means and effort to work from the Outward into the Inward and unseen; while my father, with the beams which shoot forth from the spirit of the Salamander, withstands and subdues her.  All the baneful principles which lurk in deadly herbs and poisonous beasts, she collects; and, mixing them under favorable constellations, raises therewith many a wicked spell, which overwhelms the soul of man with fear and trembling, and subjects him to the power of those Demons, produced from the Dragon when it yielded in battle.  Beware of that old woman, dear Anselmus!  She hates thee because thy childlike, pious character has annihilated many of her wicked charms.  Keep true, true to me; soon art thou at the goal!”

“O my Serpentina! my own Serpentina!” cried the student Anselmus, “how could I leave thee, how should I not love thee forever!” A kiss was burning on his lips; he awoke as from a deep dream; Serpentina had vanished; six o’clock was striking, and it fell heavy on his heart that today he had not copied a single stroke.  Full of anxiety, and dreading reproaches from the Archivarius, he looked into the sheet; and, O wonder! the copy of the mysterious manuscript was fairly concluded; and he thought, on viewing the characters more narrowly, that the writing was nothing else but Serpentina’s story of her father, the favorite of the Spirit-prince Phosphorus, in Atlantis, the Land of Marvels.  And now entered Archivarius Lindhorst, in his light-gray surtout, with hat and staff; he looked into the parchment on which Anselmus had been writing, took a large pinch of snuff, and said with a smile “Just as I thought!—­Well, Herr Anselmus, here is your speziesthaler; we will now to the Linke Bath; do but follow me!” The Archivarius stepped rapidly through the garden, in which there was such a din of singing, whistling, talking, that the student Anselmus was quite deafened with it and thanked Heaven when he found himself on the street.

Scarcely had they walked a few paces when they met Registrator Heerbrand, who companionably joined them.  At the Gate, they filled their pipes, which they had about them; Registrator Heerbrand complained that he had left his tinder-box behind, and could not strike fire.  “Fire!” cried Archivarius Lindhorst, scornfully; “here is fire enough, and to spare!” And with this he snapped his fingers, out of which came streams of sparks and directly kindled the pipes.—­“Do but observe the chemical knack of some men!” said Registrator Heerbrand; but the student Anselmus thought, not without internal awe, of the Salamander and his history.

In the Linke Bath, Registrator Heerbrand drank so much strong double beer that at last, though usually a good-natured, quiet man, he began singing student songs in squeaking tenor; he asked every one sharply whether he was his friend or not; and at last had to be taken home by the student Anselmus, long after Archivarius had gone his way.

NINTH VIGIL