whose sins were so atrociously heavy. The second edition of the tale, however, for a wonder, varied but little from the first; and the only additional fact of any moment, was, that on the very morrow a grave question was to be decided at the Rasphaus, arising out of the marvellous events whereof we were discoursing.

The matter in dispute was touching the ownership of that identical and glorious Meershaum which had once adorned the diminutive person of the sorcerer, and which was now claimed by the Burgomasters, by virtue of a donation from the unknown accuser. He had disappeared; but at the door of the Council Hall was found a paper, supposed to have been written by him in the last moments of his abiding at Coblentz, which bequeathed the pipe unto the Burgomasters of the town, and their successors for ever. But the careless watchman relied upon those nine points of the law, which, by immemorial custom, were decidedly in his favour, and with the most audacious pertinacity refused to surrender his envied prize. The next morning, as mine host informed me, the contumacious possessor was to be brought before his antagonists, who being both claimants and judges, there could be no great doubt as to the result.

My tale draws to its conclusion. Upon the

morrow, as the great clock in the Sprandenberg church struck ten, I entered the Council Chamber of the Rasphaus of Coblentz. The Burgomasters were already assembled; as were also at least one half of the population of Coblentz. In the centre of the chamber stood the recusant, and with a firm and resolute grasp he held the disputed Meershaum. But, Shade of my revered Progenitor! what was my astonishment at beholding in the contested prize, that very pipe, which, as a last best gift, thou didst bestow on me, thy namesake, as yet unborn! That very pipe of real Meershaum, with its cover of fine wrought gold, and mouth-piece of the purest amber, which thou didst receive in grateful acknowledgment from the great Dutch merchant of Rotterdam, whose life thou didst preserve, when he was on the point of being choked with one of his own nutmegs! I advanced before the Burgomasters and claimed my property. My feelings were wrought up to such a height that I had not even time to wonder how my invaluable pipe had thus wandered from my long deserted domicile on the banks of the lovely Mohawk, to be restored to me on those of the majestic Rhine. I demanded justice, and the restitution of my Meershaum, and the Burgomasters stared more than ever. I advanced for proof of my

rights, the initials of my renowned ancestor and namesake F.. carved in antique characters upon the golden cover of my pipe, but the Burgomasters shook their heads, and inquired of me if I had not heard how the Meershaum was brought to the town of Coblentz. I assured them that they, and the obstinate watchman, and the people, all had been dreaming; and—but I need not detail the arguments by which I prevailed upon the possessor of my precious heirloom, to give it up into my hands-nor the wrath of the disappointed Burgomasters. My triumph was complete.

In the course of years, I returned to my pleasant dwelling on the banks of the clear Mohawk. I never told the wild and incredible story connected with my recovered Meershaum: for I am sensitive upon the subject of my character for veracity; and in fact I had myself begun to look upon it only as a dream;—I am much given to dreaming;—and the doubts and strange misgivings which used to haunt me when I thought upon Coblentz, and the miraculous events which had happened there, ceased to perplex my mind. I was comfortable in the conviction that it was but a dream.

A few months after my return, I had occasion to open one of the drawers of my old ebony

72

THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF COBLENTZ.

my

cabinet, which had been locked for many years: at its very bottom I found my pipe-the gift of dead ancestor; the fac-simile of that which I had so long smoked, and which was so intimately connected with the unheard-of story of the little old man of Coblentz; and my doubts and misgivings were more frequent, and more perplexing than ever. I could hope that the whole story was a vision, but for that superfluous and unaccountable duplicate Meershaum.

TO THE PAST.

THOU unrelenting PAST!

Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain;
And fetters sure and fast,

Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn,
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,
And glorious ages gone,

Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

Childhood, with all its mirth,

Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us towards the ground

And last-man's Life on earth
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my better years:

Thou hast my early friends-the good-the kind-
Yielded to thee with tears-

The venerable form-the exalted mind.

H