University of Virginia Library

9. BOOK NINTH.

1. CHAPTER I.

A critical friend of ours, whom we consult
in all our literary projects, and whose opinions
we always follow, when we like them, assures
us that this our work will undoubtedly fail in
attracting the affections of that class of fashionable
readers to whom we especially address ourselves,
for want of the indispensable requisite of
a reasonable quantity of bloodshed and murder.

“All the works of imagination,” said
he, “which have been the most singularly successful
of late, you will observe, abound in battle,
murder, and sudden deaths, events for
which people of a pure natural taste have a peculiar
relish, as is evinced in the avidity with
which they peruse the accounts of last dying
speeches and executions. All writers,” continued

our critical monitor, “agree, that what is
most agreeable to nature, in narration, sentiment,
or description, approaches the nearest to
the true standard of taste; and, consequently,
the vulgar taste must come the nearest to perfection,
being the least sophisticated by arbitrary
rules, or factitious refinements. It is, therefore,
a happy omen for literature, that the fashionable
taste is now making daily approaches to
that of the vulgar, and no longer banquets with
such extraordinary zest on those refinements in
sentiment, those polished graces, and latent
beauties, which, in less happy ages of literature,
were relished with such unaccountable delight.
Such effeminacies as these have given
place to more manly and unsophisticated compositions—to
delineations of habits and manners,
which, being natural and vulgar in themselves,
are calculated to enchant all persons of
a truly natural taste. The writer who would
please the public now, must deal in perpetual
excitements; must lavish incidents like chaff
before the wind; and excite either disgust,
astonishment, or horror, in every page, or his
book will certainly come upon the parish before
it is six months old.”

Our friend further assured us, that, as he saw

no possibility of bringing the catastrophe of our
history to a fortunate issue, the best thing we
could do, would be to kill off all our principal
actors as fast as possible, for which purpose he
advised us to borrow the assistance of Tristan
L'Hermite, Trois Echelles, and other pleasant
fellows, equally expert at hanging and
joking, who give such a marvellous zest to the
late work of our great master in the mysteries
of historical fiction. But, notwithstanding what
our friend said on this subject, we cannot but
hope, and believe, that the good people of this
country, owing to the mildness of their laws,
and other circumstances, are not so fond of
hanging, and such like amusements, as some
of the more refined nations of the world. We
trust they may possibly be brought to relish
less piquant entertainments, and that, although
they do stick pegs in the claws of lobsters to
prevent their biting, and sometimes cut off the
heads of chickens with a dull axe, they will, peradventure,
excuse us if we finish this our work
without a single additional instance of mortality,
natural or otherwise, or resorting to the aid
of our old friends, Messrs. Trois Echelles and
Tristan L'Hermite.

2. CHAPTER II.

Time and the world alike move on unceasingly
and in the self-same undeviating pace, let what
will happen. The keenest misfortunes of individuals,
the death of men who have filled the
world with their glory, the change of dynasties,
and the revolutions of empires, affect not the
general course of events, or the great business
of the human bee-hive. The daily wants of
mankind, the necessity of exertion, the gratification
of the passions, one or other, or all combined,
still keep up the busy current of life,
which continues its course without ceasing, and
will only be finally arrested, when the consummation
of the great scheme of infinite wisdom
and power shall have arrived.

Three weeks had now nearly elapsed, since
the total subversion of the authority of the Heer,

and the mysterious disappearance of the Long
Finne. The inhabitants of Elsingburgh continued
in the quiet pursuit of their daily avocations,
and scarcely ever thought of the great
revolution that had overturned, in the language
of historians, their happiness and prosperity. It
was only the Heer and his gentle daughter, on
whom this wave of ill fortune had especially expended
its violence. The former not only felt
his diminished consequence, but now actually
experienced what may be truly called one of the
greatest misfortunes incident to human nature.
Being restricted from all participation in the
new government, he knew not what to do with
himself, and was at length reduced to the necessity
of taking two naps extra, to assist him in
getting through the livelong, tedious day. The
fiend Ennui laid hold of him with leaden gripe,
and, had it not been that he at last luckily took
to the Job-like business of fishing inveterately in
the neighbouring river for amusement, it is impossible
to say what might have been the ill
consequences, to a man having nothing to do,
and at the same time being naturally inclined to
be busy. As for poor Christina, she complained
not, she wept not, except in secret; and to
those who judge of the depths of the waters by
the noise they make, rather than by their stillness,
she seemed as if nothing was the matter
with her.

In this state were the various persons and
things appertaining to our history, when, on a
certain night, there gathered together, about the
spacious chimney of Master Oldale's castle, a
group of village blades, whose deeds of drinking
used to stand recorded in veritable chalk,
in one corner of that sanctum sanctorum, vulgarly
'yclept the bar. The company consisted of
Wolfgang Langfanger, Othman Pfegel, and
Lob Dotterel, who, being each equally deprived
of their vocation under the ancient system of
Elsingburgh, were compelled, in sheer self-defence,
to pass part of the time at the inn, to hear
the news, and kill the common enemy of all
idlers. Besides these, there was master Oldale,
who, like a trusty publican and sinner, that understood
his business, was ever accustomed to
encourage the practice of tippling, not only by
precept, but by example. The fifth personage,
who completed the group, was a singular itinerant
genius, called Lowright, a traveling pedler,
tinker, and what not, who regularly traversed
the wilderness between New-York and
the river Delaware, once a year, with his pack

on his back, and as regularly, as is usual with
such losel wights, did incontinently cheat about
one half of the men, and all the women of Elsingburgh.
He was well known, and, to say
truth, not much respected, not only among the
Indians, but also by the inhabitants of the little
villages, that now began to peep forth in groups
of log huts, at intervals “few and far between,”
in the desert. Mankind unquestionably have a
natural aptitude to be cheated in one way or
other; sometimes by rulers, sometimes by
priests, and sometimes by pedlers. Besides,
Lowright was not only a pestilent rogue, but a
merry rogue, who sung excellent songs, told the
most bloody stories, and withal never cheated
any body but in jest. When charged with his
rogueries, he always turned them off with an
excellent joke, accompanied by an irresistible
laugh; and it is well known, that if you keep
people, and especially women, in a good humour,
you may cheat them out of any thing.
Much of the news that passed between New-York
and Elsingburgh was brought by this
strolling wight; for at that time it was a rare
thing for any one to venture on a journey
through this wild country.

