years ago; all is now the same as then; and the God of old is still
living."

"Certainly, certainly; I am glad to see you so pious."

"Ah! believe me, dear sir, I am not always so pious; and that I am so
disposed today is owing to you. We have no more confessionals now, but
I can confess to you: and you have taken a heavier load from my heart
than a wagon-load of wood. Oh! sir, I am not what I was. In my early
days I was a high-spirited, merry lad, and out in the field, and indoors
in the inn and the spinning-room, there was none who could sing against
me; but that is long past. What has a man on whose head the
grave-blossoms are growing," and he pointed to his gray head, "to do
with all that trash? And besides, the Seven Years' War has put a stop
to all our singing. But last night, in the midst of the fearful cold,
I sang a lay set expressly for me--all old tunes go to it: and it seemed
to me as though I saw a sign-post which pointed I know not whither--or,
nay, I do know whither." And now the peasant related how discontented
and unhappy in mind he had been, and how the words in the lay had all
at once raised his spirits and accompanied him upon the journey, like
a good fellow who talks to one cheerfully.

At this part of the peasant's tale Gellert folded his hands in silence,
and the peasant concluded: "How I always envied others, I cannot now
think why; but you I do envy, sir: I should like to be as you."

And Gellert answered: "I thank God, and rejoice greatly that my writings
have been of service to you. Think not so well of me. Would God I were
really the good man I appear in your eyes! I am far from being such as
I should, such as I would fain be. I write my books for my own