called love. Don't you think you could say something more new and more true, treating that aberration from reason with the contempt it deserves?"
"Not if I am to get my travelling expenses paid."
"What! the folly is so popular?"
"Does not your own heart tell you so?"
"Not a bit of it,—rather the contrary. Your audience at present seem folks who live by work, and can have little time for such idle phantasies; for, as it is well observed by Ovid, a poet who wrote much on that subject, and professed the most intimate acquaintance with it, 'Idleness is the parent of love.' Can't you sing something in praise of a good dinner? Everybody who works hard has an appetite for food."
The singer again fixed on Kenelm his inquiring eye, but not detecting a vestige of humour in the grave face he contemplated, was rather puzzled how to reply, and therefore remained silent.
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