It was now waxing late in the evening; the

night was becoming excessively dark, and the
flashes of lightning which penetrated the crevices
of the windows, followed by the distant and
muttering thunder, gave indication of a coming
storm. The conversation turned on the late
events of the village, and especially the fate of
the goblin Cupid, and his mysterious grandmother,
whose night walkings still continued the
common theme of the village. Lob Dotterel
was called upon to verify these legends, and, after
whetting his whistle, looking cautiously
about the room, and drawing his chair a little
more within the circle, cleared his throat, and
attested to the following facts, in the midst of peels
of thunder, that now became more loud and frequent:

“You must know,” said the ci-devant high
constable, “that one night—it was the Wednesday
night following the death of Cupid and his
grandmother—I had been out late on business.”
Here master Oldale tipped the company a wink,
which conveyed to their comprehension that
Lob had been tippling at the sign of the Indian
Queen, rather more than beseemed a discreet,
sober man. “When I got home, I proceeded
to undress myself, and was just standing before
the glass, tying on my nïght-cap, when, as I am

a christian man and a living sinner, I saw in the
glass the face of the black witch Bombie, looking
just over my shoulder, with eyes as red as
coals, and lips moving as if she was speaking,
though I could hear nothing. I looked round,
though my head moved on my shoulders like a
door on rusty hinges, but nobody was there.
I looked in the glass, and there was the ghastly
face glaring over my shoulder as before, with
red eyes, and blue lips moving with a quivering
motion, without uttering a word. Often, as I
turned my head to look behind me, I saw nothing;
but the moment I turned to the looking
glass, the face appeared, just peering over my
shoulder. Presently I felt two cold hands on
my back, and the face in the glass came so
close to mine, that I felt its breath against my
cheek.”

“I never heard of a ghost breathing before,”
said Lowright; “but maybe the spirits of ladies
of colour are different from those of white people.
Go on, master constable.”

“The weight of the hands on my shoulders
grew heavier and heavier, till at last I fell flat
on my face upon the floor, unable to support it
any longer. What time I lay there I can't tell,
but when I came to myself, and looked about,

there was nothing in the room but old Grip, the
dog, who lay fast asleep in a corner.”

As master Dotterel concluded his story, there
came a terrible flash of lightning, followed by
an awful crash of thunder, that seemed to have
dashed the universe to atoms. The company
gradually contracted their little circle, until
their knees mixed with each other, and, late as
it was, no one seemed inclined to go to rest, amid
the uproar without and the solemnity within
doors. The crash was followed by an awful
silence, until the tinker exclaimed, “There will
be bitter weather by and by, and, for my part, I
could never sleep in a thunder storm. Come,
landlord, another tankard, and master Wolfgang
will tell us a story, to pass away the
time.”

The tankard was brought, and master Wolfgang,
at the request of the company, commenced
his story as follows:

“Many years ago, it was in my native country
of Sweden, I happened once to be benighted
at a distance of several miles from any house.
It was in the summer season, and much such a
night as this. The thunder rolled incessantly,
followed by continued flashes of lightning which
blinded both me and my horse. By the light

of one of these, I thought I could distinguish an
old ruined building, that I took to be the remains
of a church, which I knew from report
was situated somewhere hereabouts. I heard
the roar of the tempest approaching nearer and
nearer, while the big drops of rain began to fall
thicker and faster every moment. There was
no alternative, but to weather the storm without
a shelter, or seek it in the old church, which,
though the windows were broken and the doors
decayed, was still better than nothing. I had
an invincible antipathy to churches and churchyards
at night; but then I hated a wet jacket even
more than I feared ghosts; so I e'en dismounted,
led my horse inside of the door, and groped
my way into a pew in one corner, where there
was tolerable shelter. Presently the rain came
in torrents, the thunder rolled, and burst, and
crashed, and the lightning flashed upon the
white tombstones, that peeped above the sills of
the windows. Soon I began to feel the effects
of a long day's journey, and, stretching
myself out on the seat, I gradually fell fast asleep.
After some time, I was disturbed by a strange
sound, not unlike the tremulous quaver of the
screech-owl, `hoo! hoo! hoo!' I opened my
eyes, and the first object they met was a tall,
ghastly female figure, leaning over me, with
her face close to mine. During my nap it had
cleared up, and the bright moonbeams, pouring
into the windows, and ruined roof and walls,
fell directly on the spectre before me. To my dying
day, I shall never forget the lank face, hollow
cheeks, and glaring eyes of the figure, as,
with raised hands, the long, skinny, and bony
fingers of which were extended over me, it repeated
the quaver, in a shrill, hollow tone, and
bent down and kissed me, with lips that seemed
covered with the damps and mildews of the sepulchre.
I shrunk, and shuddered as if death
had sealed me his own in that horrible kiss,
which was followed by the same tremulous
`hoo! hoo! hoo!' My limbs refused to obey
the impulse of my fears, and, for the life of me
I could not make a single effort to escape, but
felt as I had sometimes done in dreams, where
we struggle in vain to stir hand or foot. At
this moment the day began to dawn, and a gun
from a neighbouring fortress announced the
morning. The figure started at the explosion,
which broke on the deathlike silence, and echoed
far and wide. `Hoo! hoo! hoo!' cried the
spectre of horror, as she stooped again and gave
me one of her infernal kisses. She then moved
slowly away, and disappeared, I could not tell
how, in the obscurity of a distant corner of the
ruined building.

“When I was assured of its being gone, I
started up, mounted my horse, and proceeded
rapidly to a village about four miles distant,
where I ordered breakfast. I had scarcely been
here half an hour when I heard the same noise
which had alarmed me so much in the church.
`What is that?' I exclaimed, as one of the attendants
came in. `Oh,' replied she, `'tis only
a poor crazy woman, that wanders about these
parts, but never hurts any body, and never says
any thing but `hoo! hoo! hoo!' `And kisses
every body?' `No—they say she only kisses
those who are going to die very soon.' I kept
the secret of her salute, although, to tell the
honest truth, gentlemen, I considered myself,
for a whole year afterwards, as little better than
a dead man. This happened more than twenty
years ago, and yet, at times, and especially in
such a night as this, the impression of my adventure
in the old ruined church is as fresh as
if it had happened yesterday. But come,
master Lowright, the night wears apace, and
there is no venturing out in the uproar and

darkness. You must keep us company in another
tankard and another story.”

“With all my heart,” replied the jolly pedler;
“let me whet my whistle, and you shall
have a story that will astonish you all.” The
tankard passed round, and master Lowright
commenced his legend.

