ax that dropped from the holy tapers, to make
them comfortable and fit for wear. But this time I'm saved the trouble,
and I'm for all the world like a new-born babe who is fitted with
clothes without measuring. Ay, ay, you may laugh; but 'tis a fact--I'm
new-born."

And in truth it quite seemed so with the old man: the wild merriment of
former years, which had slumbered for a while, all burst out anew.

A fellow just now entered who had been active in extinguishing the fire,
and having his hand in the work, had been at the same time no less
actively engaged in quenching a certain internal fire--and in truth, as
was plain to be seen, more than was needed. On seeing him, the old
fiddler cried out, "By Jove, how I envy the fellow's jollity!" All the
folks laughed; but presently the merriment was interrupted by the
entrance of the magistrate with his notary, come to investigate the
cause of the fire, and take an inventory of the damage.

Old Hans openly confessed his fault. He had the odd peculiarity of
carrying about him, in all his pockets, a little box of lucifer matches,
in order never to be at a loss when he wanted to light his pipe.
Whenever any one called on him, and wherever he went, his fingers were
almost unconsciously playing with the matches. Often and often he was
heard to exclaim, "Provoking enough! that these matches should come into
fashion just as I am going off the stage. Look! a light in the twinkling
of an eye! Only think of all the time I've lost in the course of my life
in striking a light with the old flint and steel,--days, weeks, ay,
years!"

The fire had, to all appearances, originated with this child's play of
the old man, and the magistrate said with regret that he must inflict
the legal penalty for his carelessness. "However, at all events 'tis
well 'tis no worse," he added; "you are in truth the last of the
fiddlers; in our dull, plodding times, you are a relic of the past--of a
merry, careless age. 'Twould have been a grievous thing if you had come
to such a miserable end."

"Look ye, your worship, I ought to have been a parson," said Hans; "and
I should have preached to the folks after this fashion:--'Don't set too
much store on life, and it can't hurt you; look on every thing as
foolery, and then you'll be cleverer than all the rest. If the world was
always merry--if folks did nothing but work and dance, there would be no
need of schoolmasters--no need of learning to write and read--no