A Visitor

An elderly burgher from a neighbouring village paid us a morning visit in his one-horse chaise. He moved with great difficulty and remained stooped throughout his stay with his head parallel to the ground. He informed me that he was looking forward to attending my next soiree and I promised him an invitation in the following post. Since then, a month has passed and he has not come again. I feared the worst and enquired through a mutual friend if he was ill. ‘Oh no,’ said she, ‘not ill, but too old for a single-horse chaise. Our friend is a half bent sausage with the pain of his chair and yet out of a desire NOT to look old, he refuses to wear his spectacles and cannot see the ruts on the road, feeling every solitary bump on the shortest trip.’
Her words set me thinking I am blessed to know those who are willing to make the six-hour journey from Salzburg. N.