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 shall be laid in his coffin, but not yet. I will allow him to wander about the world for a while, to atone for his sin, and to give him time to become better. But I shall return when he least expects me. I shall lay him in a black coffin, place it on my head, and fly away with it beyond the stars. There also blooms a garden of paradise, and if he is good and pious he will be admitted; but if his thoughts are bad, and his heart is full of sin, he will sink with his coffin deeper than the garden of paradise has sunk. Once in every thousand years I shall go and fetch him when he will either be condemned to sink still deeper, or be raised to a happier life in the world beyond the stars.”

 

was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and not a breeze stirred. “Bump,”—an old pot was thrown at a neighbour’s door, and “bang, bang,” went the guns; for they were greeting the New Year. It was New Year’s Eve, and the church clock was striking twelve. “Tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-ra,” sounded the horn, and the mail-coach came lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town; all the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in the coach.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried the people in the town, for in every house the New Year was being welcomed; and as the clock struck, they stood up, the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the new comer. “A happy New Year,” was the cry; “a pretty wife, plenty of money, and no sorrow or care.”

The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together till they rang again; while before the town-gate the mail-coach stopped with the twelve strange passengers. And who were these strangers? Each of them had his passport and his luggage with him; they even brought presents for me, and for you, and for all the people in the town. “Who were they? what did they want? and what did they bring with them?”

“Good-morning,” they cried to the sentry at the town-gate.

“Good-morning,” replied the sentry; for the clock had struck twelve. “Your name and profession?” asked the sentry of the one who alighted first from the carriage.

“See for yourself in the passport,” he replied. “I am myself;” and a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bearskin and fur boots. “I am the man on whom many persons fix their hopes. Come to me to-morrow, and I’ll give you a New Year’s present. I throw shillings and pence among the