praise-worthy custom, and answered—"Zounds, Conrad, you appear to me the most singular screech-owl that ever put foot into my house. You commenced here by threatening to crush every thing under your ill-bred giant foot, then you stun us with your barking, and, to crown all your follies, you treat Rosa like a princess, and you use towards her the manners and fine words of a great lord! I believe, indeed, that a madman's cell would suit you better than my workshop."
"Your dear daughter," replied Conrad, without appearing to be offended by this cutting reproach—"your dear Rosa, my worthy master, is, I can assure you, the most graceful and the noblest creature in the universe; and Heaven grant that she will deign not to remain insensible to the homage of the most gallant heir of noble race, who will place at her feet his tender love and armorial bearings!"
Master Martin held his sides with both hands, but in spite of his efforts, a homeric laugh seized him, and he rolled on the bench like one possessed; then when he had regained strength to articulate—"At thy ease, good journeyman," exclaimed he; "give to my Rosa the most precious names that thou canst imagine; I place no obstacle in the way, on the contrary; but I beg thee not to lose a blow of thy hammer, for here work is before gallantry."
Conrad felt this reprimand pierce his heart like a red hot iron; his eyes flashed like lightning, but he restrained himself, and answered coldly—"It is true!" Then he returned to his labor.
Rosa had seated herself by the side of her father, on a little barrel, that Reinhold had just scraped to give it a more advantageous look, and Frederick had just gallantly approached.
Master Martin begged his two favorite workmen to re-commence, for the benefit of Rosa, the little song that Conrad had so rudely interrupted. The latter remained silent, and no longer appeared to have eyes for any thing but his work.
When the song was finished, master Martin continued the conversation, and said—"Heaven has given you a fine talent,
