hildren,
who weep with him over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is
glad. Oh, far happier were I, could I exchange with him my being--with
his desires and with his hopes perform the weary pilgrimage of life! Oh,
he is a hundred times happier than I!"

In the same moment the watchman was again watchman. It was the shoes
that caused the metamorphosis by means of which, unknown to himself, he
took upon him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we have
just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much less contented,
and now preferred the very thing which but some minutes before he had
rejected. So then the watchman was again watchman.

"That was an unpleasant dream," said he; "but 'twas droll enough
altogether. I fancied that I was the lieutenant over there: and yet
the thing was not very much to my taste after all. I missed my good old
mother and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer
love."

He seated himself once more and nodded: the dream continued to haunt
him, for he still had the shoes on his feet. A falling star shone in the
dark firmament.

"There falls another star," said he: "but what does it matter; there
are always enough left. I should not much mind examining the little
glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would
not slip so easily through a man's fingers. When we die--so at least
says the student, for whom my wife does the washing--we shall fly about
as light as a feather from one such a star to the other. That's, of
course, not true: but 'twould be pretty enough if it were so. If I could
but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here on the steps for
what I care."

Behold--there are certain things in the world to which one ought never
to give utterance except with the greatest caution; but doubly careful
must one be when we have the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just
listen to what happened to the watchman.

As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of
steam; we have experienced it either on railroads, or in boats when
crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in
comparison with the velocity with which light moves. It flies nineteen
million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet electricity is
quicker still. Death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the
freed soul soars upwards on the wings of electricity. The sun's light
wants eight minutes and