earness of death affected his mind; for he
sang, in a high-pitched, penetrating voice, that Scotch song, which has
the refrain--

"Green grow the rashes, oh!
Green grow the rashes!"

And he shied the 'Diplomatic Acumen,' and the 'Handbook for Court and
City,' and also 'Hufeland, on the Art of Prolonging Life,' into the
water, and was in the very act of jumping after them, when he felt
himself seized from behind by a pair of powerful arms.

He at once recognized the well-known voice of the necromantic
Goldsmith. It said--"Tussmann, what are you after? I beg you not to
make an ass of yourself; don't go playing idiotic tricks of this sort."

Tussmann strove with all his might to get out of the Goldsmith's grasp,
while, scarcely capable of utterance, he croaked out--

"Herr Professor! I am in a state of desperation, and all ordinary
considerations are in abeyance. Herr Professor, I sincerely trust
you will not take it ill if a Clerk of the Privy Chancery, who is
(as we have said) in a state of desperation, and who (in ordinary
circumstances) is well versed in the _convenances_ of official
etiquette--I say, I hope you won't take it ill, Herr Professor, if I
assert, openly and unceremoniously, that (under all the circumstances
of the case) I wish to heaven that you and all your magic tricks were
at the devil! along with your unendurable familiarity, your 'Tussmann!
Tussmann!' never giving me my official title!----there!"

The Goldsmith let him go, and he tumbled down, exhausted, in the long,
wet grass.

Believing himself to be in the basin, he cried out, "Oh, cold death!
oh, green rashes! oh, meadows! I bid ye farewell. I leave you my
kindest wishes, dearest Miss Albertine Bosswinkel. Commissionsrath,
good-bye! The unfortunate 'intended' is lying amongst the frogs that
praise God in the summer time."

"Tussmann," cried the Goldsmith, in a powerful voice, "don't you see
that you're out of your senses, and worn out and wretched into the
bargain? You want to send me to the devil! What if I _were_ the Devil,
and should set to and twist that neck of yours, here on this spot,
where you think you're lying in the water?"

Tussmann sighed, groaned, and shuddered as if in the most violent ague.

"But I mean you kindly, Tussmann," the Goldsmith said; "and your
desperate condition excuses everything. Get up, and come along with
me." And he helped him to get on his legs.

Tussmann, completely exhaust