from my own heart, which suffers more from her absence than many
a poor creature lingering on a bed of sickness. She is gone to
spend a few days in the town with a very worthy woman, who is given
over by the physicians, and wishes to have Charlotte near her in
her last moments. I accompanied her last week on a visit to the
Vicar of S--, a small village in the mountains, about a league
hence. We arrived about four o'clock: Charlotte had taken her
little sister with her. When we entered the vicarage court, we
found the good old man sitting on a bench before the door, under
the shade of two large walnut-trees. At the sight of Charlotte
he seemed to gain new life, rose, forgot 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 of pleasure, they waste their few short days of sunshine
in quarrels and disputes, and only perceive their error when it
is too late to repair it. This thought dwelt upon my mind; and