About half a year from this event had flown away. The complaints of the country people in the neighbourhood of Fulda, of the oppressions of the robber band, had ceased. But from time to time it undertook greater exploits, with such calculation and astonishing boldness, as testified the new spirit that was come amongst them since they were led by the Black Peter. The real name of Peter Schwartzkopf, from which this was derived, was not recognised. The former student, of whom people had so often read in the newspapers, was believed to be dead, or to have fallen into the hands of the recruiting officer, and to serve in foreign lands. The captain, however, was known as the Black Peter, from two other causes. He always wore a black mask; and he had never been seen otherwise than riding on a black horse. The inquietudes of the war had hitherto made impossible any earnest attempt to put down those disturbers of the public security; and this was rendered the more difficult as the band never lingered long in one and the same place, but, immediately after the perpetration of some bold deed, vanished from their haunt, and exchanged it for the Bergstra.s.se, or the country of the Main.

Already the storm of war had retired many weeks from the neighbourhood of Fulda, and the robber band appeared also to have left the country, perhaps out of fear of a more vehement pursuit. The inhabitants of the little city of Schluchten rejoiced themselves in the prospect of the enjoyment of a more refreshing rest than they had for a long time been favoured with.

One afternoon a heavily loaded travelling-carriage rolled slowly into the city, and aroused universal attention as it drew up before the Gasthaus Zum-Stern. A swarm of lounging Bauers collected about it, and out of every window peered curious countenances. But how much greater was the astonishment as the people learned from the coachman and valet, who, both of them clad in military costume, looked, in their mustaches, most formidable fellows, that their master, a Graf of high standing, had been attacked on the way by robbers, and now lay severely wounded in the carriage; and that they only owed their escape and life to the fortunate interposition of a patrol party belonging to the Graf's own regiment.

At this intelligence the whole city was thrown into an uproar, and not the least the landlord of the Star, who with his loud and eager orders for the proper care of the n.o.ble gentleman, made the heads of all his people dizzy. The stranger Graf was finally lifted out of the carriage by his servants, aided by some of the others. He was a tall, stately man, pale with the loss of blood; his eyes were closed, and many deep wounds in the head were only rudely and hastily bound up. While he was carried to his bed and given into the care of the surgeon, who was called in, the Amtmann was hastily sent for; and, from the statements of the coachman, who caused at the same time his own arm-wounds to be bound up, dictated to his clerk a long protocol. The whole police corps, with an addition of some armed Bauers, immediately set out in pursuit of the robbers, without, however, being able to discover the least trace of them.

In the meantime the stranger lay in the most frightful delirium. The servants forbade any one, besides the surgeon, from entering the room; such, they said, being the orders of their lord. The surgeon wondered sometimes at the fearful phantoms that haunted the imagination of the strange n.o.bleman, which the servants calmly remarked proceeded entirely from the last battle, and from the attack of the robbers.

For some days the Graf hovered between life and death, but shortly a decided improvement manifested itself in him; and after many weeks he was so far recovered, as to be able to receive the visits of the first people of the place, who anxiously desired to make the acquaintance of so distinguished a personage; and indeed, shortly afterwards, to return them. He styled himself Graf Pappenheim; gave out that he was a native of the north of Germany, and had quitted his regiment on account of a difference with his superior officer, and was about to retire to his estate. He possessed a great partiality for Hesse, as his mother was a native of that state, whence he himself had a Hessian accent in his speech, which was strong enough to strike the ear of the people. In short, the Graf was a most genteel man in society, had the most agreeable manners, and was soon a favourite in all the circles of the little city. When the Bauers had at first seen the many heavy chests of the stranger, they said, "he is a rich man, the Graf;" and said they again, with one accord, as they saw him first ride out on a black horse, purchased of the Chief Forest-master, "he is a very handsome man, the Graf."

The Graf brought a new life into the little city; he was the soul of all companies, and himself gave the finest entertainments in the Star; in short, he had always something new with which to entertain society.

He treated every one with the most condescending courtesy, but above all the lovely daughter of the Chief Forest-master, who was not a little envied on that account by the other ladies. As it now one day became known that the Graf had proposed for the Forester's lovely daughter, and contemplated buying an estate for himself in the neighbourhood for his future abode, many of the young ladies made truly a sour face; but all said, "We have long thought that," and hastened to present to the young lady their congratulations.

