ing to be ashamed of in a man--and he acts
plays; and if he does aught else, the news of it has not come here.'

'Yet these are all innocent,' said Otto. 'What would you have him
do--make war?'

'No, sir,' replied the old man. 'But here it is; I have been fifty years
upon this River Farm, and wrought in it, day in, day out; I have ploughed
and sowed and reaped, and risen early, and waked late; and this is the
upshot: that all these years it has supported me and my family; and been
the best friend that ever I had, set aside my wife; and now, when my time
comes, I leave it a better farm than when I found it. So it is, if a man
works hearty in the order of nature, he gets bread and he receives
comfort, and whatever he touches breeds. And it humbly appears to me, if
that Prince was to labour on his throne, as I have laboured and wrought
in my farm, he would find both an increase and a blessing.'

'I believe with you, sir,' Otto said; 'and yet the parallel is inexact.
For the farmer's life is natural and simple; but the prince's is both
artificial and complicated. It is easy to do right in the one, and
exceedingly difficult not to do wrong in the other. If your crop is
blighted, you can take off your bonnet and say, "God's will be done"; but
if the prince meets with a reverse, he may have to blame himself for the
attempt. And perhaps, if all the kings in Europe were to confine
themselves to innocent amusement, the subjects would be the better off.'

'Ay,' said the young man Fritz, 'you are in the right of it there. That
was a true word spoken. And I see you are like me, a good patriot and an
enemy to princes.'

Otto was somewhat abashed at this deduction, and he made haste to change
his ground. 'But,' said he, 'you surprise me by what you say of this
Prince Otto. I have heard him, I must own, more favourably painted. I
was told he was, in his heart, a good fellow, and the enemy of no one but
himself.'

'And so he is, sir,' said the girl, 'a very handsome, pleasant prince;
and we know some who would shed their blood for him.'

'O! Kuno!' said Fritz. 'An ignoramus!'

'Ay, Kuno, to be sure,' quavered the old farmer. 'Well, since this
gentleman is a stranger to these parts, and curious about the Prince, I
do believe that story might divert him. This Kuno, you must know, sir,
is one of the hunt servants, and a most ignorant, intemperate man: a
right Grunewalder, as we say in Gerolstein. We know him well, i