“You must know, gossips, that, though I
come from New-York, I don't live in the city,
but in a deep forest about four miles off on the
island, where every thing is as wild, and in as
perfect a state of nature, as it was the day of the
deluge. My house is of a single story, containing
a single room, which serves me for
parlour, kitchen, and hall. My bed is in the
attic story above, and is gained by means of a
ladder. I have no family, except a dog and a
cat, and there is not a house within sight of my
solitary abode. Why I have chosen such a situation
is an affair of my own, and I shall, therefore,
not trouble you with my reasons for preferring
this retired and lonely spot.

“One summer evening, I was sitting smoking
my pipe at the door of my castle—it was somewhere,
I think, about four years ago—when I
observed a man coming towards me, with a staff
in his hand, and dressed in the style of a common

beggar. As he advanced up the little
path which led to my dwelling, I observed that
he was tall and straight in his person, and that
his face was remarkably handsome. Altogether,
indeed, he was the likeliest person I have seen
in a long time, except the young man called the
Long Finne, who was here last year, and
whom I saw carried to prison in New-York the
other day.” “What!” exclaimed Wolfgang
Langfanger, “is the Long Finne in New-York?”
“Ay, that he is, to his cost, for he
is condemned to be whipt through the streets,
and afterwards sold to Barbadoes as a slave, for
having conspired, it is said, with the savages,
against the English power. But I will go on
with my story, for I see master Dotterel begins
to wax sleepy.

“As the beggar approached me, he began,
in the usual way, to beg for a lodging, as
the night was setting in dark, and the path to
the city, being through the woods, would be
difficult to find. `But I have only one bed in
my house,' replied I, `and that I generally like
to keep to myself.'

“`Beggars must not be choosers,' replied he;
`I can sleep on the hearth by the fire. I have
made harder lodging than that in my time, and

so I have wherewithal over my head, I care little
what is under it, provided it is not harder
than a stone.'

“`But,' replied I, `I know you not; I live
alone here in the woods, and it is not usual to
take people in our houses, without knowing
something of them.'

“`What!' quoth the beggar, looking round
on my poor household with a dry, sarcastic air,
`you are afraid I shall rob you? Only to think
of the difference between us! I am equally a
stranger to you, and yet, you see, I am not
afraid to sleep in your house. But the beggar
sings before the robber.'

“The humour of the rogue pleased me; I
at length consented that he should stay the
night, and make his pillow on the hearth stone.
We sat up till almost midnight, chatting over
our adventures, and then went to bed. But
some how or other, I couldn't sleep; or, if I did
fall asleep for a moment, it was only to be awakened
with frightful dreams. On one of these
occasions, I thought I heard a stir in the room
below, and, cautiously creeping to the opening,
saw a sight that froze every drop of my blood
into an icicle.”

“What was it?” exclaimed Lob Dotterel,

opening one eye, and drawing his chair closer
into the corner.

“It was the beggar, busily employed in
whetting the point of a knife, that appeared to
me at least a yard long. Ever and anon he
would feel the point, shake his head, as much
as to say, `it won't do yet,' and then set to
work sharpening it again. I had not the least
doubt that he intended to murder me, under an
impression that I had hoarded up money in my
business. I therefore prepared myself for defending
my life as well as I could. I had a
pistol, but, unluckily, it wanted a lock, and an
old rusty sword, without edge or point.”
“Ay,” quoth master constable, “like one of
your excellent razors.” “Or rather, like your
excellent wit,” replied the pedler, and incontinently
got the laugh on his side.

“What was to be done? I began to distil into
a jelly, and felt both courage and strength
fast fleeting away, as too often happens in these
hours of sore extremity. Desperation at last
supplied the place of valour and discretion, and
I determined, instead of waiting till the wretch
had sharpened his knife, so as to stick me
through and through in the twinkling of an eye,
to come upon him by surprise, and carry the

war into his own camp. I therefore suddenly
plumped down upon him, with my trusty
blade in hand—and what d'ye think, gentlemen,
was the consequence?”

“Why, you killed him,” said the whole company
with one voice.

“No! he killed me!”

Here the whole company started up, as if by
one impulse, and stared in silent horror at master
Lowright, marvelling whether it was really
himself sitting among then, or only the ghost
of himself.

At the moment of this ecstatic climax of wonder
and dismay, there was a loud crash of
thunder, succeeded by a tremendous bouncing,
thumping, howling, and shrieking, in the garret
above, that appalled the stoutest hearts of the
whole company, and caused each man to press
close to his neighbour in trembling agitation.
Presently something was heard to fall, with a
weight that shook the floor, through the opening
which led by a ladder into the attic story;
the lamp, that stood nearly under it, was suddenly
extinguished, and there was a hissing,
and spitting, and howling, in the darkness, as if
the fiends had suddenly decamped from their
ordinary abodes, to take lodgings at master

Oldale's castle. All was horror, dismay, and
confusion; not a soul dared stir from the spot
where he was planted, and not a soul uttered a
word, save the ci-devant high constable, who,
on this occasion, disgraced his valorous exploits
among the Indians, by roaring lustily for
help, being fast held by the leg, by Othman Pfegel,
who had tumbled flat on the floor. The
cry brought mistress Oldale, with a candle,
which at once disclosed the cause of all this uproar,
in the persons of two cats, who had,
agreeably to the custom of these amiable animals,
been making “cruel love,” after the manner
of certain affectionate couples, who act upon
the old saying, that the falling out of lovers is
the renewal of love. The discovery forthwith
put an end to the merry making. Each man
felt an internal consciousness of having been
frightened at nothing, and sneaked away to
bed, without the ceremony of bidding good
night.

3. CHAPTER III.

News fly swift every where, but most of all
in a country village. It was soon communicated
to the Heer Piper and his fair daughter,
that the Long Finne had been carried a prisoner
to New-York, and condemned to be whipt, and
sold to slavery. The pedler was called up, and
stated, that the youth had been seized the night
before the sailing of the fleet, as he was taking
a solitary walk along the river side; conveyed
on board the ships; transported to New-York;
tried for treasonable practices; condemned, and
sentenced to these ignominious punishments.
Such indeed was the sad story of Koningsmarke,
who had been seized and taken to New-York

in manner aforesaid, and there brought
to trial before the Governor and his council. It
was in vain that he asserted his innocence, and
that at the time he was accused of these crimes
he was a subject of Sweden, and owed no allegiance
to any other power, much less a power
which exercised no authority in New-Swedeland.
He was answered, that the Swedes from
the first had no right to the territory they occupied,
which, in fact, appertained to Great Britain
by discovery. Koningsmarke was therefore
living under an usurped government, and
could claim no immunity on the score of not
owing allegiance to a power which, though not
actually in possession, always had the right.
The council, consisting of the Governor, Thomas
Delaval, and Ralph Whitfield, on these
grounds, decreed as follows:

“That Koningsmarke, commonly called the
Long Finne, deserved to die; yet, in regard
that many concerned with him in these practices
might also be involved in the præmunire,
if the rigour of the law should be extended, and
amongst them divers ignorant and simple people,
it was thought fit to order, that the Long
Finne should be severely whipt, and stigmatized
with the letter R, with an inscription in great letters

on his breast, that he received that punishment
for rebellion; and afterwards to be secured
till sent to Barbadoes, or some other remote
plantation, to be sold.”