The marriage was immediately afterwards celebrated at the new castle of the Graf, with the greatest eclat. About five miles from the city lay, in the midst of a wood--a former hunting castle of the prince--a wide-stretching building. This the Graf had recently purchased. The Chief Forest-master thought indeed the castle much too solitary, and of too great an extent; but his son-in-law quieted him on that head, with the prospect of the n.o.ble hunting which they could here enjoy together.

That the carriage was always at the command of his wife, and he hoped constantly to have company from the city with him. The extensive accommodation was, moreover, very convenient to him, as, on account of the not yet perfectly restored security of the country, he should send home for the greater part of his servants to attend him here. And it was not long, in fact, before the rooms of the castle were filled with about a score of fresh servants. They were altogether strong, wild-looking fellows; and the Graf said that he had selected these expressly, because people yet, here and there, talked of the robber band; and it was possible that they might some day attempt an attack on his house or property. It was the more necessary for him to do this, as he was himself a restless spirit, and could not live without now and then making a little expedition. But this he could not do unless he felt at the same time that he left his house in perfect security.

The people in the city considered this all very reasonable, and conceived a still greater opinion of the affluence of the Graf, who was able to maintain so great an establishment. The Forest-master's daughter lived with her husband in the happiest manner; and when he sometimes, accompanied by some of his servants, made a little excursion into the country round, she invited always some of her friends from the city, and never sent them back without the most beautiful gifts. The Grafin, indeed, wondered with herself, that her husband, who otherwise gratified all her desires the moment they were uttered, never took her with him on these little excursions; but she loved him too well to chagrin him by pressing entreaties. The winter was now come, and yet the excursions of the Graf did not cease. They were it is true, more seldom, but they often stretched themselves into weeks; and the young wife frequently felt herself excessively solitary when she, with her maid, the only other female who was in the castle, sate in the large room, and the wind without shook the naked branches of the trees fearfully.

During this period the vicinity was not at all disturbed by the robber band, notwithstanding the repeated accounts of housebreaking and highway robberies in the countries of the Main and the Neckar. The Graf seemed almost totally at ease on that subject, for he often took with him all the servants, with the exception of two or three, in his journeys. The young wife made many reflections on this strange conduct of her husband, who always so suddenly resolved on these marches; yes, sometimes even was awoke by a servant in the night, and at once went forth numerously accompanied. It also struck her that many of the presents which he brought her were clearly not new; and if she asked him the cause of it, he told her that they had been sent for by him from his native seat, and that he had been in a neighbouring city to fetch them.

In that part of the castle in which the servants resided, was a room which was always closed to the women, as there, the Graf said, were preserved family doc.u.ments of the highest importance, to which none but himself must have access. Strange did it seem when Lisette, the chambermaid, a.s.serted to her lady, that she had often seen one of the servants in that room with her lord; and the Grafin was equally annoyed at the familiarity between master and servants, when the Graf, till late in the night, in one of the rooms appertaining to the servants, was accustomed to talk and drink with them. "They are true souls," said he, "who have been brought up with me, and I must be good to them, as I have caused them to come into a country so strange to them."

All this, and the relations of Lisette, who, amongst other things, a.s.serted that she had seen the Graf, on his entering the house, take off a black mask, disturbed the poor lady in the highest degree, and she resolved at last to throw light on the mystery, let it cost what it would, but till then to conceal her anxiety from her relations.

One evening, as she heard the Graf and his followers come riding in, she hastened quickly into the neighbourhood of the suspected room, into which her husband was accustomed always to go first, and concealed herself in an unused fireplace. With beating heart she saw the Graf enter with two servants. With light steps she approached the mysterious door and listened. What she then heard was sufficient to inform her of her dreadful fate. The Graf, and the notorious robber-captain, the Black Peter, were one and the same person. Near to fainting, the unhappy wife glided away to her own room. Soon after the Graf appeared, and expressed his regret that, on account of family intelligence which he had received, he must yet ride out again this night, but would be back by break of day.

