To-day I received the first money that I ever earned by the work of my hands. Uncle Peter counted it out to me on the table. He refuses paper money. Nothing but silver will satisfy him. "Ready money smiles," said he, with a laugh in which I could not help joining. How small are these gains, and yet how encouraging. I have earned them. All my life long, I have merely enjoyed what others have offered me. It was a privilege, inherited from my ancestors, that others should labor for me.
I can now manage to pay Walpurga something for my support. She refused to receive pay, but I shall insist upon it.
It is well that my employment is, to a great extent, a mechanical one, comprising much which is necessary and requires neither reflection nor contrivance. Certain things must be done, and there is but one way of doing them. If I were obliged to do anything that required great mental exertion, it would be the death of me.
It is now four months since I came here.
My hands have become hardened.
The treatment I receive from those about me, satisfies me that their affection for me is sincere.
If one could only always remain the same--that is, in the full possession of one's powers.