My desire is to have something certain to fall back upon, and then one can live very well on chance here--and to get married. Nature speaks as loud in me as in any other, perhaps louder than in a great heavy blockhead. I have no inclination to live like most young men of the present day. In the first place I have too much love for religion, and in the second too much love for my neighbour, and too much good feeling to lead astray an innocent girl. I can take my oath I have never done so. But I know that this reason, strong as it is, is not elevated enough. But my temperament, which is inclined for a quiet domestic life --my want of habit of attending to my clothing, washing, and other such things--make a wife indispensable to me. I am quite persuaded that I could live better on the same income with a wife than as I am now. And how many unnecessary expenses would be done away with, others would arise; but one knows them and can calculate on them--in fact, one leads a regular life. An unmarried man only half lives, in my opinion. That is my opinion--I cannot help it; I have reflected and considered enough, and have quite made up my mind. But who, you will ask, is the object of my love? Do not be horrified, I beg. What! not a Weber! Yes, a Weber; not Josepha, nor Sophia, but Constanze, the middle one. I have never seen such dissimilarity of mind in any family as in this. The eldest, Josepha, is lazy and cross; Aloysia Lange is a false, unprincipled woman and a coquette; the youngest, Sophie, is too young to be anything yet but the good thoughtless creature she is. God keep her from temptation! But the middle one, my dear good Constanze, is the martyr of the family, and on that very account, perhaps, the best-natured, the cleverest--in a word, the best of them all. She looks after everything in the house, and yet can never {BETROTHAL WITH CONSTANZE WEBER.} (255) do right. She is not ugly, but she is far from being beautiful. Her whole beauty consists in her dark eyes and good figure. She is not intellectual, but has common sense enough to fulfil her duties as a wife and mother. She is not inclined to extravagance, that is quite untrue; on the contrary, she is always badly dressed, for the little her mother can do is done for the two others, never for her. True, she likes to be neat and clean, but not smart; and almost all that a woman needs she can make for herself; she understands housekeeping, has the best heart in the world--she loves me and I love her--tell me if I could wish for a better wife? I must tell you that when I wrote before love was not there, but was born of her tender care and attention when I was living in the house. My earnest wish now is to get something settled to do (of which, God be praised, I have great hope), and I shall then hasten to beg your permission to rescue my poor darling, and make her and myself--indeed, I may say, all of us--happy, for does not my being happy render you so?