Scarcely had the Graf and his troop ridden away, when the poor wife called her maid, communicated to her the dreadful truth, and both determined on instant flight. They left the lights burning in the chamber, and stole silently down into a room below. Happily the one robber whom they had left behind, was yet within the mysterious chamber. They escaped through the window, and made directly for the nearest way to the Forest-master's house. Like two alarmed roes they hastened on through the night, and often shrunk together when the moon lighted up a distant tree, so that they fancied one of the robbers stood behind it. Continually looking round to see that no one was pursuing them, they at length came distantly into view of the Forest-master's house. Their anguish became almost insupportable when so near the goal; they thought to themselves they might yet be overtaken. At last they reached the house, full of joy that they yet saw a light in the room of the Chief Forest-master. He rose up in amaze, when he heard a knocking at so late an hour; but how much greater was his astonishment as his daughter flew to him, and sunk breathless in his arms.

As soon as the old man was able from his exhausted daughter to learn the cause of her thus wandering in the night, his wrath burnt fiercely at the false son-in-law. He called up his huntsmen: the Bauers in the little city were armed, and with all possible speed they set out for the wood castle. But the robber had vanished with the mysteries of the closed chamber. It was empty. All the other rooms were still just in the state that the fugitives had left them, but gold there was none to find.

The next day, the castle was surrounded by soldiers that were sent out from Fulda, but the robbers had evacuated the country, and came not again. After many vain attempts, it occurred at last that one of the robbers was seized on the Bergstra.s.se. This led to further discoveries; and finally, they had the good fortune to take prisoner the captain himself. He was confined over the Manheimer Gate in Heidelberg, and was to be delivered over to the Hessian authorities, when he escaped in a most extraordinary manner out of his prison, but was speedily recaptured. After an examination, in which he was hard pressed without their being able to bring any confession from him, he was dismissed at eight o'clock in the evening. At half past nine o'clock the same evening, the gaoler announced to the magistrate who had presided on the inquiry that the Black Peter had escaped from his confinement. The watch had shot at him, but had missed him.

It was found that, without any negligence on the part of his keepers, he had got out in a scarcely imaginable manner, in his shirt only. He had taken the whole of the circular window of his prison with its frame out. By means of a sharp holdfast, with which the frame of the window had been secured, he had broken the two new and good locks of the chain with which he was chained crossways; taken off the chains; torn up his bedclothes, and twisted them into a rope-ladder, from ten to twelve feet long, and had slipped through the wonderfully narrow opening of the strong window-shutters, which, by proof made there and then, would admit the pa.s.sage of no other head. When he had reached the bottom of his rope he had still nine or ten feet to drop to the earth; and the shot, which was instantly fired at him, pa.s.sed close to him.

Immediately on his escape be sprung into the neighbouring Neckar, and concealed himself under the floor of a swimming-school, which was erected on a boat, where he continued many hours up to the mouth in water. He saw the pursuers on both banks of the Neckar, and in the swimming-school itself. It was not till after midnight that he attempted to wade through the Neckar, which, luckily for him, was then very low; but he had not reached the other bank of the river when he became aware of the watchers placed there also. He continued yet for a long time sitting on a rock in the middle of the flood. Finally, he made another attempt, reached the bank, sprang up it, and by a rapid and breathless flight succeeded in reaching, in spite of all the straining efforts of his pursuers, the hills and the woods.

In order to make his appearance in the wood the less striking to people that he might happen to meet, he slipped his legs through the sleeves of the shirt, and held the lower part of the shirt about his neck with his hands. He thus ran on to a great distance. He met two Bauers in the woods, to whom he feigned himself crazed and dumb, and begged of them by signs, and was so lucky as not only not to be seized, but to obtain an alms from them, with the pity of the givers. With this alms he purchased some bread at a solitary mill in the mountain. The people inquired the cause of his singular dress, or rather want of it; and he invented a lie which answered his purpose. He fled still farther; till, at evening, he was arrested by some Bauers of less easy faith, and who had already became apprised of his flight, and the reward offered for his recapture. He was brought back to his prison, and soon afterwards delivered over to the Hessians, and confined in a high tower. But even from this he effected his escape in the most ingenious manner possible.

One morning, the sentinel who was on duty at the foot of the tower looking up, observed a hole worked in the wall, from which a tolerably long rope hung. He immediately and with all speed gave intelligence of the circ.u.mstance to the police officers. All hastened up into the tower, and saw with amazement a hole made through the wall, of the width of a man's body of ordinary size. Into the wall, a piece of iron, part of the broken chain, was driven, and to this the rope was fastened; the rope itself was made from the torn up cover and tick of the prisoner's straw bed.

