ed all his friends that the teacher wasn't near
so bad as people made him out to be, only he couldn't drive his tongue
very well yet: he hadn't got the right way to turn a sharp corner.

The teacher, on coming home, wrote into his pocketbook,--

"Piety alone makes even the decrepitude of age an object of admiration
and of reverence. Piety is the childhood of the soul: on the very verge
of imbecility it spreads a mild and gentle lustre over the presence and
bearing. How hard, tart, and repulsive is the old age of selfish
persons! how elevating was the conversation of this old woman in the
midst of her superstition!"

He wrote something more than this, but immediately cancelled it. Wrapt
in self-accusation, he sat alone for a long time, and then went out
into the road: his heart was so full that he could not forego the
society of men. The distant song of the young villagers thrilled his
breast. "I am to be envied," said he to himself; "for now the song of
men is more potent over me than the song of birds. I hear the cry of
brothers! Men! I love you all."

Thus he strolled about the village, mentally conversing with every one,
though not a word escaped his lips. Without knowing how he had come
there, he suddenly found himself once more in front of the house of
Johnnie of the Bruck. Every thing was silent, except that from the room
the occupation of which was part of the dower of old Maurita issued the
monotonous murmur of a prayer.

Late at night he returned home through the village, now still as death,
except that here and there the whispers of two lovers might be heard.
When he re-entered his solitary room, where there was no one to welcome
him, no one to give answer to what he said, to look up to him, and to
say, "Rejoice: you live, and I live with you," he prayed aloud to God,
"Lord, let me find the heart to which my heart can respond!"

Next day the children were puzzled to know what could have put the
teacher in such good humor. During recess he sent Mat's Johnnie to the
Eagle to say that they need not send him his dinner, as he was coming
there to eat it.

It was unfortunate that, in approaching the life that surrounded him,
his thoughts were pitched in such an elevated key. Though he had wit
enough to refrain from communicating these flights of imagination to
others, he could not avoid seeing and hearing many things which came
into the most jarring discord with them.

As he entered the inn, Babbett was in