iet manner, excited curiosity. At first, most of the
listeners were disposed to believe him one of those exaggerated spirits
who exalt themselves by a pretended self-abasement, but his natural,
quiet, and thoughtful deportment soon produced a more favorable opinion.
There was a habit of reflection, a retreating inward look about his eye,
that revealed the character of one long and truly accustomed to look more
at himself than at others, and which wrought singularly in his behalf.

"We may not all have these flattering opinions of ourselves that thy words
would seem to imply Signor Mueller," observed the Genoese, his tone
changing to one better suited to soothe the feelings of the person
addressed, while a shade insensibly stole over his own venerable features;
"neither are all at peace that so seem. If it will be any consolation to
thee to know that others are probably no more happy than thyself, I will
add that I have known much pain, and that, too, amid circumstances which
most would deem fortunate, and which, I fear, a great majority of mankind
might be disposed to envy."

"I should be base indeed to seek consolation in such a source! I do not
complain, Signore, though my whole life has so passed that I can hardly
say that I enjoy it. It is not easy to smile when we know that all frown
upon us; else could I be content. As it is, I rather feel than repine."

"This is a most singular condition of the mind;" whispered Adelheid to
young Sigismund; for both had been deeply attentive listeners to the calm
but strong language of the Herr Mueller. The young man did not answer, and
his fair companion saw with surprise, that he was pale, and with
difficulty noticed her remark with a smile.

"The frowns of men, my son," observed the monk, "are usually reserved for
those who offend its ordinances. The latter may not be always just, but
there is a common sentiment which refuses to visit innocence, even in the
narrow sense in which we understand the word, with undeserved
displeasure."

The Herr Mueller looked earnestly at the Augustine, and he seemed about to
answer; but, checking the impulse, he bowed in submission. At the same
time, a wild, painful smile gleamed on his face.

"I agree with thee, good canon," rejoined the simple-minded baron: "we are
much addicted to quarrelling with the world, but, after all, when we look
closely into the matter, it will commonly be found that the cause of our
grievances exists in ourselves