When Christina heard of this terrible sentence,
her heart failed her, and she sunk insensible
into the arms of her father. Every species
of bitter, indelible disgrace was combined in
this punishment; and who is there, that cherishes
a friend, or adores a lover, but would
rather have heard that he was dead, than thus
scourged, branded, and sold to slavery? When
Christina came to herself, she desired to be
conducted to her chamber and left alone. After
remaining there an hour or two, she sent for
her father, who found her pale, feeble, and nearly
exhausted with the misery of her feelings.
Yet there was a speaking energy in her light
blue eye, that indicated she was labouring with
some resolve that possessed her whole soul.

“How art thou now, my dear daughter?”
said the Heer.

“Well—very well,” replied Christina; “but,
my father, I have one request to make thee,
which, as thou valuest my happiness, nay, my
very life, I beseech thee to grant me. Wilt
thou?”

“What is it, my dear one?” answered the
Heer, with affectionate sympathy; “it must be
impossible, if I refuse it to thee. What is it?”

Christina looked wistfully in his face, and replied—“
He saved my life; he bore me in his
arms, as a mother her only offspring; he watched
over me in the wilderness; he risked death
and torture in the attempt to restore me to
thee; and shall not I do something to requite
all these obligations?”

“All that can be done to rescue him from
this disgrace and misery shall be done. I will
send, and demand him as a subject of my master.”

“Alas!” replied Christina, “when I wanted
his aid, he did not send; he came himself; he
risked all for me, and shall not we risk something
for him? Let us not send, but go to him,
father. Kindness should never come at second
hand. Even those who cannot ward off the
calamities of others, may alleviate them by
sympathy.”

“But think, my love, what will the world
say of thy pilgrimage? Will they not taunt
thee with the reproach of following a degraded,
condemned criminal—a lover, whose affection
is thy disgrace, and whom to love is infamy?”

“Father,” replied Christina, “I know that
it is for the honour and happiness of my sex,
that they should, in all the ordinary circumstances
of life, conform to the strict rules of female
decorum, and pay due deference to the
opinions of the world. But I also know, father,
that there are times and occasions, when love,
gratitude, filial duty, parental affection, attachment
to our country, nay, even the desire of
fame, not only justify, but demand a departure
from common rules, and the sacrifice of those
delicate restraints, which otherwise should never
be disregarded. To save a husband, I should be
applauded for this act, even though he were unworthy
my affection. Shall I not do likewise
for one to whom gratitude at least has bound
me for ever?”

“But think of the toils and dangers of the
journey, my daughter.”

“Thou forgettest, father,” replied Christina,
with a languid smile—“thou forgettest I am
used to traverse the wilderness. The errand I
go upon will make me heedless of the way, except
as it may delay our efforts till they shall be
too late.”

“Ah!” replied the old man, with a melancholy,
doubting shake of the head, “come when

they will, I fear all our endeavours will be too late,
or, at least, in vain. What hast thou to offer,
to tempt the statesman to forgo an act of policy
like this?”

“My tears, my thanks, my prayers, my everlasting
gratitude. Surely, father, the hearts of
men are not turned into stone by the exercise
of power, nor can they be insensible to the delight
of making the heart leap in the bosom of
a lonely stranger.”

“Well, well—I will no longer oppose thee,
my girl. We will go, in God's name; and, if
it be necessary, I, even I, will humble myself
before Richard Lovelace, rather than see thee
mourn thyself into a shadow, and die of a broken
heart. I have lost thee once, and know the
agonies of such a bereavement. We will go,
and speedily.”

Christina threw herself into the arms of her
parent, and exclaimed amid her tears—“Oh!
that I may live to repay my father for all his
kindness.”

When it was known that the Heer and his
daughter were going to undertake this long
journey, part of which was through a forest, as
yet trodden only by wild beasts and red-men,
with now and then a wandering being like Low-right,

half a dozen of the villagers came in a
body, and offered their services to escort their
ancient chief and his daughter. “We will
paddle a canoe for you to the Falls, and we
will carry you in a litter of boughs, when the
way is wet and deep, or you become tired.”
The Heer was affected by their good will, and,
shaking the hand of each, accepted their offers,
with hearty thanks. Even in the depression
of his feelings, and amid the downfall of
his power, the heart of the Heer swelled with
honest pride, to find that, though the means of
bestowing benefits on his neighbours had passed
away, they still remembered his kindness in the
days of his prosperity. So easy, indeed, is it
for rulers to make themselves beloved by the
people, that whenever we hear the cries of the
multitude ascending against kings and their
ministers, and see their arms raised in opposition
to their will, we are certain that pride, arrogance,
misgovernment, and oppression, are at
the bottom of this discontent.

4. CHAPTER IV.

In two days all was ready; and one calm morning,
in the merry month of June, our little party
embarked on the flood tide that set briskly up
the river, in their light canoe. A gentle southern
breeze rippled the surface of the waters, and
cooled the summer air into a balmy freshness, exquisitely
grateful to the senses. First, they
passed Coaquanock, then a little thriving village,
but since become a noble city, honoured
in its illustrious founder, and thrice honoured in
the residence of a sage whose precepts enlightened,
whose example adorned a subsequent age.
Light skimmed the pine canoe along the low
banks; fringed with tufts of water willows, that

bent down and kissed the waves, as they approached
the little settlements of Burlington and
Bristol, where a few clear fields around a cluster
of rustic buildings, announced the commencement
of that great change in the aspect of the
country, and the destinies of its ancient inhabitants,
which is rapidly pervading the new world,
and will probably not stop, until it has passed
from the Atlantic of the East to the shores of
the Ocean of the West, with an impulse unabating
and irresistible.

