"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 brings my work, carries away what I have finished, and, between us, we have quite a handsome profit. He also a.s.sists me in preparing the wood, and he handles saw and axe as deftly as a bird does its claws and beak.

To-day I received the first money that I ever earned by the work of my hands. Uncle Peter counted it out to me on the table. He refuses paper money. Nothing but silver will satisfy him. "Ready money smiles," said he, with a laugh in which I could not help joining. How small are these gains, and yet how encouraging. I have earned them. All my life long, I have merely enjoyed what others have offered me. It was a privilege, inherited from my ancestors, that others should labor for me.

I can now manage to pay Walpurga something for my support. She refused to receive pay, but I shall insist upon it.

It is well that my employment is, to a great extent, a mechanical one, comprising much which is necessary and requires neither reflection nor contrivance. Certain things must be done, and there is but one way of doing them. If I were obliged to do anything that required great mental exertion, it would be the death of me.

It is now four months since I came here.

My hands have become hardened.

The treatment I receive from those about me, satisfies me that their affection for me is sincere.

If one could only always remain the same--that is, in the full possession of one's powers.

I often give way to fits of depression and feel completely undone, forsaken, weak and helpless, and as if help must come from somewhere.

But whence? and from who?

I am obliged, with each succeeding day, to overcome the melancholy that oppresses me during the mornings. In the evenings, I am calm--for I am weary then.

We hear the falling rain, but not the snow. Bitter grief is violent; resignation, calm and silent.

It is bitter cold up here; but the woods are near us, and my monster of a tile stove is a faithful friend who preserves his warmth.

Literally speaking, when Hansei returns from the forest it often takes him an hour to thaw, and regain control of his voice and movements.

Until then, it is best not to talk with him, for he is easily offended; but when he has thawed, he is quite happy again, and always says: "I thank G.o.d that I've been a woodsman!"

He is evidently thinking of some method of improving the forests, but he does not say what it is.

The lower orders always have overheated rooms. They enjoy intoxication, even that of heat.

I have no mirror. There is no need of my knowing how I look. A mirror is the beginning and the cause of self-consciousness. A beast does not see itself,--it is only seen by others--and yet, whether it be the bird on yonder bough, or the cat that sits before my window, it adorns itself. I, too, dress myself carefully, and for my own sake, and am ill at ease when my clothes are loose and ill-fitting.

When I first came here, I found it quite difficult to a.s.sociate with those about me, but now I find comfort and self-forgetfulness in my intercourse with them. I should not like to darken their existence, but to brighten it, instead. They feel that while I partake, I also contribute my share.

I think the idea is Goethe's.

There was great joy in the house to-day, owing to the unexpected visit of Walpurga's friend and companion Stasi, with her husband, a forester.

What happiness, what joy, and what an interchange of experiences!

Hansei at once invited the forester to be sponsor to his boy, for boy it must be. Walpurga quickly said that she would like to show her friend through the house, and I was obliged to go with her.

Among the higher cla.s.ses, love may be greater, may possess more energy, more depth, and more of all that is allied to pa.s.sion; but the lower orders seem to possess greater faithfulness and constancy. Work teaches us to be faithful.

I have been out in the forest with Hansei. Oh how beautiful! We pa.s.sed a frozen waterfall; the crystal columns sparkled in the sunshine.

Hansei pointed out two trees that were far up the mountain. He means to have them felled for me, so that I may have the best wood for my work.

Am I expected to work up two whole trees?

Hansei was quite amused, when I told him I had not forgotten his rule of the mountain: "Go right on and never stop."

Mountain-climbing in winter has made me very tired, but I feel quite well.

I have often wondered why I never heard any mention of Hansei's family.

The little pitchman has just told me that his mother died an early death, and that he never knew his father.

This accounts for much in Hansei's behavior, and only renders it the more beautiful.

We are feasting on meat broth.

Great is Hansei, the dispenser of good!

Yes, he is great. How all our illusions vanish! An Homeric hero who cuts up swine and cooks and roasts them, remains a hero for all, and Hansei is as good as any of them, although it be not with the sword.

There is Homeric feasting throughout the farm. They all bite with teeth as good as those of Menelaus.

The greatest blessings are pure blood, steeled sinews and strong nerves.