“What use?” said he, mournfully; “delicate dew, and refracted light!”

He continued to ponder and murmur, to explore, to ascertain, to grumble.  He had rheumatic pains, for the elements had no mercy on him; he rubbed himself as he was able, and added to his stores of knowledge.  He was very, very learned.  When he reached a shelter, he lay down.  If no human love welcomed him, and no gentle lip soothed him, he had self-culture, especially in the sciences.

All this Fred knew as soon as he looked at him.

“If he were wise, he would not stop at knowledge, which is, of course, unsatisfactory,—­but dive beyond, as I have done, into the essence of things,” said Fred to himself.  “If he could pierce through the veil that covers all things, he would find amusement enough to last a lifetime.  In vegetable life, the jealousies and passions of flowers,—­in the quiet eventfulness of the mineral kingdom, to see forms of living beauty in crystals,—­finally, in all the under-mechanism of creation, what a fund of enjoyment and instruction!  I think I should never cease to be delighted and entertained.”

Fred glanced from the picture to the fireplace.  The shovel and tongs were just laughing at him; and though they composed their countenances immediately, he had caught the expression, and was excessively annoyed.  Philosophy at length came to his aid, especially as the poker expressed only profound deference, preserving a martial attitude and immovable features.  After all, why should he care for a pair of tongs?  One must cultivate phlegm, if one is a philosopher; and a shovel, after all, is not so bad as a pretty woman.  He heard the cool wind distinctly blowing across the mountains in the picture, and saw the stars coming out again.  Then Fred knew he had been looking at a diorama, and that the exhibition was over.

He heard a hearty laugh at a little distance, and perceived that the picture, which at first had seemed to spread out over the whole wall, was really divided into two parts, something like an exhibition he remembered of dissolving views.  This was delightful.  The first picture faded out into gloom, and gave place to a bright, cheerful room in the third story of a house in the city.  There were only two rooms,—­this, and a small anteroom.  The furniture was simple, even poor.  Through the window the snow was seen falling, and the blaze flickered, in cheerful contrast, on the hearth.  A woman, neither young nor pretty, stood with an astonished expression, and an elderly man laughed loudly, and sat down before the fire.

“What in the world shall I do?” said the woman.

“Do, my dear?—­why, bring me my dressing-gown”; said he, laughing again so cheerily, that it was contagious; and as she brought the coarse wadded garment he asked for, she laughed too.

“A pretty kettle of fish!” said she.

“Yes!  Now what shall we do?  Not a dollar in our pockets!”