The Falls, where Trenton now stands, was the
last settlement of white-men on the upper Delaware.
From thence was one wide extended forest,
through which roamed the Tirans, the Tiascons,
the Raritans, and a hundred other wandering
tribes, long since extinct, or represented
by a few degenerate beings, who seem only to
live for the purpose of proving that the red-man was
born for the shade, the white-man for the sunshine.
All these were now on good terms with their new
neighbours from Europe, and our little party
journeyed, unmolested, from the falls, through the
forest, along where the classic fanes of Princeton
now attract the youth of our country from
all quarters; where Kingston, and Brunswick,
and Woodbridge, and Rahway, now swarm with

a little busy fry, but where at that time no trace
of cultivation was to be seen, till they came into
the vicinity of Elizabeth Town, then just settled.
Christina and the good Heer, when fatigued with
walking, or when the way was more than commonly
rough, or obstructed, were carried by
their faithful escort on a litter of boughs; and
when they came to a stream that was not fordable,
they launched their light canoe, and paddled
to the other side.

At what is called Elizabeth-Town Point,
where they were sorely annoyed by moschettoes,
our little party embarked on the tide that carried
them rapidly through the Kills. Neither the
waters nor the land on either side presented the
gay and moving scene that they do now. No
oyster boats plied their busy rakes; no fleet of
painted shallops and pettiaugers, such as are
now every moment seen gliding past each other
like the winds; no steam boats unfurled their
smoky pennons to the breeze; and the only animated
beings besides themselves, were the gulls
that skimmed the surface of the waters, and the
fish that sported beneath. Where the little villages,
the whitening spires, and thickly-strewed
farm houses, now animate the landscape on either
side, was nothing but lofty trees, on the

dead branches of which was here and there seen
the fish-hawk, watching to pounce upon his finny
prey, and the eagle waiting his opportunity to
make him resign it. The moment the hawk had
seized his prize, and rose into the air, the lordly
eagle flew forth and pursued him till he let it
drop, when, darting with inconceivable velocity,
the regal robber seized it ere it reached the waters.

So beautiful a scene might have charmed a
heart that dwelt not upon deep objects of interest,
that swallowed up all sympathy with nature
and her enchanting pageantry. But the attention
of the good Heer and his daughter was concentrated
on one idea, and they remained unmoved
by the fair succession of objects that
passed rapidly before their eyes, until they opened
upon the delightful bay, and city, which
seemed rising from its capacious bosom. For
a moment, each was animated by a spark of
wonder and admiration; but the thought that
they were now approaching the place, and the
hour, which was to seal their fate as happy or
miserable beings in this world, speedily assumed
its ascendancy, and shut out all other thoughts
and feelings. Arriving at New-York, our little
party landed, like pilgrims in some desert country,

or, at least, where they felt as lonely as in
the midst of the desert. Strangers to the place,
and every soul within it, they knew not whither
to seek a shelter, but wandered about the little
crooked streets and lanes, as objects of wonder,
rather than sympathy, to the busy inhabitants.

Passing, at length, by the door of a comfortable
looking mansion, the ears of the good
Heer and his daughter were saluted with some
lines of an old ballad, which was familiar to
their recollection, chanted by a voice that seemed
like one they had heard somewhere before.

“Bless me!” exclaimed the Heer, involuntarily;
“if it was not quite impossible, I should
think I heard our old neighbour, Wolvert Spangler,
singing one of his ditties.”

The exclamation was overheard by the singer,
who came straight to the door, exhibiting
the little, chubby, round, jolly face of the identical
ballad-singing cobbler of Elsingburgh.
The moment honest Wolvert saw the old man
and his daughter, he recognised them, and ran
and took the hands of the Heer, and shook them
cordially, with tears of joyful welcome.

“My old master,” cried he, at last, “it makes
my heart glad to see thee. And thou, too, my
little mistress, wilt let a humble old acquaintance,

who hath often taken measure of thy little
foot, welcome thee to this good city.”

“In good sooth, Wolvert,” quoth the Heer,
“thy welcome is well timed, and grateful to our
hearts as our necessities. We are here as strangers,
without house, or home, or friends—”

“Sayest thou so,” interrupted Wolvert, “I
am glad of it—I am heartily glad of it, for then
thou wilt, perhaps, accept of me as a friend, and
my house as thy home. Never wilt thou enter a
threshold, where thou shalt be more welcome,
or meet with hearts more glad to administer to
thy happiness. Come forth, dame,” cried he;
“thou hast not forgot the kindness of my benefactress,
to me and mine, when I had neither
house nor home. I have often told thee of it.”

At this call there came forth, with active alacrity,
a comely dame, neatly and comfortably
apparelled, and, with courtesy and smiling look,
besought them to enter and make themselves at
home. “We will accept thine offers frankly,”
said the Heer, “not only because we know not
whither else to go, but most especially, that thy
welcome seems to be truly and sincerely tendered.”

“Else may one of the heaviest of Dominie
Kanttwell's judgments befall me and mine—my

house and all within it,” quoth honest Wolvert,
as he showed the father and daughter into his
comfortable little parlour, the floor of which was
sprinkled with sand from the sea shore, as white
as the driven snow. After partaking of some
refreshments, which were pressed upon them with
genuine, honest earnestness, the Heer, whose
heart was scarce ever so shut up but that good
cheer warmed and expanded it into something
like honest jollity, addressed his host as follows:

“Neighbour Spangler, I am glad, for thy sake
as well as my own, that thou seemest so comfortably
settled, and seemingly, therewithal, so
well to do in the world. Thou hast been industrious
and saving, I dare swear for thee, hey?
for, if I recollect right, when thou badest farewell
to Elsingburgh, in sober sadness, thou
didst not over and above abound in the good
things of this life, hey? Tell us thy peregrinations.”

“That is soon done,” replied the other: “after
leaving Elsingburgh, I found my way to the
Hoarkill, where I had a brother a skipper, who
owned a small vessel, with which he plied along
the coast, to and again. I got a passage with
him to New-York, where I went forth into the
streets to seek my fortune. Providence, I humbly

hope, in spite of the judgments of Dominie
Kanttwell, conducted me to the owner of this
house, then a worthy and thriving shoemaker,
who, luckily, wanted a journeyman, and took
me on the recommendation of my face. This
was not the only good turn my face did me, for,
in about a year, my master died, leaving his widow
all his possessions. The good dame was
fond of music, and in good time my ballads
made an impression on her heart. To cut short
a long story, and a tolerably long courtship, I
married an excellent wife, who made me quite
independent of the world, and to whom, I trust, I
have been, and always shall be, a good husband.
Not only this, Heer, but Governor Lovelace has
lately made me one of his five Aldermen, and
consults me on all great occasions of state, because,
as he is pleased to observe, I always agree
with him in opinion, which is a proof of my
being a person of sound discretion. So you see,
my worthy old master, my old friends, the ballads,
have been the making of me, after all.”

