s dead, and you cannot give him any help!

As soon as the train had passed, Christopher asked who was being buried.
It was a simple burgher, it was not Gellert; and in the deep breath
which Christopher drew lay a double signification: on the one hand,
was joy that Gellert was not dead; on the other, a still small voice
whispered to him that he had now really promised to give him the wood:
ah! but whom had he promised?--himself: and it is easy to argue with
one's own conscience.

Superstition babbles of conjuring-spells, by which, without the
co-operation of the patient, the evil spirit can be summarily ejected.
It would be convenient if one had that power, but, in truth, it is not
so: it is long ere the evil desire and the evil habit are removed from
the soul into which they have nestled; and the will, for a long while
in bondage, must co-operate, if a releasing spell from without is to set
the prisoner free.

One can only be guided, but himself must move his feet.

As Christopher now looked about him, he found that he had stopped close
by an inn; he drove his load a little aside, went into the parlor, and
drank a glass of warmed beer. There was already a goodly company, and
not far from Christopher sat a husbandman with his son, a student here,
who was telling him how there had been lately quite a stir. Professor
Gellert had been ill, and riding a well-trained horse had been
recommended for his health. Now Prince Henry of Prussia, during the
Seven Years' War, at the occupation of Leipzig, had sent him a piebald,
that had died a short time ago; and the Elector, hearing of it, had
sent Gellert from Dresden another--a chestnut--with golden bridle,
blue velvet saddle, and gold-embroidered housings. Half the city had
assembled when the groom, a man with iron-gray hair, brought the horse;
and for several days it was to be seen at the stable; but Gellert dared
not mount it, it was so young and high-spirited. The rustic now asked
his son whether the Professor did not make money enough to procure a
horse of his own, to which the son answered: "Certainly not. His salary
is but one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and his further gains are
inconsiderable. His Lectures on Morals he gives publicly, i. e., gratis,
and he has hundreds of hearers; and, therefore, at his own lectures,
which must be paid for, he has so many the fewer. To be sure, he has now
and then presents from grand patrons; but no one gives him, once and
for all