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Christopher turned round: there was an odd look of irresolution in his eyes as he said: “Eh? eh? what time is it?”

“Half-past ten.”

“Then the wood is now no longer mine–at least to sell:” and, collecting himself, he became suddenly warm, and with firm hand turned his horses round, and begged the woodmen who accompanied him to point him out the way to the house with the “Schwarz Brett,” Dr. Junius’s. There he delivered a full load: at each log he took out of the wagon he smiled oddly. The wood-measurer measured the wood carefully, turning each log and placing it exactly, that there might not be a crevice anywhere.

“Why are you so over-particular to-day, pray?” asked Christopher, and he received for answer:

“Professor Gellert must have a fair load; every shaving kept back from him were a sin.”

Christopher laughed aloud, and the wood-measurer looked at him with amazement; for such particularity generally provoked a quarrel.

Christopher had still some logs over; these he kept by him on the wagon. At this moment the servant Sauer came up, and asked to whom the wood belonged.

“To Professor Gellert,” answered Christopher.

“The man’s mad! it isn’t true. Professor Gellert has not bought any wood; it is my business to look after that.”

“He has not bought it, and yet it is his!” cried Christopher.

Sauer was on the point of giving the mad peasant a hearty scolding, raising his voice so much the louder, as it was striking eleven by St. Nicholas. At this moment, however, he became suddenly mute; for yonder from the University there came, with tired gait, a man of a noble countenance: at every step he made, on this side and on that, off came the hats and the caps of the passers-by, and Sauer simply called out, “There comes the Professor himself.”

What a peculiar expression passed over Christopher’s face! He looked at the new-comer, and so earnest was his gaze, that Gellert, who always walked with his head bowed, suddenly looked up. Christopher said: “Mr. Gellert, I am glad to see you still alive.”

“I thank you,” said Gellert, and made as though he would pass on; but Christopher stepped up closer to him, and, stretching out his hand to him, said: “I have taken the liberty–I should like–will you give me your hand, Mr. Gellert?”

Gellert drew his long thin hand out of his muff and placed it in the hard oaken-like hand of the peasant; and at this moment, when the peasant’s hand lay in the scholars palm, as one felt the other’s pressure in actual living grasp, there took place, though the mortal actors in the scene were all unconscious of it, a renewal of that healthy life which alone can make a people one.

How long had the learned world, wrapped up in itself, separated from the fellow-men around, thought in Latin, felt as foreigners, and lived buried in contemplation of bygone worlds! From the time of Gellert commences the ever-increasing unity of good-fellowship throughout all classes of life, kept up by mutual giving and receiving. As the scholar–as the solitary poet endeavors to work upon others by lays that quicken and songs that incite, so he in his turn is a debtor to his age, and the lonely thinking and writing become the property of all; but the effects are not seen in a moment; for higher than the most highly gifted spirit of any single man is the spirit of a nation. With the pressure which Gellert and the peasant exchanged commenced a mighty change in universal life, which never more can cease to act.

“Permit me to enter your room?” said Christopher, and Gellert nodded assent. He was so courteous that he motioned to the peasant to enter first; however, Sauer went close after him: he thought it must be a madman; he must protect his master; the man looked just as if he were drunk. Gellert, with his amanuensis, Goedike, followed them.