The Heer pondered a few moments on this
piece of biography, and then addressed himself
to Alderman Spangler, in an anxious tone, and
with a hesitating manner, as if afraid of hearing
a reply to his questions.

“As thou art in the confidence of the Governor,
thou canst, perhaps, tell me something concerning
the fate of a youth, who is dear to us,
at least, to me, and whom thou mayest remember
at Elsingburgh, as commonly known by the
name of the Long Finne. We have learned
that he is here, and in jeopardy of life and liberty.”

“You have learned the truth,” replied the
other. “Poor lad! I have made every effort to
save him from punishment, for what, I have every
reason to believe, he is not guilty of. I have
even opposed the will of the Governor, until he
begins to waver in his opinion of my great discretion.
But his excellency is exceedingly prejudiced
against Koningsmarke, because his behaviour,
during his examination before the Council,
was rather bold, and, according to the Governor's
acceptation, savoured of a crop-ear and
Presbyterian parliament rebel.”

“In what predicament stands he now?” asked
the Heer.

“He stands,” replied the other, “condemned
to be publicly whipt, and afterwards sold as a
slave to Barbadoes. The first part of the sentence
is to be inflicted to-morrow, by twelve
o'clock.”

“Thou hadst better retire with our kind hostess,
my daughter,” said the Heer, addressing
Christina, whose emotions almost shook her
frame to dissolution, as the thought crossed her
mind that it was now too late to save poor Koningsmarke,
at least from disgrace. But she reisted
the motion to retire.

“I came to see all, to hear all, and to bear
all, if Providence will vouchsafe to give
me a few days' strength. The time presses,
and what is done must be done speedily, or never.
Good Wolvert, canst thou procure me the
means of seeing Richard Lovelace this night?”

“I fear not, maiden,” replied Wolvert; “he
is now on Staaten-island, on a shooting party to
kill bears, and will not return till late, if at all.
But he will of necessity be here in the morning.”

“Wilt thou see him in the morning before
the hour arrives, and gain me admission to his
presence?”

“If God will so help me as to succeed, it
shall be so,” replied he.

“Can I not see—him?” said Christina, with
anxious and delicate hesitation.

“What, the youth? No, not to-night. He
is confined in the fort, and none can see him,
without an order from the Governor. But tomorrow—be

of good heart, my poor maiden—
to-morrow we will essay what we can do. Richard
Lovelace is a passionate man, but he is
not cruel. Let us put our trust in Heaven.”

“I do,” replied Christina, “but my fears
overpower my trust. Would, Oh! would to
God this night were past, for I fear my mind
will fail me, ere the hour approaches when I
shall most need its support, and that of my Maker.
Father, I would wish to retire, and prepare
for the morrow.”

Christina was conducted to a chamber by the
good dame, who discreetly left her alone, after
seeing that nothing was wanting to her comforts.

5. CHAPTER V.

The fatigues of a long and tedious journey
could not conquer the wakeful agony of poor
Christina, who paced her room backwards and
forwards, till the crowing of the cock announced
the approach of the morning, which was to
decide upon her happiness or misery. The
rising sun found her pale and worn with anxiety
and suffering; yet there was a firmness, a composure
in her voice and manner, which indicated
a mind wound up to meet the events of the day,
let them take what turn they might.

Soon as the hour at which the Governor usually
finished his breakfast arrived, the kind-hearted
Spangler went forth to solicit an immediate interview
for the Heer and his daughter. His
excellency happened to be in high good humour

that morning, having just heard some news from
England, which gave him particular satisfaction,
but which, having no especial reference to our
history, we shall pass over just now.

“What tell ye me, Alderman! the old
Governor of Elsingburgh come hither with his
daughter, to solicit the pardon of him they call
the Long Finne? Body o'me! is she young
and handsome—hey?”

“She is pale and sad,” replied Spangler;
“but the damsel has fair blue eyes, is of exceeding
comely features, and her shape is without
fault.”

“What! no Dutch dowdy, shaped like a
tub—hey? Well, I shall put on my regimentals,
and you shall go and bring the old Heer and his
daughter hither.”

The Alderman departed on his errand, and
the Governor proceeded to dress for his audience
of the fair young Swede, whose limbs trembled
so that she could scarcely support herself, as
they came into the presence of him who derived
a present consequence beyond all other human
agents, from having in his dispensation the fate
of Koningsmarke. The old cavalier was struck
with the beauty of our heroine, and with mingled
gallantry and compassion, conducted her to a

chair. After a moment's embarrassment, Christina
said to the Heer:—

“Father, the hour draws nigh, each moment
is precious.”

The Heer, then, in a firm, manly, and feeling
manner, required the pardon and enfranchisement
of the young Swede called Koningsmarke,
who in all that he had done, had acted under his
orders, as lawful and unquestionable representative
of the king of Sweden, then possessed of,
and exercising jurisdiction over the territory of
Elsingburgh.

“But he invited the savages to take arms,
and thereby endangered the lives of many of
the subjects of my master. This was against
the laws of God and man, and he deserves the
severest punishment.”

“The laws of God,” replied the Heer, “authorize
the means of self-defence at least; and
the practice of thy nation, as well as of all the first
adventurers in this new world, hath been to enlist
the savages in their wars with each other.
He did not invite the red-men to invade thy
town, or murder thy people, but to assist in defending
our lives and property. For this he
had my commission, and if any one is to blame
in this business, here I render myself thy prisoner,

to take the consequences of an act which
was not his, but mine.”

“But,” said Lovelace, “it is in proof, from
the testimony of thy own people, that he continued
his practices among the savages, after the
surrender of Elsingburgh, and that he was, consequently,
guilty of conspiracy and treason
against the king's majesty of England.”

“That is impossible,” replied the Heer, “because
he was with me during the whole period
of the negotiation, and also that which followed
the surrender of my power, until the evening
preceding the departure of the fleet, when, as I
understand, he was kidnapped and forcibly carried
away by the agents of Sir Robert Carre.
Who among my people gave thee such false and
wicked information?”

Governor Lovelace opened a drawer, and
produced a letter from Othman Pfegel, conveying
these charges against the Long Finne, and
referring to Dominie Kanttwell for a full corrobation.

