ed
it to the old pensioner; he understood it, and my little pitchman has
already gotten it by heart. How fortunate is the poet! One short hour
of his life becomes undying to thousands after him. How I delight in
these precious memories! I am like the old pensioner, who has learnt a
few songs and quietly sings them to himself.

*

I am beginning to feel something like veneration for the old pensioner.

Early this morning, he came to me, dressed in his Sunday clothes, and
wearing the medal which he received in the war of liberation. It was
not without a certain air of pride that he said: "They're reading a
mass for me at church to-day. I served under Napoleon in those days,
just as the king did, too. It was in the year 'nine' and, on this very
day, up to three o'clock--that is, some time between three and four--I
was sound and hearty, when, all at once, I was struck by a ball, here
in the third rib--that's why I wear my medal on the right side. I fell
to the earth, thinking: Good-night, world! God keep thee, my dear
sweetheart! She who was afterward my wife, was my sweetheart at that
time. They extracted the ball with a crossbill, and I kept on smoking
while they were at work. My pipe never went out once, and I was soon
all right again. But one doesn't easily forget such a day, and so I
arranged it, at the church, that they should read a mass for me on this
day. See, this is the ball and, when they bury me, I want them to lay
it on my third rib."

He showed me the ball. He carried it in a leather purse. After that a
child that he had hired for the purpose led him down into the village.

I will now be more patient with the unfortunate old man. His life was a
drop in the ocean of history--struck by the enemy's bullet--! A leaden
ball can be extracted, why cannot also--

When I reflect on the daily events of the life I now lead, all my
thoughts seem to lose themselves in the one unsolvable problem.

The grandmother told me a strange truth to-day. I had been telling her
that, even in the past, I had never been perfectly happy, when she
replied:

"You've deceived yourself. It's always so in the world. Those who are
deceived, have deceived themselves, but they're never willing honestly
to confess it."

*

Uncle Peter is the very embodiment of cheerful poverty. He is always in
a good humor, and I have been the means of making him quite happy. He
b