obody is
willing to acknowledge; and yet I think it is palpable.

I know what you will say in reply; for I am ready to admit that they are
happiest, who, like children, amuse themselves with their playthings,
dress and undress their dolls, and attentively watch the cupboard,
where mamma has locked up her sweet things, and, when at last they get
a delicious morsel, eat it greedily, and exclaim, "More!" These are
certainly happy beings; but others also are objects of envy, who dignify
their paltry employments, and sometimes even their passions, with
pompous titles, representing them to mankind as gigantic achievements
performed for their welfare and glory. But the man who humbly
acknowledges the vanity of all this, who observes with what pleasure
the thriving citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, and how
patiently even the poor man pursues his weary way under his burden,
and how all wish equally to behold the light of the sun a little
longer,--yes, such a man is at peace, and creates his own world within
himself; and he is also happy, because he is a man. And then, however
limited his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom the sweet feeling of
liberty, and knows that he can quit his prison whenever he likes.

MAY 26.

You know of old my ways of settling anywhere, of selecting a little
cottage in some cosy spot, and of putting up in it with every
inconvenience. Here, too, I have discovered such a snug, comfortable
place, which possesses peculiar charms for me.

About a league from the town is a place called Walheim. (The reader
need not take the trouble to look for the place thus designated. We have
found it necessary to change the names given in the original.) It is
delightfully situated on the side of a hill; and, by proceeding along
one of the footpaths which lead out of the village, you can have a view
of the whole valley. A good old woman lives there, who keeps a small
inn. She sells wine, beer, and coffee, and is cheerful and pleasant
notwithstanding her age. The chief charm of this spot consists in two
linden-trees, spreading their enormous branches over the little green
before the church, which is entirely surrounded by peasants' cottages,
barns, and homesteads. I have seldom seen a place so retired and
peaceable; and there often have my table and chair brought out from
the little inn, and drink my coffee there, and read my Homer. Accident
brought me to the spot one fine afternoon, and I found it