One comes only to a settled state, which
permits even a kind of enjoyment, when all
is done with hope. Accepting, then, the
years of solitude as perfectly inevitable, one
must consider how to pass them, how to
keep oneself amused and occupied.
Recollections of the past will very soon be
exhausted as a means of killing time.
Sometimes, however, one is not disposed for any
other thing. In such a frame of mind, I
wrote down more than four hundred names
of young men who had been with me in the
cadet-house, and was absorbed in this
occupation for several weeks. Very often I rose
in the midst of the night to write down with
chalk any name which I had been endeavouring
for days to recollect. This will only
do for a short time; and one must needs try to
create little joys where great ones are
denied.

In our courtyard were many interesting
and important things; there were flowers,
birds, mice. I love flowers, but I am not
quite so sentimental with them as the
prisoner in Picciola; I was more attracted by
the little mice which played beneath the
wood piled for a long time round our walking
yards; or by the birds. There were lodged a
host of sparrows under the roof of the house,
and in spring time one could see the young
married couples sitting upon the gutter.
Where another gutter branched off the rent
must have been dearer, I suppose, for
there I saw always quite respectable-looking,
fat sparrow gentlemen, enjoying the shadow
of a little Semiramis garden, owing its
existence to some earthy stuff that came
down from the roof, to which the seed,
probably, had been carried by the sparrows
themselves.

It was prohibited to give bread to the
sparrows, but I did not care about such
things; and, hungry as I was, always allowed
them the whole crumb of my small white
slice. They knew me very well, my visor
notwithstanding. They watched my coming;
and, as soon as I stepped out of the door, flew
round about me, and begged for their food.
When they missed me, and sat upon the roof,
I only signed to them with my hand, and
down came the whole army in the greatest
hurry. They came almost sitting upon my
feet, and would have been much tamer but
for some prisoners, who could not forbear
trying to catch or to kill them! When they
had little ones, they led them into my yard,
and the whole family came close to my feet,
the young things fluttering, and with wide
open yellow beaks, and the parents slily
looking at me, and catching the soft
crumbs with which they could feed their
little ones without any other preparation.
My sparrows were the wonder of all the
overseers.

And we had not only sparrows, but
redtails and wagtails also. The latter I loved
very much, and observed once a little scene
performed by wagtails which I cannot forbear
telling. Had Shakspeare seen it, he would
never have used the word wagtail as a
byword for that cowardly fellow cudgelled by
brave Kent.

For a long time I had noticed a poor cock
wagtail which had lost the half of a foot, and
could not run after the insects as his
comrades did, but must hobble slowly beneath
the edges of the flower-beds, to see what he
could catch. This poor invalid had an enemy
who pursued him everywhere. One day he
was attacked quite unexpectedly, and must
prepare for battle as well as he could. He
did so like a clever fellow, spreading out his
tail and wings, and supporting himself against
a piece of turf. The miserable aggressor stood
in the middle of the way, a few yards off, and
advanced step by step in the manner of a
fencer. He seemed much stronger than my
little friend, whose feathers were not smooth
at all, and who looked ill and weary. I was
indeed sorry for him, and considered whether
I should play the part of Fate or not, when
there came through the air, like a flash of
light, another male bird, which, with shrieking
and with a fury I never had expected
of a wagtail, charged the dastardly ruffian,
put him speedily to flight, and followed in
pursuit. I could not see how he plucked
him, but it did me good to think that he
was giving him a lesson. After some time,
my doughty knight came back; and it was
pretty to see with how much care he
examined his weak friend, to see whether he
had been hurt.

I had been told that several of the
prisoners had in their cells sparrows, or a mouse,
and I wished also to have a comrade in my
solitude. Myself a prisoner, I would not
have a free bird of the woods, but a canary
bird, which never had known freedom, and
was more able to breathe the air in our
rooms. After much ado, I obtained leave
to keep a canary bird. The brother of my
wife brought me one from Frankfort. Of
course I was very anxious to possess my
little friend, but the bird was kept in the
office more than a day, because the administrator
(in the director's absence) had
discovered that he was a male bird, and very likely
to sing, which would be very much against
the "seriousness of the place."

They had sent me, indeed, the finest bird
they could find; his song was not so quavering
as that of many other canary birds, but
very sweet and soft, and mixed with notes of
nightingales and other birds, which had been
his companions. Used to company, he felt
himself lonely in my cell, and became very
tame. He ate from my hand, and often sat
down upon my shoulder or upon the edge
of my book when I was reading—to sing
there.

Winter set in, and with it came the usual
killing sirocco into my cell. My little bird
began to ail, and soon ceased singing. The