Nuremberg, inasmuch as that he was like a father to every
lad and maid in the town.

When he walked down the street all the little ones were as glad though
they had met Christ the Lord or Saint Nicholas; and as they hung on to
his long gown with the left hand, with the right they crammed their
mouths with the apples or cakes whereof his pockets seemed never to be
empty.

But Master Adam had his weak side, and there were many to blame him for
that he was over fond of good liquor. Albeit he did his drinking after a
manner of his own, in no unseemly wise. To wit, on certain year-days he
would tarry alone in his tower, and his lamp might be seen gleaming till
midnight. There he would sit alone, with his wine jar and cup, and he
would drink the first and second and third in silence, to the good speed
of Elsa, his late departed wife. After that he began to sing in a low
voice, and before each fresh cup as he raised it he cried aloud "Prosit,
Adam!" and when it was empty: "I Heartily thank you, Heyden!"

Thus would he go on till he had drunk out divers jugs, and the tower
seemed to be spinning round him. Then to his bed, where he would dream of
his Elsa and the good old days, the folks he had loved, his youthful
courtships, and all the fine and wondrous things which his lonely
drinking bout had brought to his inward eye. Next morning he was
faithfully at his duty. Common evenings, which were of no mark to him, he
spent with the Spiesz folks in the little house by the river, or else in
the Gentlemen's tavern in the Frohnwage; for albeit none met there but
such as belonged to the noble families of the town, and learned men, and
artists of mark, Adam Heyden the organist was held as their equal and a
right welcome guest.

And now as touching our grand-uncle and guardian the Knight Sir Sebald Im
Hoff.

Many an one will understand how that my fear of him grew greater after
that I one evening by mishap chanced to go into his bed chamber, and
there saw a black coffin wherein he was wont to sleep each night, as it
were in a bed. It was easy to see in the man himself that some deep
sorrow or heavy sin gnawed at his heart, and nevertheless he was one of
the stateliest old gentlemen I have met in a long life. His face seemed
as though cast in metal, and was of wondrous fine mould, but deadly and
unchangefully pale. His snowy hair fell in long locks over his collar of
sable fur, and his short beard, cut in a point, was likewise of a