a special message.
Perhaps it is all caused by the currents of air, and I may be mistaken
after all. One easily gives way to reverie when by the spring.

*

Gundel, the little pitchman's daughter, affords me much much pleasure.
The honest, kind-hearted, simpleminded creature is now full of joy; she
loves, and is loved in return.

One of the farm hands is a native of Hansei's birthplace. He was once
in the cuirassiers, and this faithful, but rough and ill-favored lad,
is Gundel's lover. A girl whom no one has noticed, whose life has been
constant drudgery, is invested with new importance, both in her own
eyes and in those of others, as soon as she becomes the object of a
man's love. All that she does is regarded as good and pretty, and she
is at once lifted up out of her lowly and forgotten state.

Love is the crown of every life, a diadem even on the lowliest head.

When Gundel goes about her rough work--to draw water, or to feed the
cattle--she seems radiant with newborn happiness.

Although I have said nothing, she notices that I am interested in her,
and she often ask whether there is anything she can do for me.

I wish that riches were again mine, so that I might make these lovers
happy.

*

How foolish is the desire to be ever original. Nature constantly
repeats herself. The rose of to-day is like that of yesterday.

Men determine for themselves--and in this lies their torment.

*

I have not yet put vanity away from me. I am still moved to delight
whenever a happy expression flows from my pen. But is this really
vanity? I think not. Although alone in my cell, I adorn myself for my
own sake. Beauty has become a necessity to me. I must be surrounded by
objects of beauty, and must also possess it in myself. Uncouthness does
not offend me, but ugliness, affects me just as discords do. In the
so-called cultivated world, a rude expression excites a deprecatory
"Ah!" while elegant vulgarity is smiled upon.

*

I am obliged to read old Jochem's bond to him, at least once a week.
Although he knows it by heart, he insists upon hearing it again and
satisfying himself that it is all right, and properly signed and
sealed. He does not suffer it to leave his hands. I am obliged to read
it while he holds it. He trusts no one.

The old man almost seems to regret that he has