But, at all events, nothing Moral, still less anything Didactico-Religious, was looked for from him.
Well do we recollect the last words he spoke in our hearing; which indeed, with the Night they were uttered in, are to be forever remembered.

Lifting his huge tumbler of _Gukguk_,[2] and for a moment lowering his tobacco-pipe, he stood up in full Coffee-house (it was _Zur Gruenen Gans_, the largest in Weissnichtwo, where all the Virtuosity, and nearly all the Intellect of the place assembled of an evening); and there, with low, soul-stirring tone, and the look truly of an angel, though whether of a white or of a black one might be dubious, proposed this toast: _Die Sache der Armen in Gottes und Teufels Namen_ (The Cause of the Poor, in Heaven's name and -- --'s)! One full shout, breaking the leaden silence; then a gurgle of innumerable emptying bumpers, again followed by universal cheering, returned him loud acclaim.

It was the finale of the night: resuming their pipes; in the highest enthusiasm, amid volumes of tobacco-smoke; triumphant, cloud-capt without and within, the assembly broke up, each to his thoughtful pillow.

_Bleibt doch ein echter Spass- und Galgen-vogel_, said several; meaning thereby that, one day, he would probably be hanged for his democratic sentiments.

_Wo steckt doch der Schalk ?_ added they, looking round: but Teufelsdroeckh had retired by private alleys, and the Compiler of these pages beheld him no more.
[2] Gukguk is unhappily only an academical-beer.
In such scenes has it been our lot to live with this Philosopher, such estimate to form of his purposes and powers.