It was growing dusk, and Israel, lighting the wax candle, proceeded to read in his Guide-book.

“This is poor sight-seeing,” muttered he at last, “sitting here all by myself, with no company but an empty tumbler, reading about the fine things in Paris, and I myself a prisoner in Paris.  I wish something extraordinary would turn up now; for instance, a man come in and give me ten thousand pounds.  But here’s ‘Poor Richard;’ I am a poor fellow myself; so let’s see what comfort he has for a comrade.”

Opening the little pamphlet, at random, Israel’s eyes fell on the following passages:  he read them aloud—­

“’So what signifies waiting and hoping for better times?  We may make these times better, if we bestir ourselves.  Industry need not wish, and he that lives upon hope will die fasting, as Poor Richard says.  There are no gains, without pains.  Then help hands, for I have no lands, as Poor Richard says.’ Oh, confound all this wisdom!  It’s a sort of insulting to talk wisdom to a man like me.  It’s wisdom that’s cheap, and it’s fortune that’s dear.  That ain’t in Poor Richard; but it ought to be,” concluded Israel, suddenly slamming down the pamphlet.

He walked across the room, looked at the artificial flowers, and the rose-colored soap, and again went to the table and took up the two books.

“So here is the ‘Way to Wealth,’ and here is the ‘Guide to Paris.’  Wonder now whether Paris lies on the Way to Wealth? if so, I am on the road.  More likely though, it’s a parting-of-the-ways.  I shouldn’t be surprised if the Doctor meant something sly by putting these two books in my hand.  Somehow, the old gentleman has an amazing sly look—­a sort of wild slyness—­about him, seems to me.  His wisdom seems a sort of sly, too.  But all in honor, though.  I rather think he’s one of those old gentlemen who say a vast deal of sense, but hint a world more. ^Depend upon it, he’s sly, sly, sly.  Ah, what’s this Poor Richard says:  ^{c} God helps them that help themselves:’  Let’s consider that.  Poor Richard ain’t a Dunker, that’s certain, though he has lived in Pennsylvania.  ‘God helps them that help themselves.’  I’ll just mark that saw, and leave the pamphlet open to refer to it again—­Ah!”

At this point, the Doctor knocked, summoning Israel to his own apartment.  Here, after a cup of weak tea, and a little toast, the two had a long, familiar talk together; during which, Israel was delighted with the unpretending talkativeness, serene insight, and benign amiability of the sage.  But, for all this, he could hardly forgive him for the Cologne and Otard depredations.

Discovering that, in early life, Israel had been employed on a farm, the man of wisdom at length turned the conversation in that direction; among other things, mentioning to his guest a plan of his (the Doctor’s) for yoking oxen, with a yoke to go by a spring instead of a bolt; thus greatly facilitating the operation of hitching on the team to the cart.  Israel was very much struck with the improvement; and thought that, if he were home, upon his mountains, he would immediately introduce it among the farmers.