He fancied he told her so twenty times a day; but he never did, for he was not of many words, even to his wife.

His language was his music,--as hers, her cares! He was more communicative to his barbiton, as the learned Mersennus teaches us to call all the varieties of the great viol family.

Certainly barbiton sounds better than fiddle; and barbiton let it be.

He would talk to THAT by the hour together,--praise it, scold it, coax it, nay (for such is man, even the most guileless), he had been known to swear at it; but for that excess he was always penitentially remorseful.

And the barbiton had a tongue of his own, could take his own part, and when HE also scolded, had much the best of it.