They could not sufficiently wonder how a man could pa.s.s through such a hole; how he could trust himself at such a terrific height to such a brittle rope; and how he could by any possibility, when he reached the end of this rope, the length of which was insignificant in comparison with the height of the tower, drop to the ground without certain destruction.

While they were thus lost in these wonders, the prisoner, who all the time was in the room concealed under the straw taken out of his bed and heaped up behind the door, crept silently out, pa.s.sed the open standing door un.o.bserved, descended the stairs, and completely effected his escape.

He lived afterwards in various places and by various means; and on the breaking out of the war, enlisted for a soldier. The Battle of Waterloo, which cost so many honourable men their lives, ended also his.

"And his former wife?" asked Hoffmann.

"She soon died of grief, or, as they say in England, of a broken heart."

THE STUDENT STARK.

After a short pause, Freisleben addressed himself to the telling of his story: and for that purpose drew forth a letter. After he had seen that the company were supplied with glee-wine, he said--

We have had enough of evil and evil deeds, and it may, therefore, be permitted me to relate something out of the life of a good man; namely, out of the life of my friend Stark, whom you have become acquainted with in his pa.s.sing through here lately, face to face.

His father was the pastor of the village of Greenwiesel, and had, as is only too much the case with the country clergy, a very scanty income.

The boy received his first instruction in the Folks'-school of the place, and afterwards from his father, who, being an industrious man, contrived to spare so much time from the duties of his office, as was necessary to the due progress of his son. Private teachers he could not afford, nor the expense of his maintenance in a neighbouring town, so that he might attend the Gymnasium there. This was only an advantage to Stark, as he could not easily have enjoyed an education which was at once so well grounded, and so free from all pedantry, as that which his father gave him. An old officer who had long spent his pension in the village, and was a friend of the pastor's, spared no pains to instruct him in the mathematics, which he loved above all things. But the scholar listened with still more delight to his instructor when he talked to him of the armies in which he had served, and of the battles in which he had been engaged against the French. The intercourse with the old officer, and the books which he put into his hands, contributed not a little to inflame the boy's enthusiasm for liberty and Fatherland. With avidity he devoured the German history of Kohlrousch, and was accustomed then to rush forth into the wood, in order that he might stretch himself under the German oak, and felt altogether as German should. Nowhere was he so delighted to be, as abroad amid G.o.d's free nature; and as the other boys of the village could not understand his internal feelings and impulses, he was thus daily accustomed to roam about alone, which occasioned him many a reproof from his father.

If it was fine weather, he used to take out his Tacitus with him, his favourite author, or he recited with a loud voice a pa.s.sage from Ossian, of which the old officer had given him a German translation.

Nothing, however, gave him greater pleasure than to battle with the winds; and the more it thundered and lightened, the more drenchingly poured down the rain, the more exulting was his feeling of the strength of his youth. When wet through, and looking wild, he returned home, his mother would clasp her hands in wonder at his foolishness, as she termed it. Yet she loved him extremely, as he on his part, above all things, loved his parents and his sister, and did every thing to please them that he could discern would be acceptable to them.

The first bitter tears that he shed, and bitter ones indeed they were, was when his old friend and instructor, the old officer, died. But a still greater misfortune soon befell him and his family. At the time that young Stark should have entered one of the higher cla.s.ses of the Gymnasium of a neighbouring town, the old pastor was seized with an apoplectic stroke, as he returned from preaching. His speedy death spared him the painful reflection, that he left a widow and two uneducated children helpless in the world. The family removed to the next town, and there hired a poor dwelling in a small side street. The young Stark, who attended the Gymnasium, felt, indeed, that he must consider himself as the head of the family, and must provide for it. He discharged his duty in the most exemplary manner. Besides that, he received his school instruction free, he also enjoyed a stipend which was awarded him in consequence of his having pa.s.sed a brilliant examination. It was very small indeed, but Stark knew how to circ.u.mscribe his wants. He laboured zealously, in order to advance as rapidly as possible, while at the same time he devoted every leisure hour to instruct a considerable number of boys in the city, in their elementary learning. With the united proceeds of this stipend and these labours he maintained his family; and thus, when he had toiled through the day as learner and teacher, the evening found him by his study-lamp, where he sate fixed till late in the night. But he was cheerful and contented. His strongly-grounded const.i.tution enabled him to support these exertions, and the glad consciousness of being able to stand independent, and to provide for the necessities of his mother, and of one dearly beloved sister, made sweet to him that monotonous life.

