With that he arose, threw his knight's cloak over his shoulder, and bid us good night, giving us his hand as he said, “When you arrive at Wittenberg commend me to Dr. Jerome Schurf.” We said, “We will cheerfully do so, but how shall we name you, that he may understand your greeting?” “Only say,” said he, “that he who is on his way greets you; he will soon understand you.” And so saying he went to bed. After this the tradespeople returned, ordered the host to bring them something to drink, and had much conversation concerning the unknown guest who had been sitting by them. The host made known that he took him to be Luther, which the merchants believing, lamented very much that they had behaved themselves so rudely in his presence; saying that they would on this account rise so much earlier the next morning before he departed, in order to beg that he would not take it in ill part, nor be offended, as they had not known his person. This they accordingly did, finding him next morning in the stable. Martin answered them: “You said last night at supper, that you would willingly give ten florins that you might confess to Luther. When therefore you confess to him you will discover whether I am he.” And without betraying himself any further he mounted and rode on his way towards Wittenberg. On the same day we set out on the same road, and arrived at a village lying at the foot of a mountain; I think the mountain is called Orlamund, and the village Nasshausen. The stream which flows through this was swollen by the rains, and the bridge being in part carried away so that horses could not pass, we turned aside into the village, where we chanced to fall in with the same merchants, who entertained us there free of cost for Luther's sake. On the Saturday after, being one day after Luther's arrival, we called upon Doctor Jerome Schurf, in order to present our letters. When we were ushered into the room, whom should we see but Martin Luther, the same as at Jena, together with Philip Melancthon, Justus Jodocus Jonas, Nicholas Amsdorf, and Doctor Augustin Schurf, relating what had befallen him in his absence from Wittenberg. He greeted us and said, laughing as he pointed with his finger, “This is the Philip Melancthon of whom I told you.” Upon which Philip turned to us, and asked us many questions, which we answered according to our knowledge. And thus we passed the day on our part with great joy and satisfaction. LINES WRITTEN AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND. It is a lovely spot they chose, This green and grassy dell! And here in death's long, last repose, Eudora now sleeps well: Escaped from all her mortal pain, She sleeps—and will not wake again. Oh! who that knew her can forget That highly polished mind? Those charms that Love must cherish yet, In that fair form enshrined? And that warm heart that felt the flame Of friendship—worthy of the name?