his stick, and ventured to walk toward her.  She ran to him, and made him sit down again; then, placing herself by his side, she gave him a number of messages from her father, and then caught up his youngest child, a dirty, ugly little thing, the joy of his old age, and kissed it.  I wish you could have witnessed her attention to this old man, —­how she raised her voice on account of his deafness; how she told him of healthy young people, who had been carried off when it was least expected; praised the virtues of Carlsbad, and commended his determination to spend the ensuing summer there; and assured him that he looked better and stronger than he did when she saw him last.  I, in the meantime, paid attention to his good lady.  The old man seemed quite in spirits; and as I could not help admiring the beauty of the walnut-trees, which formed such an agreeable shade over our heads, he began, though with some little difficulty, to tell us their history.  “As to the oldest,” said he, “we do not know who planted it, —­ some say one clergyman, and some another:  but the younger one, there behind us, is exactly the age of my wife, fifty years old next October; her father planted it in the morning, and in the evening she came into the world.  My wife’s father was my predecessor here, and I cannot tell you how fond he was of that tree; and it is fully as dear to me.  Under the shade of that very tree, upon a log of wood, my wife was seated knitting, when I, a poor student, came into this court for the first time, just seven and twenty years ago.”  Charlotte inquired for his daughter.  He said she was gone with Herr Schmidt to the meadows, and was with the haymakers.  The old man then resumed his story, and told us how his predecessor had taken a fancy to him, as had his daughter likewise; and how he had become first his curate, and subsequently his successor.  He had scarcely finished his story when his daughter returned through the garden, accompanied by the above-mentioned Herr Schmidt.  She welcomed Charlotte affectionately, and I confess I was much taken with her appearance.  She was a lively-looking, good-humoured brunette, quite competent to amuse one for a short time in the country.  Her lover (for such Herr Schmidt evidently appeared to be) was a polite, reserved personage, and would not join our conversation, notwithstanding all Charlotte’s endeavours to draw him out.  I was much annoyed at observing, by his countenance, that his silence did not arise from want of talent, but from caprice and ill-humour.  This subsequently became very evident, when we set out to take a walk, and Frederica joining Charlotte, with whom I was talking, the worthy gentleman’s face, which was naturally rather sombre, became so dark and angry that Charlotte was obliged to touch my arm, and remind me that I was talking too much to Frederica.  Nothing distresses me more than to see men torment each other; particularly when in the flower of their age, in the very season