'GOD'S PEACE.'
ISo I am really leaving the capital! For the last fifteen years the town has held me close. Like a vile harlot she has made me believe I could not possibly live without her poisonous, perfumed air, her luxurious leisure. I was caught in a web of a thousand threads, and I believed I was caught for good and all. In a vague way I even believed the town could not do without me. Had I not during the past years become a necessary joint in its big machinery? Did not everybody consider me part and parcel of the town, of its ever-changing life, now joyful, now mournful? My voice was heard in important discussions. I had gradually become a much sought-after helper and adviser. I was considered a trustworthy friend and an enemy to be counted with. How tired I often felt, as worn-out as an old cab horse that must be driven by the lash, but which would much prefer to fall flat in the road, to lie there quietly waiting for death and rest.
Yes, I am tired to death. Tired of pleasure and of work, tired of always having to take sides, now with this, now with that, tired of defending and
