No, good friend. INNKEEPER. So you are only journeying as a simple, ordinary traveller? STRANGER. Yes. INNKEEPER. Then you will have but little applause. STRANGER. The fellow must be crazy. (_Enter a Postillion._) POSTILLION. Here is your trunk, sir. STRANGER. And here is your fee. POSTILLION. Oh, that is very little. I drove down the hill so smartly! STRANGER. There. POSTILLION. Many thanks. (_Exit._) STRANGER. Shall I succeed in finding her? Oh, how all my thoughts turn to my beloved native shore! How can I endure the sight, when once more I view it?--when the past, with all its joys and pains, passes before my inner vision? Ah, thou poor mortal! what callest thou the past? For thee there is no present. Between the times that are flown and the future thou clingest to a little moment, and joys flit past thee, and do not so much as touch thy heart. INNKEEPER. If I may be permitted to ask, I take it your grace is from some old worm-eaten drama that some unknown author has modernised a bit? STRANGER. What say you? INNKEEPER. I greatly doubt that you will have applause! I hope, at any rate, that you have money? Or is it a part of the plot that you should pretend to be poor? STRANGER. You are very inquisitive, good friend. INNKEEPER. That’s part of my trade, sir, as any schoolboy will tell you. Old people must be old; Telephus must be a beggar; the slave must chatter in keeping with his _rôle_. You can look it up in the _Ars poetica_, to which I too am subject in my office as host. STRANGER. Thank you for this graceful frenzy; I have not found so rare a curiosity for a long time. Show me to my room. (_Exeunt._) _Ludwig Tieck._ _VAN DER KABEL’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT._