child!" "Yes; she is gone off with two gentlemen in a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and said he would die for her; and she cried very much, and was for coming back; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise, and said, 'Oh! what will my poor papa do when he knows I am undone!'" "Now, then," cried I, "my children, go and be miserable; for we shall never enjoy one hour more. And Oh, may Heaven's everlasting fury light upon him and his! Thus to rob me of my child! And sure it will—for taking back my sweet innocent that I was leading up to heaven! Such sincerity as my child was possessed of! But all our earthly happiness is now over! Go, my children, go and be miserable and infamous—for my heart is broken within me!" "Father," cried my son, "is this your fortitude?" "Fortitude, child! Yes, he shall see I have fortitude. Bring me my pistols—I'll pursue the traitor—while he is on earth, I'll pursue him! Old as I am, he shall find I can sting him yet—the villain—the perfidious villain!" I had by this time reached down my pistols, when my poor wife, whose passions were not so strong as mine, caught me in her arms. "My dearest, dearest husband," cried she, "the Bible is the only weapon that is fit for your old hands now. Open that, my love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has vilely deceived us." "Indeed, sir," resumed my son, after a pause, "your rage is too violent and unbecoming.