alone. I often wish all Nordstetten was here,--old Zahn,
blind Conrad, Shacker of the stone quarry, Soges, Bat of the sour well,
and Maurice of the hungry spring: they ought to be here, all of them,
to eat their fill until they couldn't budge from their seats. What good
does it do me while I am alone here? And then you might all see the
gawk with his four horses in the stable and his ten colts in the field.
If Mary Ann has any trouble, let me know about it, and I will send her
something; but don't let her know from whom it comes. Oh, how I pity
her! Matthew of the Hill lives two miles away. His Mechtilde is a good
worker; but she is no Mary Ann, after all. I do hope she is doing well.
Has she any children? On the way across there was a learned man with us
on the ship,--Dr. Staeberle, of Ulm: he had a globe with him, and he
showed me that when it is day in America it is night in Nordstetten,
and so on. I never thought much about it till now. But when I am in the
field and think, 'What are they doing now in Nordstetten?' I remember
all at once that you are all fast asleep, and Shackerle's John, the
watchman, is singing out, 'Two o'clock, and a cloudy morning.' On
Sunday I can't bear to think that it is Saturday night in Nordstetten.
All ought to have one day at once. Last Sunday was harvest-home in
Nordstetten: I should never forget that, if I were to live a hundred
years. I should like to be in Nordstetten for one hour, just to let the
squire see what a free citizen of America looks like."

[Illustration]

THE PIPE OF WAR.

It is a singular story, and yet intimately connected with the great
events of modern history, or, what is almost the same thing, with the
history of Napoleon. Those were memorable times. Every farmer could see
the whole array of history man[oe]uvre and pass in review beneath his
dormer-window: kings and emperors behaved like play-actors, and,
sometimes assumed a different dress and a different character in every
scene. And all this gorgeous spectacle was at the farmer's service,
costing him nothing but his house and home, and occasionally, perhaps,
his life. My neighbor Hansgeorge was not quite so unlucky,--as the
story will show.

It was in the year 1796. We who live in these piping times of peace
have no idea of the state of things which then existed: mankind seemed
to have lost their fixed habitations and to be driving each other here
and there at random. Th