Stra. Leave me to myself!
[Throws himself on a seat; takes from his pocket "Zimmerman on Solitude," and reads.
Fra. [Aside, surveying him.] Again reading! Thus it is from morn to night. To him nature has no beauty; life, no charm. For three years I have never seen him smile. What will be his fate at last? Nothing diverts him. Oh, if he would but attach himself to any living thing! Were it an animal—for something man must love.
Enter Tobias, from the Hut.
Tob. Oh! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sun beams once again! Thanks! thanks! bounteous Heaven, for the joy I taste.
[Presses his cap between his hands, looks up and prays.—The Stranger observes him attentively.
Fra. [To the Stranger.] This old man's share of earthly happiness can be but little; yet mark how grateful he is for his portion of it.
Stra. Because, though old, he is but a child in the leading strings of Hope.
Fra. Hope is the nurse of life.
Stra. And her cradle is the grave.