and blossoms.  A magic dazzling light shone over the whole, though you could not discover whence it came, for no window whatever was to be seen.  As the student Anselmus looked in through the bushes and trees, long avenues appeared to open in remote distance.  In the deep shade of thick cypress groves lay glittering marble fountains, out of which rose wondrous figures, spouting crystal jets that fell with pattering spray into gleaming lily-cups; strange voices cooed and rustled through the wood of curious trees; and sweetest perfumes streamed up and down.

The Archivarius had vanished, and Anselmus saw nothing but a huge bush of glowing fire-lilies before him.  Intoxicated with the sight and the fine odors of this fairy-garden, Anselmus stood fixed to the spot.  Then began on all sides of him a giggling and laughing; and light little voices railed and mocked him:  “Herr Studiosus!  Herr Studiosus!  Where are you coming from?  Why are you dressed so bravely, Herr Anselmus?  Will you chat with us for a minute, how grandmammy sat squatting down upon the egg, and young master got a stain on his Sunday waistcoat?—­Can you play the new tune, now, which you learned from Daddy Cocka-doodle, Herr Anselmus?—­You look very fine in your glass periwig, and post-paper boots.”  So cried and chattered and sniggered the little voices, out of every corner, nay, close by the student himself, who but now observed that all sorts of party-colored birds were fluttering above him and jeering him in hearty laughter.  At that moment the bush of fire-lilies advanced toward him; and he perceived that it was Archivarius Lindhorst, whose flowered nightgown, glittering in red and yellow, had so far deceived his eyes.

“I beg your pardon, worthy Herr Anselmus,” said the Archivarius, “for leaving you alone; I wished, in passing, to take a peep at my fine cactus, which is to blossom tonight.  But how like you my little house-garden?”

“Ah, Heaven!  Immeasurably pretty it is, most valued Herr Archivarius,” replied the student; “but those party-colored birds have been bantering me a little.”

“What wishy-washy is this?” cried the Archivarius angrily into the bushes.  Then a huge gray parrot came fluttering out, and perched itself beside the Archivarius on a myrtle-bough; and looking at him with an uncommon earnestness and gravity through a pair of spectacles that stuck on his hooked bill, it shrilled out:  “Don’t take it amiss, Herr Archivarius; my wild boys have been a little free or so; but the Herr Studiosus has himself to blame in the matter, for——­”

“Hush! hush!” interrupted Archivarius Lindhorst; “I know the varlets; but thou must keep them in better discipline, my friend!—­Now, come along, Herr Anselmus.”