AUGUST 4.
I am not alone unfortunate. All men are disappointed in their hopes, and
deceived in their expectations. I have paid a visit to my good old woman under
the lime-trees. The eldest boy ran out to meet me: his exclamation of joy brought
out his mother, but she had a very melancholy look. Her first word was, “Alas!
dear sir, my little John is dead.” He was the youngest of her children. I was
silent. “And my husband has returned from Switzerland without any money;
and, if some kind people had not assisted him, he must have begged his way
home. He was taken ill with fever on his journey.” I could answer nothing, but
made the little one a present. She invited me to take some fruit: I complied, and
left the place with a sorrowful heart.
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