as his coat,” so little opinion had you of him. I loved him, however:  and to this very Schlemihl, of whom for many years I had wholly lost sight, I am indebted for the little volume which I communicate to you, Edward, my most intimate friend, my second self, from whom I have no secrets;—­to you, and of course our Fouque, I commit them, who like you is intimately entwined about my dearest affections,—­to him I communicate them only as a friend, but not as a poet; for you can easily imagine how unpleasant it would be if a secret confided to me by an honest man, relying implicitly on my friendship and honour, were to be exposed to the public in a poem.

One word more as to the manner in which I obtained these sheets:  yesterday morning early, as soon as I was up, they were brought to me.  An extraordinary-looking man, with a long grey beard, and wearing an old black frock-coat with a botanical case hanging at his side, and slippers over his boots, in the damp, rainy weather, had just been inquiring for me, and left me these papers, saying he came from Berlin.

Adelbert von Chamisso.

CHAPTER I.

After a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last into port.  Immediately on landing I got together my few effects; and, squeezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest inn which first met my gaze.  On asking for a room the waiter looked at me from head to foot, and conducted me to one.  I asked for some cold water, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was described as being “by the north gate, the first country-house to the right, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars.”  This was enough.  As the day was not yet far advanced, I untied my bundle, took out my newly-turned black coat, dressed myself in my best clothes, and, with my letter of recommendation, set out for the man who was to assist me in the attainment of my moderate wishes.

After proceeding up the north street, I reached the gate, and saw the marble columns glittering through the trees.  Having wiped the dust from my shoes with my pocket-handkerchief and readjusted my cravat, I rang the bell—­offering up at the same time a silent prayer.  The door flew open, and the porter sent in my name.  I had soon the honour to be invited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends.  I recognised him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air.  He received me very well—­just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and turning to me, took my letter.  “Oh, from my brother! it is a long time since I heard from him:  is he well?—­Yonder,” he went on,—­turning to the company, and pointing to a distant hill—­“Yonder is the site of the new building.”  He broke the seal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon riches.  “The man,” he said, “who does not possess at least a million