thers to do so. This one however as it is my last one on
earth, I resolved to honour and solemnize as much as I could. Quite
early in the morning I summoned the little girls of my landlord and
gave each of them a dress I had made for them, a cake and a kiss. Then
I walked out though the day was chilly and without sunshine.

On the stairs I met Mr. Morrik's servant, who came to ask if I were
unwell, as I had not appeared on the Wassermauer for several days. I
felt pleased that some one inquired for me. After the recent
conversation in the wintergarden I appeared to myself so unamiable,
that I did not think it possible that any one should care whether I
lived or died.

I walked up and down for some time underneath the arcades, for the rain
swept through the narrow streets, and it was disagreeable to be out
there, as a piercing wind which they call here the Jaufenwind had
arisen, and though the Kuechelberg kept it off in some degree still it
now and then blew in gusts round the corner. I felt so dull and
unemployed, so dreary, that by way of pastime, I bought some figs and
peaches and ate them. I soon felt, that in this cold weather, I had not
done wisely, but made bad worse by sitting down beside a woman who was
roasting chesnuts, and eating some of these to warm me, and thereby
only succeeded in nearly making myself ill.

So this is my holiday! It serves me quite right; How can an unemployed
person think of holiday making. "Sour workdays, sweet holidays," that
is a different thing. More and more clearly I see that he was right,
and that I was not only wrong, but have wronged him. It is only the
heartless and selfish who would not feel regret at being called away
from this life without having done any good in it. He was very kind and
forbearing in trying to find a difference between his position and
mine. Have we not all of us duties? Did not my mother fulfil hers till
her last breath? And here am I happy in my unprofitable solitude, and
joyful as a child who has shirked school.

Here are letters from my father, and little Ernest. Birthday
congratulations. I will read them out of doors. The Jaufenwind has
cleared the sky, and the sun shines so warmly that I can no longer
stand the heat of the stove, and have to open both windows.

In the Afternoon.

This day has after all been celebrated; by a reconciliation which
consisted in a second dispute. As the unexpected sun