position, and wants to emancipate herself
too much, I say: 'Hush, Guste. You, too, were once an explosive effect
of Nature; but now the noise has died away, and the effect remains.'
Then she scolds about my worthless way of talking, as she calls it, but
no longer ventures to say anything, because she has not the least
suspicion what I really mean by it, and that it is in Schopenhauer. Ha!
ha! ha!"

He chuckled with delight, and rubbed his broad hands.

"How did you chance upon this mischievous book?" asked the artist.

"Very naturally. In my back building lives a very learned gentleman, a
philosopher by profession, and soon to become professor of philosophy.
One day, when he was not at home, the bookbinder's boy came and left in
my shop a whole package of freshly bound books, which I was to keep for
the Herr Doctor. It was after dinner, when I usually take a little nap.
So, half asleep, I aimlessly took the uppermost book in my hand, and
began to read at the place where it opened. Zounds, how my eyes flew
open! 'Upon females' was the heading of the chapter. I could not stop
till I had read the last lines. I tell you, Herr Koenig, old King
Solomon, much as he knew about women, and propagation, and the
conception of species, might have gone to school to him."

"Is Schopenhauer the author's name? And do you call him a philosopher,
because he revives the old commonplaces about the other sex?"

The little artist's eyes flashed as he uttered these words, and he
seized his hat as if he were in a hurry to leave the shop.

"He is a philosopher, for the Herr Doctor himself says so; but not
merely because of what he has written about women; the Herr Doctor
showed me another thick book. He said it treated of will and
perception; however, it was too heavy for me. If you would like to read
it, he will cheerfully lend it to you."

"Thank you, I have not the slightest desire to make the acquaintance of
a gentleman who holds and desires to spread such opinions."

"The Herr Doctor? There you are very much mistaken, Herr Koenig. He
won't listen to a word about the essay on women, and says there is just
as much falsehood as truth in it. He is a bachelor, Herr Koenig, and
what does a bachelor know about the conception of species? Besides, he
never associates with women, but devotes himself entirely to his
invalid brother. They might as well be in a monastery, Herr Koenig; my
wife often says that if we were to advertise in the newsp