On, on,—we leave the future to the Grey Man,

   Careless about the world,—our hearts shall blend

   In firmer, stronger union—come away, man!

   We shall glide fast and faster towards life’s end.

   Aye! let them smile or scorn, for all they say, man,

   The tempests will be still’d that shake the deep,

   And we in part sleep our untroubled sleep.

   ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.

    Berlin

   ,

    August

   , 1834.

   You forget nobody, and surely you must remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom you now and then met at my house in former days; a long-shanked fellow, who had the credit of awkwardness because he was unpolished, and whose negligence gave him an air of habitual laziness. I loved him—you cannot have forgotten, Edward, how often, in the spring-time of our youth, he was the subject of our rhymes. Once I recollect introducing him to a poetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, even without waiting to hear anything read. And that brings to my mind a witty thing you said about him; you had often seen him, heaven knows where and when, in an old

   black

    kurtka

   ,

    [20]

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