come to the school-house and hear them play—organ and violin. They pleased me very much. A concerto of Weber, intricate and very beautiful, was the gem. We had wine and bread and cheese.

Yesterday I went with John Sieber and Charley Lengeler to the Hermitage Hill in the great wood to cut an opening to the west. As the trees fell, slowly opened the vast landscape to the west; far off, a line of purple hills. We saw several partridges and one gray squirrel-the only one I ever saw in the woods. I came home at sunset, alone, through the lengthening shadows.

Last night John, Ludwig, Joseph, and I played whist at the Hermitage. I have a letter from Herman Muller, with verses on my birthday.

The snow has gone, vanishing under the warm south wind. I write to sister that I will not be home until after Christmas, leaving the coast clear for her annual Christmas dinner. I will stay here. Sometimes the monotony is harrowing, but the world is still worse, and if I go out I long to return again. My seclusion is so absolute that the grave will not be more quiet.

All the week pig-killing has been going on, and new sausage abounds. All the various "wursts" are again being made.

Link's daughter goes off with one of the saw

mill men to be married. Her father bitterly opposes the match. The big son marries one of our kitchenmaids, and there will be a charivari-to extort beer. Joseph and his whole family are getting my twenty geese ready to ship-my annual offering to my old friends.

The Lockwoods are here still. I hear early and late the loud voice of Mr. L. Ben and he are great friends, making a good team. One year ago we were in London. We started for Brindisi on the 21st. While we waited at Calais the storm broke, and shook all the buildings. We came on the late boat; some of the luggage had fallen into the sea at Dover, spoiling some fine cigars.

To-night the young moon shows its thin crescent through the light clouds. Last week I sent my bicycle to P.

DECEMBER 20. This dull, short day ended sullenly in heavy clouds and a sighing south wind. This morning I got all my Christmas geese off. Sturm and I plant trees in the afternoon.

John, Joseph, and August come and play whist in the evening. We were having a glass of wine, when in bursts Charley Breil, breathless and husky, his neck in red flannel, with a gruesome tale of how Sarah Newhard and her husband had been shot by tramps in their lonely house. Link, next

neighbor, sent hastily to us. The brethren fill the barroom of the hotel and talk muddily of the tragedy.

August and I finish a bottle of wine and retire. God save us all, say we, these gruesome times. The country is overrun with sturdy vagrants.

DECEMBER 21. Ludwig comes back from Massillon, from a fierce war atmosphere. With Tobias shot, the Swiss apothecary wants to shoulder a musket. Pah!

John, Joseph, Jacob, and I play whist, and leave early, every one tired. The Monroe Doctrine message seems to be completely upsetting everything.

It rained heavily all day; the wind, whirling to the west, brings down the temperature 20°.

My sister writes a beautiful letter to me, lamenting.

1896

JANUARY 11. Last night Joseph and Levi played in the school-house-organ and violin-Weber's concert very well, and other high music.

Sitting back in the dark, almost alone, I was touched by this music. Something from "Rigoletto" was played, and quick I was turned back

forty years, hearing old Peter Ruhings and his lank, shrill-voiced daughter, long before the war.

David and August also were there. I purveyed some wine, and after the concert we drank and ate bread and cheese. This, with wine, made an ideal repast. Winklemann lived entirely on bread and wine in Rome.

To-day they finish hauling ice; nearly all engaged have a sodden look; every special job must be drowned in beer.

The affairs

John and Joseph go to Massillon. of the society must have great importance there, for the road is well beaten between here and there.

This afternoon came the woman, from the Strasburg Road, who was attacked by the two tramps the day before. She did not recognize the two we had in jail as her assailants. She had been represented as quite old, but I could plainly see that she was young enough. I do not think there will be a serious struggle at the trial of this case.

Not long ago fat Sarah Z. and her young husband were desperately shot by masked men, who came to rob; they are recovering. John and Joseph had to assist Dr. Lewis to bind up Sarah's wound. Joseph is lost in wonder at what he has seen at the clinic.

The hotel is full of wood-choppers. They are

selling the timber. All the beautiful trees on the river bottom toward Bolivar are being cut down. A sawmill set up there cuts them into boards.

This is Ludwig's birthday, and we have a meeting. First, whist and hot whisky punch; then supper of baked pork and beans; then cold punch, with a bottle of Clicquot. Much merriment; later, Joseph was sulky and I sent him home. We retire at midnight.

MAY 11. Planted melons. Weather hot; last week very hot. This morning, light shower.

MAY 12. First humming-birds. First evening of crickets-a sound as of autumn.

MAY 13. Ben leaves the society to rejoin his wife, who will not return.

MAY 14. I go to town, returning in the evenTo-night the weather turns cool, without

ing.

rain.

MAY 15. Listless and tired all day; worked very little, but retire early and pass a good night.

MAY 16. Arise much better; the morning dazzling bright, with dew and sun. Still dry; no rain since two weeks ago, when the Mullers and Schmidt and Harvey came to stay over Sunday, bearing much beer, wine-and a picture by Gottwald. We made merry under the trees. To-day I see the first