blessed sleep and asked, quite confused, "Where to?" Without
reflecting about the matter, Wilhelm cried, "To the Ship in West
Street." The coachman drove on; about half-way, Wilhelm again
opened the coach-door, a bold spring helped him out, and the coach
rolled on. It stopped at the public-house of the Ship. The coachman
got down and opened the door; there was no one within; he thrust
his head in thoroughly to convince himself; but no, the carriage
was empty! "Extraordinary!" said the fellow; "can I have dreamed
it? But still I heard, quite distinctly, how I was told to drive to
the Ship! Lord preserve us! now they are waiting for me!" He leaped
upon the box and drove rapidly back again.

In the mean time Wilhelm had reached his abode in Vineyard Street;
he opened a window to enjoy the beautiful night, and gazed out upon
the desolate church-yard which is shut in by shops. He had no
inclination for sleep, although everything in the street, even the
watchmen not excepted, appeared to rejoice the gift of God. Wilhelm
thought upon the merry evening party, upon his adventure with the
poor hackney-coachman, then took down his violin from the wall and
began to play certain variations.

The last remaining guests from the honorable carousal, merrier than
when Wilhelm left them, now came wandering up the street. One of
them jodeled sweetly, and no watchman showed himself as a
disturbing principle. They heard Wilhelm violin and recognized the
musician.

"Play us a Francaise, thou up there!" cried they.

"But the watchman?" whispered one of the less courageous.