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eying the newly-found treasure, whose hidden powers, even he, sharp as he was,
was not able to discover. "One must have more than the eye of a shoemaker to
know one pair from the other," said he, soliloquizing; and putting, at the
same time, the galoshes in search of an owner, beside his own in the corner.

"Here, sir!" said one of the men, who panting brought him a tremendous pile of
papers.

The copying-clerk turned round and spoke awhile with the man about the reports
and legal documents in question; but when he had finished, and his eye fell
again on the Shoes, he was unable to say whether those to the left or those to
the right belonged to him. "At all events it must be those which are wet,"
thought he; but this time, in spite of his cleverness, he guessed quite wrong,
for it was just those of Fortune which played as it were into his hands, or
rather on his feet. And why, I should like to know, are the police never to be
wrong? So he put them on quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and took
besides a few under his arm, intending to look them through at home to make
the necessary notes. It was noon; and the weather, that had threatened rain,
began to clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks filled the streets. "A
little trip to Fredericksburg would do me no great harm," thought he; "for I,
poor beast of burden that I am, have so much to annoy me, that I don't know
what a good appetite is. 'Tis a bitter crust, alas! at which I am condemned to
gnaw!"

Nobody could be more steady or quiet than this young man; we therefore wish
him joy of the excursion with all our heart; and it will certainly be
beneficial for a person who leads so sedentary a life. In the park he met a
friend, one of our young poets, who told him that the following day he should
set out on his long-intended tour.

"So you are going away again!" said the clerk. "You are a very free and happy
being; we others are chained by the leg and held fast to our desk."

"Yes; but it is a chain, friend, which ensures you the blessed bread of
existence," answered the poet. "You need feel no care for the coming morrow:
when you are old, you receive a pension."

"True," said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders; "and yet you are the better
off. To sit at one's ease and poetise--that is a pleasure; everybody has
something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your own master. No,
friend, you should but try what it is to sit from one year's end to the other
occupied with and judging the most trivial matters."

The poet shook his head, the copying-clerk did the same. Each one kept to his
own opinion, and so they separated.

"It's a strange race, those poets!" said the clerk, who was very fond of
soliloquizing. "I should like some day, just for a trial, to take such nature
upon me, and be a poet myself; I am very sure I should make no such miserable
verses as the others. Today, methinks, is a most delicious day for a poet.

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