I wish I had been forced to sit still and to study, like the other poor boys whose compositions I then wrote, and who are now great men, while I am little better than a vagabond. But _vive la joie! vive la bagatelle!_ There must be vagabonds also in the world, simply because otherwise there would be no staid, respectable people. Vagabonds are the salt of the earth, or at least the seeds flying about which scatter vegetation over the whole earth, instead of letting it be confined to a few spots. Vagabonds founded Carthage, vagabonds founded Rome. An honest fellow, born in Europe without a cigar in his mouth--gold spoons are out of fashion, I believe--can do nothing better than to emigrate to America, if he feels an earnest desire to smoke a really good cigar and does not choose to steal it, or if he has not the good luck to stumble over a nice young man like yourself, who keeps cigars and Cognac for his friends, and listens to their idle talk till his eyes droop with sleepiness. Upon my word! I have diminished the contents of that bottle by a third! How swiftly all here below passes away! _Buona notte, Don Oswaldo!_ Sleep well and dream _dolcemente_ of the _begli occhi della donna bella, amata, immaculata_ of your sonnets. I for my part will follow Hamlet's example and go to my prayers, for unfortunately I have not even a talent for sleeping, much less for dreaming. Good-night, _dottore!_" "Good-night!" said Oswald, rising half asleep from his sofa and accompanying Mr. Timm to the door. "Not a step farther, _dottore_," said the latter. "Everything with moderation!" and when the door had closed behind him he remained standing there a moment, put the thumb of his right hand to his nose, quickly moving the other four fingers--a gesture which was less complimentary to Oswald than expressive of the childlike, ingenuous mind of Mr. Timm. CHAPTER VI. The oppressive heat which had prevailed of late was followed by a few cool, rainy days.