A cobbler passed his time in singing from morning till night; it was wonderful to see, wonderful to hear him; he was more contented in making shoes, than was any of the seven sages. His neighbor, on the contrary, who was rolling in wealth, sung but little, and slept less. He was a banker; when by chance he fell into a doze at day-break, the cobbler awoke him with his song. The banker complained sadly that Providence had not made sleep a saleable commodity, like edibles or drinkables. Having at length sent for the songster, he said to him, "How much a year do you earn, Master Gregory?"