“The galgen schivenkel,” exclaimed the Heer;
“the Long Finne shall cut off his ears, and a
slice of the Dominie's tongue, if he ever lives to
get back to Elsingburgh; and if he does not,
I will live a little while longer, if it be only to

do that good turn to a youth whom I loved as
my own son.”

“But what proof hast thou of this?” rejoined
Lovelace.

“The word, or, if thou so pleasest, the oath,
of a man of honour,” quoth the Heer.

“And mine also,” faltered the weeping Christina.
“The young man was never absent from
me, all this while, long enough to hold any communication
with the savages.

“Indeed!” quoth Lovelace—“is the young
man nearly related to thee?”

“No; not a drop of blood that runs in his
veins is of kindred with mine. I owe him nothing
on that score, but I am indebted to him
for life, and more than life. Why,” continued
Christina to herself, after a struggle and a pause,
“why should I shrink, from what my heart dictates,
and gratitude makes it a crime to omit?
The moments are numbered—the clock strikes
eleven—one hour, and but one hour more, to
wrestle with fate.”

Rising from her seat, Christina tottered towards
Governor Lovelace, and sunk at his feet.

“Oh, sir! exclaimed the maiden, with clasped
hands, “if thou canst not yield to justice,
which demands the release of the innocent, yield

thou to the prayers of mercy, which entreats his
pardon at thy hands. At other times I might
veil my maiden modesty, and shrink from the
avowal, but now, I proclaim to thee that this
youth is my affianced husband, that both gratitude
and love have bound me to him for ever,
and that if he is disgraced by public stripes, and
sold to captivity among the slaves of the Indies,
not he alone, but I, shall feel the blows and
the chains. My father, too, will become ere long
a childless old man, bearing on his shoulders a
burthen of misery, greater than even his weight
of years. Think of all this, and feel as I and
my father would feel for thee, wert thou and thy
daughter thus pleading before us for life and
death. Thou hast a daughter, perhaps?”

The gallant, hearty old cavalier wiped his
eyes, and, hastily approaching the fire-place,
rung the bell. A servant entered immediately.

“My carriage, instantly; do you hear? instantly.”
He then sat down and employed himself
in writing, till the servant announced the carriage
was ready, when he arose, and, approaching
Christina, gave her the billet he had just
finished.

“Thou shalt bear the first tidings thyself, my

daughter,” said Lovelace, “for so I feel for thee.
Enter the carriage with thy father, drive to the
prison, deliver this letter to the keeper—and
may those who would shrink from such exertions
as thine never taste the delight which is now
preparing for thee. Go, and bring the young
man with thee hither. No thanks—there is not
a moment to be lost.”

He then handed Christina to the carriage,
placed her in it with her father, and bade the
coachman drive to the prison with all possible
speed. The clock struck twelve a few minutes
after they left the Governor's mansion, and
Christina, as she counted the last stroke, exclaimed,
in an agony of feeling—

“We shall come too late. Oh! I know him
him so well! I know that if he is once made a
public spectacle—if the lash but once outrages
the sacred dignity of manhood—it will be as if
he were lost to us for ever; he will die, or, at
least, he will never see us more.”

A few minutes brought them to the fort, which
served as the prison for state criminals, where
they perceived a bustle and confusion in the hall
as they approached. As they came nearer,
they could see a tall figure struggling with one
or two soldiers, who seemed striving to strip him

of his upper garments; a measure which he
appeared to resist with all his might.

“Pooh! pooh!” exclaimed one of the soldiers,
in a rough voice; “there is no use in resisting,
and you may as well take it quietly.”

“Is there no hope they will shoot me?” replied
the struggling prisoner. “Must I be whipped
like a slave?”

“As sure as your name is Long Finne,”
replied the other. “Here comes the tickler,
with his cat-o'-nine-tails; if you had as many
lives as a cat, he'd scourge them all out of you,
I'll swear for it.”

“Then God forgive me!” exclaimed the
youth, as he snatched the bayonet which the
soldier carried stuck in his belt, and directed it
to his own bosom. At that instant, and just as
the point became died in blood, a voice that
went to his soul, exclaimed:—“Hold! in the
name of Heaven! thy honour is saved!” The
next moment Christina sank into his arms, and
her pure white bosom was stained with the blood
of him who pressed her to his heart. When the
blue-eyed maid saw the blood, she started away
in horrible despair. “Am I then too late?
Hast thou done the deed? O! righteous powers,

one moment had saved him and me, and that
moment was wasted!”

Koningsmarke solemnly assured her that he
was not hurt, and that his arm was arrested by
her voice, just in time to save his life.

“And such is thy love for me!” said Christina;
“thou couldst not endure a little for one who
would suffer all for thee.”

“Any thing but stripes and brands. Couldst
thou, dear Christina, bear to link thy fate with
that of a man who bore on his back the scars of
disgrace, and on his brow the brand of indelible
infamy?”

“Yes!” replied she, raising her eyes to Heaven,
as an appeal to the ordeal of truth: “Yes!
but neither thou nor I could bear it long.”

“Come, come,” cried the Heer, who now
for the first time found the use of his eyes and
tongue—“come, come, you young fools, don't
stand here talking and crying before these rough
and tough-hearted knaves, who, I see, don't know
whether to laugh or cry. Mr. Jailor, is the order
sufficient?”

“Perfectly so, sir:—the young gentleman is
free to depart when he pleases.”

“Well, then, let us depart, in God's name,”
quoth the Heer to his young companions. “And

here is something to make merry with, boys,”
throwing a hand full of rix-dollars among
the men of bolts and bars, who greeted him
with cheers, as he departed, and took coach for
the Governor's.

6. CHAPTER VI.

Governor Lovelace received the party with
great cordiality, and felt his heart warm with
honest benevolence, as the father and daughter
poured out their gratitude in thanks.

“Give me thy hand, young man,” said he to
the Long Finne. “The assurances of this worthy
old gentleman, backed by the entreaties of
this fair lady, have convinced me thou hast been
basely slandered. Give me thy hand; I hope
there is no ill blood between us.”

“None,” replied Koningsmarke; “the wisest
men may be deceived; it is only the virtuous
and just that will acknowledge and repair their
errors.”

“And I,” rejoined his Excellency, “hereby
covenant to forgive myself, and all my enemies,
on one condition; which is no other than that,

as I perceive with sufficient clearness this young
couple contemplate joining their fates together
ere long, thou, Governor Piper, wilt lay thy
commands upon them to honour my house with
the ceremony, and therewithal charge them, upon
pain of forfeiting thy blessing, to permit me the
pleasure of giving away a lady, whom, if I were
a young man, as I once was, I would dispute
the possession of with Guy of Warwick himself.
What sayest thou, Governor?”