Another removal of the little family was necessary when the young man went to the High School. For the rest, his family continued to live after that removal as they had done before, and Stark pursued his studies with double diligence, in order yet better to maintain them.

His teachers in the university took an interest in the brave youth, and amongst the students he found congenial friends, who, more favoured by fortune, took a pleasure in procuring him many enjoyments of life, without touching too closely on the delicacy of his feelings. They visited him gladly in his modest room, where, besides the most necessary articles of furniture, there was nothing to be found but books, and some maps which he made use of in his studies, and which hung on the whitewashed walls. Yet was no one happier than he when he shared the frugal meal in the evening with his family, or with a friend chatted over a gla.s.s of beer and a pipe. He went very simply, but yet very neatly dressed. His tall, strong figure; that earnest, somewhat pale countenance, to which the slightly aquiline nose, the friendly, thoughtful eye, and a background of black whiskers, gave interest and effect, produced on the beholder a highly favourable impression. Every one with pleasure heard him speak, for his voice was strong and well-toned, his speech fluent, and when he became zealous, carried you irresistibly along with it. But when he sung, he affected every one.

His ba.s.s voice was, however, too powerful for a small room. It made every window vibrate, and was, indeed, a voice made to sing the songs of German freedom under the German oak.

Cruelly did fate startle him out of this monotonous yet quiet and happy life. A nervous fever which then raged, s.n.a.t.c.hed away his mother; and his only sister, who had been her true nurse on her sick bed, soon followed her. Stark was strongly bowed down by these severe losses. So much the more did he attach himself to a maiden, whom he had now known for some years, and to whom he had now been for half a year affianced.

The father of Emily, his promised bride, lived near the city. Emily had a very attractive person, was always merry and good-humoured, and possessed many good qualities; but was in the highest degree giddy and fickle. My friend would never admit the last characteristic. He was blind enough only to see in the maiden, n.o.ble and beautiful qualities, which he worshipped. But he came to be bitterly convinced to the contrary. A wealthy merchant's son, who just then was commencing business for himself, announced himself as a lover of Emily to her father. The father, although pleased with the proposal, yet gave his daughter free choice, and she was heartless enough to prefer the characterless, pretty, and glib-tongued merchant, to the poor Stark, who, since his recent trials, truly had become more grave, and might possibly have wearied her with many melancholy retrospections of his lost mother and sister. Emily shrunk from writing herself to my friend, but informed him, apparently in an unfeeling manner, through a third person, that the connexion must be broken off; and a.s.signed as reasons, besides some other unimportant things, that her father was favourable to the pretensions of the other lover, and had forbid her to hope for his consent to a union with Stark.

Her father, who through the whole affair conducted himself as an honourable man, answered a letter which my friend addressed to him.

This answer kept strictly to the truth; but at the same time expressed a wish that it might be the last; moreover, requesting the return of the letters of Emily. I will here communicate to you the letter which my friend wrote to the false one. He permitted me, as I was long the confidant of his attachment, and frequently the bearer of his letters, to take a copy of this, and also to show it to any good and tried friend. You may in it see the real nature of his character.

"Emily!--Thy father has requested me to renounce our verlobment; to break off the correspondence. I had already written to give him this a.s.surance, but he had not the goodness to receive the letter.

Consequently I have not given it him, and his will is for me no unconditional law.

"But thou appearest to be of the same mind, and thy wishes shall be sacred to me till my last breath. Fear not that I will embarra.s.s thee with further importunities: only I cannot deny myself the melancholy pleasure, once more, in this last letter, to speak to thee from my heart. I will justify myself to thee, justify thou also thyself to thyself. My heart shall and must be silent: I have cause to fear that its language will no longer be understood; and I will not desecrate its sensibilities. It has for some time been my employment to read over again all thy letters with a bitter feeling. It is as if the lovely deception yet still played round my heart; as if it could not awake out of the sweet dream. I know many kinds of doubts, but none gives such a scorpion sting as the doubt with which thou hast inspired me. I have been happy,--happy in my vain belief! and I thank thee for it. Thou mayst be proud;--no other woman has made me so happy as thou. Thou mayst be very proud;--none can henceforward make me happy. Thou bringest me back to my old philosophy respecting the fair s.e.x, and indeed at the right time.

