he sighed, "Imust have a tendency to softening of the brain, and here it is soexceedingly hot that the blood is rushing to my head." And thensuddenly recurred to him the strange event of the evening before, whenhis head had been fixed between the iron railings in front of thehospital. "That is the cause of it all!" he exclaimed, "I must dosomething in time. A Russian bath would be a very good thing tobegin with. I wish I were lying on one of the highest shelves." Sureenough, there he lay on an upper shelf of a vapor bath, still in hisevening costume, with his boots and goloshes on, and the hot dropsfrom the ceiling falling on his face. "Ho!" he cried, jumping down andrushing towards the plunging bath. The attendant stopped him with aloud cry, when he saw a man with all his clothes on. The volunteerhad, however, presence of mind enough to whisper, "It is for a wager;"but the first thing he did, when he reached his own room, was to put alarge blister on his neck, and another on his back, that his crazy fitmight be cured. The next morning his back was very sore, which was allhe gained by the goloshes of Fortune.
  THE CLERK'S TRANSFORMATION
  The watchman, whom we of course have not forgotten, thought, aftera while, of the goloshes which he had found and taken to the hospital;so he went and fetched them. But neither the lieutenant nor any one inthe street could recognize them as their own, so he gave them up tothe police. "They look exactly like my own goloshes," said one ofthe clerks, examining the unknown articles, as they stood by theside of his own. "It would require even more than the eye of ashoemaker to know one pair from the other."
  "Master clerk," said a servant who entered with some papers. Theclerk turned and spoke to the man; but when he had done with him, heturned to look at the goloshes again, and now he was in greaterdoubt than ever as to whether the pair on the right or on the leftbelonged to him. "Those that are wet must be mine," thought he; but hethought wrong, it was just the reverse. The goloshes of Fortune werethe wet pair; and, besides, why should not a clerk in a policeoffice be wrong sometimes? So he drew them on, thrust his papersinto his pocket, placed a few manuscripts under his arm, which hehad to take with him, and to make abstracts from at home. Then, asit was Sunday morning and the weather very fine, he said to himself,"A walk to Fredericksburg will do me good:" so away he went.
  There could not be a quieter or more steady young man than thisclerk. We will not grudge him this little walk, it was just thething to do him good after sitting so much. He went on at first like amere automaton, without thought or wish; therefore the goloshes had noopportunity to display their magic power. In the avenue he met with anacquaintance, one of our young poets, who told him that he intended tostart on the following day on a summer excursion. "Are you reallygoing away so soon?" asked the clerk. "What a free, happy man you are.You can roam about where you will, while such as we are tied by thefoot."
  "But it is fastened to the bread-tree," replied the poet. "Youneed have no anxiety for the morrow; and when you are old there is apension for you."
  "Ah, yes; but you have the best of it," said the clerk; "it mustbe so delightful to sit and write poetry. The whole world makes itselfagreeable to you, and then you are your own master. You should try howyou would like to listen to all the trivial things in a court ofjustice." The poet shook his head, so also did the clerk; eachretained his own opinion, and so they parted. "They are strangepeople, these poets," thought the clerk. "I should like to try what itis to have a poetic taste, and to become a poet myself. I am sure Ishould not write such mournful verses as they do. This is a splendidspring day for a poet, the air is so remarkably clear, the cloudsare so beautiful, and the green grass has such a sweet smell. For manyyears I have not felt as I do at this moment."
  We perceive, by these remarks, that he had already become apoet. By most poets what he had said would be considered common-place,or as the Germans call it, "insipid." It is a foolish fancy to lookupon poets as different to other men. There are many who are morethe poets of nature than those who are professed poets. The differenceis this, the poet's intellectual memory is better; he seizes upon anidea or a sentiment, until he can embody it, clearly and plainly inwords, which the others cannot do. But the transition from a characterof every-day life to one of a more gifted nature is a greattransition; and so the clerk became aware of the change after atime. "What a delightful perfume," said he; "it reminds me of theviolets at Aunt Lora's. Ah, that was when I was a little boy. Dear me,how long it seems since I thought of those days!