time to dream for half an hour or so with my eyes open before going to bed.  Then all my desires were accomplished, and I was supremely happy.  At last I had drawn a prize!  I was successful in everything; I was rich, honored, powerful—­what more can I say?  I astonished the world—­or rather, I astonished Ellen Gilmore, who for me was the whole world.  Hermann, have you ever been as mad?  Have you, too, in a waking dream, been in turn a statesman, a millionaire, the author of a sublime work, a victorious general, the head of a great political party?  Have you dreamt nonsense such as that?  I, who am here, have been all I say—­in dreamland.  Never mind; that was a good time.  Ellen Gilmore, whom I have just mentioned, was the eldest sister of one of my pupils, Francis Gilmore, the most undisciplined boy of the school.  His parents, nevertheless, insisted on his learning something; and as I had the reputation of possessing unwearying patience, I was selected to give him private lessons.  That was how I obtained a footing in the Gilmore family.  Later on, when they had found out that I was somewhat of a musician—­you may remember, perhaps, that for an amateur I was a tolerable performer on the piano—­I went every day to the house to teach Latin and Greek to Francis, and music to Ellen.

“Now, picture to yourself the situation, and then laugh at your friend as he has laughed at himself many a time.  On the one side—­ the Gilmore side—­a large fortune and no lack of pride; an intelligent, shrewd, and practical father; an ambitious and vain mother; an affectionate but spoilt boy; and a girl of nineteen, surpassingly lovely, with a cultivated mind and great good sense.  On the other hand, you have Henry Warren, aged twenty-nine; in his dreams the author of a famous work, or the commander-in-chief of the Northern armies, or. it may be, President of the Republic—­in reality, Professor at Elmira College, with a modest stipend of seventy dollars a month.  Was it not evident that the absurdity of my position as a suitor for Ellen would strike me at once?  Of course it did.  In my lucid moments, when I was not dreaming, I was a very rational man, who had read a good deal, and learned not a little; and it would have been sheer madness in me to have indulged for an instant the hope of a marriage between Ellen and myself.  I knew it was an utter impossibility—­as impossible as to be elected President of the United States; and yet, in spite of myself, I dreamed of it.  However, I must do myself the justice to add that my passion inconvenienced nobody.  I would no more have spoken of it than of my imaginary command of the army of the Potomac.  The pleasures which my love afforded me could give umbrage to no one.  Yet I am convinced that Ellen read my secret.  Not that she ever said a word to me on the subject; no look or syllable of hers could have made me suspect that she had guessed the state of my mind.