"Emily, thou hast not dealt n.o.bly, not honestly, with me, not wisely with thyself. Why hast thou not told me the truth? Thinkest thou that I shun the truth, even when it strikes me to the earth? I observed thy change immediately with the holiday. I ran to and fro, full of anguish, like one possessed. No greeting came from thee--no affectionate inquiry--no question after a letter, which I had, in fact, written seven times and tore again to pieces. My spirit was on the rack. Then informed me, Neuburg, that the connexion must cease; that thou wished it--thou! who only a fortnight before, sent me the most sacred protestations! Thy father had taken away all hope from thee; had menaced thee with his curse!

"Of all this nothing was true, as I learned from thy father's letter.

What course, thinkest thou, then was left me to pursue in accordance with my character, but to write to thy father directly, as from thy messenger I must understand that he knew all. Hadst thou but said the truth to me, I should, after a short struggle, have returned every thing to thee.

"Thou complainest of my pride, and takest great pains to humble me.

Perhaps thou mayst succeed; perhaps not. Thy father will receive no further letter from me; thy mother, none; thou thyself perhaps, none.

That cannot humiliate me. I find my conduct tolerably consistent,--as consistent as a man in my state of mind can be.

"What shall I now do? It was thy desire,--thine, and thine only to break off. Thou wouldst have spared me, and thyself, and thy parents, many painful feelings, if thou hadst acted with somewhat more consideration. It seems as if thou hadst made it thy pleasure to wind up my sensibilities to such a height, in order then to make me feel my nothingness. Thou hast succeeded. The maiden who, but shortly before, hung on my neck, and prayed a.s.surances of my truth, has now not once the courage to say that she loves me. I am too serious for gallantry; and thou hast wofully erred, if thou hast cla.s.sed me amongst such men.

It seems we have neither of us known each other, and need therefore make no complaints of each other. That I have disturbed thy peace, forgive me. That thou hast created in me so many beautiful hopes, only again to destroy them; that through thee my joys are dashed to the ground, that will I forgive thee; lament my simplicity, and again cla.s.s thee amongst the ordinary crowd of maidens.

"Could I but do that, Emily, I should yet be happy enough. My seriousness has not pleased thee; and, in order to cure it, thou hast poured bitterness into it. I complain not of thy parents; they act according to their notions of duty; but how thou actest according to thy conception of duty, I cannot perceive. Thou hast neither acted towards thy father nor towards me as thou shouldst. The reasons which thy father gives are valid enough, as thou givest weight to them; but one thing more than all has struck me--it is called the fickleness of women.

"Thy father does thee justice. Emily, thou shouldst have been honest with me. I am not the man that will abuse the tender heart of a maiden.

I challenge thee to speak the truth. Have I not been open-hearted with thee? Have I stolen thy affections? My whole soul hangs yet on thee, and never will it be able to loose itself from thee. If thou wert unworthy of me, would I weep and lament over thee? Tell me then candidly thy desires, and trust me that I have generosity enough to satisfy them all, even if it cost me my life. Thou canst charge nothing upon my honour. Thou would long ago have had thy letters, if thy father had not demanded them. He shall not receive them, but he shall read them if he desires it, for his own satisfaction and thy justification.

Hast thou written any thing that thou art ashamed to acknowledge? Hast thou cause for shame? Then are we both to be pitied; thy father and I, and thou most of all. Then shall they, to extinguish all mistrust, be destroyed in thy presence. If I am reluctant to come into thy father's presence, yet I will not be ashamed before him. I am wont to compel respect, if indeed I can acquire no attachment. I can well imagine how many disadvantageous things people will tell thee at my expense. If thou canst believe them without examination, then, indeed, have I expended on thee every sentiment of my heart in vain. I pity thee in all my misery far more than myself, since I shall probably so long as I live continue a living reproof to thee. My conduct will be thy punishment. I a.s.sure thee, love, that I shall never lose thee out of my soul. I have with no other maiden stood in a nearer relationship. Thou art the only one that has firmly fixed herself in my heart. Go whither thou wilt, I shall bear thee with me to the grave. Thirty years hence thou wilt most probably hear from me exactly the same tone, if thou art by any circ.u.mstance reminded of me.