nd others
have no cravat, or no fire to warm themselves at, yet everybody to some
degree is married. But come look yonder."

He waved his hand, and appeared to bring before me a distant ocean where
all the books of the world were tossing up and down like agitated waves.
The octodecimos bounded over the surface of the water. The octavos as
they were flung on their way uttered a solemn sound, sank to the bottom,
and only rose up again with great difficulty, hindered as they were by
duodecimos and works of smaller bulk which floated on the top and melted
into light foam. The furious billows were crowded with journalists,
proof-readers, paper-makers, apprentices, printers' agents, whose hands
alone were seen mingled in the confusion among the books. Millions of
voices rang in the air, like those of schoolboys bathing. Certain men
were seen moving hither and thither in canoes, engaged in fishing out
the books, and landing them on the shore in the presence of a tall man,
of a disdainful air, dressed in black, and of a cold, unsympathetic
expression. The whole scene represented the libraries and the public.
The demon pointed out with his finger a skiff freshly decked out with
all sails set and instead of a flag bearing a placard. Then with a peal
of sardonic laughter, he read with a thundering voice: _Physiology of
Marriage_.

The author fell in love, the devil left him in peace, for he would have
undertaken more than he could handle if he had entered an apartment
occupied by a woman. Several years passed without bringing other
torments than those of love, and the author was inclined to believe that
he had been healed of one infirmity by means of another which took its
place. But one evening he found himself in a Parisian drawing-room where
one of the men among the circle who stood round the fireplace began the
conversation by relating in a sepulchral voice the following anecdote:

A peculiar thing took place at Ghent while I was staying there. A lady
ten years a widow lay on her bed attacked by mortal sickness. The three
heirs of collateral lineage were waiting for her last sigh. They did
not leave her side for fear that she would make a will in favor of the
convent of Beguins belonging to the town. The sick woman kept silent,
she seemed dozing and death appeared to overspread very gradually her
mute and livid face. Can't you imagine those three relations seated in
silence through that winter midnight beside her bed? An o