ed to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger,
spice, and sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly,
gazing before him, and thinking over his misfortunes.

"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower; and still Melchior
sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print, that had hung above the
mantel-piece for years, sipping his 'brew,' which was fast getting cold.
The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a scythe in
one hand, and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the picture in
flourishing capitals was the word TIME.

"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like an
old haymaker, who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and forgotten
the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the tailor's, I think.'

"This was very irreverent: but Melchior was not in a respectful mood;
and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.

"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went
out altogether.

"'How stupid of me not to have mended it! said Melchior; but he had not
mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and to bed
he went accordingly.

"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and
to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'

"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the old
print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle, which
he had left alight on the mantel-piece to keep him awake. The flame
waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and, as the lights and
shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied that it
nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him he shut
his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again there was no
longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only his head,
but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet out of the
frame, and prepared to step right over the mantel-piece, candle, and
all.

"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.' But
he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the floor,
where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully the size of
a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and the same airy
costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by Melchior's
bedside.

"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy.

"'TIME,' said his visitor,