"_Woglinde_: Only he who renounces the might of love and drives the joy of it away, obtains the magic power of moulding the gold into a ring. "_Wellgunde_: Well then, we are safe and free of care, for all that live loves. Love none can avoid. "_Woglinde_: Least of all he,--the amorous imp. * * * * * "_Alberich_ (stretching his hand after the gold): I tear the gold from the cleft and forge the avenging ring, for--let the stream hear it!--I curse love!" _May_ 12_th_.--With dull resignation I have for five months drunk coffee made of chicory without complaining. I wanted to see if there was any limit to the enterprising spirit of the dishonest woman who makes my morning coffee. For five months I have suffered, now I will for once enjoy the divine drink with the intoxicating aroma. For this purpose I buy a pound of the dearest coffee in the middle of the day. In the evening I read in Sar Peladan's _L'Androgyn_e, p. 107, the following anecdote of an old missionary: "At the end of a missionary journey, during an important sermon, I am struck with powerlessness as soon as I have pronounced the words 'my brothers,'--not a thought in my brain, not a word on my lips. 'Holy Virgin!' I prayed secretly, 'I have only retained one weakness, my cup of coffee, I offer it up to Thee.' Immediately my elasticity of mind returned, I outdid myself and benefited many souls." What a rôle coffee has played in my family as a disturber of domestic peace! I am ashamed to think of it, all the more as a happy result does not depend on goodwill or cleverness, but on circumstances out of our control. Accordingly to-morrow I shall have the greatest enjoyment or the greatest chagrin. _May_ 13_th_.--The woman has made the most horrible coffee imaginable. I sacrifice it to the Powers, and henceforth drink chocolate without murmuring. _May_ 26_th_.--Excursion to the beech-wood. Some hundreds of young people have collected there. They sing melodies belonging to the time when I was young, thirty years ago. They play the games and dance the dances of my youth. Melancholy overcomes me, and suddenly my whole past life unrolls before the eyes of my spirit. I can survey the path I have traversed, and feel dazzled. Yes, it will soon end; I am old, and the path descends to the grave. I cannot restrain my tears,--I am old.