streets, delivered a eulogy; the chiropodist, who acquired practice
through your beautiful street stones, had a medallion struck of
you; then the wagonmaker, who made money patching up wagons, named
a vehicle after you; and last, the shoemaker held a memorial fest
in your honor. Then it was done! Your son-in-law, the burgomaster,
sent out a subscription blank for a statue no one dared refuse, and
now you stand there.

STATUE. Yes, I do, and it grieves you. To-day the Schulze Society
will come with wreaths and will sing the memorial song ordered by
my son-in-law. I daresay having to stand and listen to it will make
you writhe.

PILLORY. I can't dispute that, but in the end we shall see if I'm
not a true dreamer!

STATUE. Hold your tongue! for here comes the Society.

PILLORY. I shall have to hold my sides for laughter--three persons
constitute the whole Society! Last year they were six. You're a
back number, Schulze. Soon you'll see that they will move you into
the ox-grove!

STATUE. A people who reverence their great men and cherish past
events can never sink so low as to consign their statues to the
ox-grove.

[Shoemaker comes out from his house and opens shop window.]

SHOEMAKER. I believe there has been rain in the night, brother