in which he looked upon his own narrow, poor, toilsome life, the merriment which he drew, even from evils and inconveniences, the indestructible conviction that life is in itself and on its own account a blessing, communicated itself to him who read the letter, and, for the moment at least, transposed him into a like mood.  Enthusiastic as I was, I had often sent my compliments to this man, extolled his happy natural gift, and expressed the wish to become acquainted with him.  All this being premised, nothing seemed to me more natural than to seek him out, to converse with him,—­nay, to lodge with him, and to learn to know him intimately.  My good candidate, after some opposition, gave me a letter, written with difficulty, to carry with me; and, full of longing, I went to Dresden in the yellow coach, with my matriculation in my pocket.

I went in search of my shoemaker, and soon found him in the suburb (Vorstadt).  He received me in a friendly manner, sitting upon his stool, and said, smiling, after he had read the letter, “I see from this, young sir, that you are a whimsical Christian.”—­“How so, master?” I replied.  “No offence meant by ‘whimsical,’” he continued:  “one calls every one so who is not consistent with himself; and I call you a whimsical Christian because you acknowledge yourself a follower of our Lord in one thing, but not in another.”  On my requesting him to enlighten me, he said further, “It seems that your view is, to announce glad tidings to the poor and lowly; that is good, and this imitation of the Lord is praiseworthy:  but you should reflect, besides, that he rather sat down to table with prosperous rich folks, where there was good fare, and that he himself did not despise the sweet scent of the ointment, of which you will find the opposite in my house.”

This pleasant beginning put me at once in good humor, and we rallied each other for some time.  His wife stood doubting how she should board and lodge such a guest.  On this point, too, he had notions which referred, not only to the Bible, but also to “Gottfried’s Chronicle;” and when we were agreed that I was to stay, I gave my purse, such as it was, into the charge of my hostess, and requested her to furnish herself from it, if any thing should be necessary.  When he would have declined it, and somewhat waggishly gave me to understand that he was not so burned out as he might appear, I disarmed him by saying, “Even if it were only to change water into wine, such a well-tried domestic resource would not be out of place, since there are no more miracles nowadays.”  The hostess seemed to find my conduct less and less strange:  we had soon accommodated ourselves to each other, and spent a very merry evening.  He remained always the same, because all flowed from one source.  His peculiarity was an apt common sense, which rested upon a cheerful disposition, and took delight in uniform habitual activity.  That he should labor incessantly was his first and most necessary care; that he regarded