Mr. Waife drew a long whiff, and took a more serene view of affairs. He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, or refuseth himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from Heaven. "What, softer than woman?" whispers the young reader. Young reader, woman teases as well as consoles. Woman makes half the sorrows which she boasts the privilege to soothe. Woman consoles us, it is true, while we are young and handsome! when we are old and ugly, woman snubs and scolds us. On the whole, then, woman in this scale, the weed in that, Jupiter, hang out thy balance, and weigh them both; and if thou give the preference to woman, all I can say is, the next time Juno ruffles thee, --O Jupiter, try the weed. CHAPTER VII. The historian, in pursuance of his stern duties, reveals to the scorn of future ages some of the occult practices which discredit the march of light in the nineteenth century. "May I come in?" asked the Cobbler, outside the door. "Certainly come in," said Gentleman Waife. Sophy looked wistfully at the aperture, and sighed to see that Merle was alone. She crept up to him. "Will they not come?" she whispered. "I hope so, pretty one; it be n't ten yet." "Take a pipe, Merle," said Gentleman Waife, with a Grand Comedian air. "No, thank you kindly; I just looked in to ask if I could do anything for ye, in case--in case ye must go tomorrow." "Nothing: our luggage is small, and soon packed. Sophy has the money to discharge the meaner part of our debt to you." "I don't value that," said the Cobbler, colouring. "But we value your esteem," said Mr. Waife, with a smile that would have become a field-marshal. "And so, Merle, you think, if I am a broken-down vagrant, it must be put to the long account of the celestial bodies!" "Not a doubt of it," returned the Cobbler, solemnly. "I wish you would give me date and place of Sophy's birth that's what I want; I'd take her horryscope. I'm sure she'd be lucky." "I'd rather not, please," said Sophy, timidly. "Rather not?--very odd. Why?" "I don't want to know the future." "That is odder and odder," quoth the Cobbler, staring; "I never heard a girl say that afore." "Wait till she's older, Mr. Merle," said Waife: "girls don't want to know the future till they want to be married." "Summat in that," said the Cobbler. He took up the crystal. "Have you looked into this ball, pretty one, as I bade ye?" "Yes, two or three times." "Ha! and what did you see?" "My own face made very long," said Sophy,--"as long as that--," stretching out her hands. The Cobbler shook his head dolefully, and screwing up one eye, applied the other to the mystic ball. MR. WAIFE.--"Perhaps you will see if those two gentlemen are coming." SOPHY.--"Do, do! and if they will give us three pounds!" COBBLER (triumphantly).--"Then you do care to know the future, after all?" SOPHY.--"Yes, so far as that goes; but don't look any further, pray."