ath. In the course of a year it will be forgotten, and the
grass will be growing over my grave. I appeal to you by your good
heart, and by all the kindness you have shown me all your life long,
take a fatherly charge of my deserted children! My poor children! I
dare not think of them! I once thought I could be as kind a father as
any in the world--but I cannot--I cannot bring those to love me, who do
not do so of their own accord, and that is my chief misery, a misery I
am unable to conquer--it is like trying to climb a glass wall. My dear
mother was right; how often did she say--'We can sow and plant all
kinds of things, and by dint of culture make them flourish, but one
thing must grow voluntarily, and that is mutual affection.' It does not
grow in my case, where I would fain see it grow.

"Take my children out of the village when I am buried--I do not wish
them to be present. Beg the Pastor to let me lie beside my parents, and
my brother, and sisters. They were better off than me. Why was I alone
doomed to live, in order to die thus at last?

"You are my Wilhelm's godfather; pray adopt him. You always said he had
a talent for drawing, so take him under your care. If possible, be
reconciled to uncle Petrowitsch, perhaps he will do something for my
children when I am gone; and I tell you again, and certainly I tell you
the truth at such a moment as this, he likes you in reality, and you
may become good friends yet. He has a kind heart, far more so than he
wishes to have thought--my poor mother often and often said so. My
wife.... I will say nothing of her. If my children do well, then you
can say all kind of things to her from me, one day. I have been obliged
to hear, and to say, what I could never have believed possible. Oh!
world! what are you? I am in prison, and must make my escape. I have
lived through days and nights that seemed like years. I am weary; weary
to death; I can go no single step farther. For months past, when I
close my eyes and try to sleep, I see nothing but horrors, and they
pursue me by day also. As for the money I owe you, the watch I wear is
your property, it will beat on your faithful heart, after mine beats no
more--and when my things are sold, buy my father's file, and keep it
for my Wilhelm. I have nothing to leave him; but don't fail to tell him
often that his father was not a bad man. He inherits my unfortunate
disposition: try to drive it out of him, and make him strong and
energetic. A