“I say,” replied the Heer, “yea, I swear,
that it must, and shall be so, or I will withdraw
my consent in favour of the backbiter Othman
Pfegel, whom I do contemplate to beat lustily
on my return. Art thou content, my daughter?”

“Dear Father, allow me till to-morrow to decide.”

“Very well, but, der teufel! what has got
into thee, girl? When any thing turns up to
separate thee from the Long Finne, thou art half
mad; and when I am willing to unite you together,
thou art more than half a fool, I think,
and don't altogether know thy own mind. But
harkye, girl, be ready to-morrow morning either
to consent to marry the youth, or never to see
him more.”

“I agree to the alternative, father,” replied

Christina, bending her head down upon her bosom.

Governor Lovelace now drew the Heer aside,
and whispered him, “come with me, and let us
leave them together—I dare swear the matter
will be settled to our satisfaction;” and thereupon
the two old gentlemen left the room together.
Koningsmarke, then, taking the hand of
Christina, said—

“Christina, thou hast this day made me thy
debtor in a sum of gratitude, which I can never
repay. Dare I ask thee to add to it by complying
with the wishes of thy father? I speak not of my
own happiness, but of his. He will rejoice in
our union.

“Believe it not—hope it not,” replied Christina.
“Oh, how I rejoice in the events of this day,
which have enabled me to repay, at least, some
of my obligations to thee! Thou didst once
save my life and honour, and I have helped, to
redeem thine. Thus far are we even, as to the
past; as to the future, believe not that I can
ever join my fate indissolubly to that of a robber—at
least, to one who has been an associate of
robbers. The debt of gratitude repaid, I can
yield nothing to affection.”

“A robber!” exclaimed the Long Finne,

starting away from her with dismay and astonishment—“a
robber!”

“Yes! I have said it; for the truth compelled
me, at last, to utter the word, which I have carried
in my heart as a poisoned dagger, from the
very moment, when, at one and the same time, I
became thy debtor in an eternal weight of gratitude,
and discovered thou wert unworthy of my
love. Nay, deny it not; thy whole behaviour,
from first to last, hath acquiesced in the imputation.
None but robbers could have acted
as thou and thy companions acted.”

“But I do deny it. I appeal to facts, to the
whole history of my past life, to the eternal fountain
of truth, to God, and man. I have never
been what thou hast named me.”

This solemn denial led to explanations, which,
for the purpose of compressing in as short a
space as possible, we shall give in the way of a
connected narrative, and in our own words. For
this purpose it will be necessary to go back to
the period when the Heer Piper resided in Finland,
with his wife, a timid, gentle being, their
daughter Christina, and the Frizzled Head, then
to all appearance, as old as on the day she died.

At that period, and, indeed, it hath ever since
been too much the case with the north of Europe,

to the vexation, and ruin, and degradation
of the cultivators of the soil, the province was
infested with soldiery, who, quartered among the
inhabitants, too frequently acted like so many
freebooters, rather than as protectors of the
lives and property of the people. It was in those
days, and it is still, the custom, for the petty
princes of the north to hire out their subjects at
so much per head, to cut the throats, not of the
enemies of their country, but of those of the
worthy potentate who paid for their services.
The regiment of Holstein, commanded by
Colouel Koningsmarke, was, in this way,
employed in the service of Sweden, at that
time on the eve of becoming embroiled with the
Catholic powers of Germany. These foreign
auxiliaries and hirelings, as might be supposed,
having no attachment to the soil, no common
interests, or affinities of blood or affection with
the people, too often acted as their oppressors,
and plundered and insulted them at pleasure.

One summer evening, in the absence of the
Heer, as Christina, then a little girl of about
six years old, and her mother, were sitting, just
about the twilight, in a little low parlour, whose
open windows looked out on a charming rural
landscape, tinted with the soft, enchanting,

changeful hues of evening, on a sudden they
were broken in upon by a party of ruffians,
armed, and apparently half mad with liquor,
who rudely seized both mother and daughter,
and, by way of a good joke, frightened them
almost into convulsions. They shrieked and
screamed, but without any other effect than to
bring forth old Bombie, who assailed the intruders
with the most bitter reproaches she could devise.
This brought the attention of the drunken rout
towards the Frizzled Head, whom they seized,
and, with great ceremony, proceeded, as they
pretended, to decapitate forthwith.

Among the party was a fair, light-haired,
blue-eyed youth, apparently about thirteen
years of age, who, however, kept aloof, and partook
not in any of these outrages, until, incited
by the taunts, and ridicule, and, finally, commanded
by the leader of the party, he came
forward reluctantly, and affected to assist in restraining
the violent efforts of poor Bombie,
whose hands they were endeavouring to bind.
The moment the boy came near enough, Bombie
seized him by the collar, and, tearing off
his ruff, disclosed a large and singular scar, just
under his ear, in the shape of a cross. Christina,
whose eyes were naturally turned in that

direction, also saw the scar, which was impressed
on her memory, not only by the terrors of
the scene, but by the exclamation of the Frizzled
Head, who cried out—

“Ah! ha! thou bearest a mark—not the
mark of Cain, but one by which I shall know
thee, whatever changes time and chance may
produce in thee. Thou carriest a sign, which
to others may be the emblem of salvation, but
which to thee, sooner or later, shall be the
signal of disgrace and condemnation. I will
remember thee.”

The youth stood abashed, and took the opportunity
of a momentary pause, to whisper the
leader of the party, a threat of representing the
affair to his father, if they proceeded to any
further violence. The whisper was, however,
unnoticed by those whom it was intended to
benefit. The party, after eating, drinking or
wasting every thing they could find, finally
departed, and returned to their quarters. The
agitation and fright produced by this scene of
outrage, operating upon the gentle spirits and
weak frame of Christina's mother, threw her
into a nervous fever, which in a few weeks terminated
her life. The impression of these
events was never effaced from the mind of

Christina; and, in truth, it may be said, that it
strengthened with age, and every little while
received a deeper shade of horror, from the
exaggerated declamations of the Frizzled Head;
who, as her memory became less retentive and
connected, substituted the youth with the scar
for the principal actor in the death of her beloved
mistress. In this way does memory often
exaggerate the past, almost as much as hope
does the future.

The regiment of Koningsmarke marched the
next day to a distant part of the country; and,
indeed, the knowledge of this event, was what
principally emboldened the ruffians who belonged
to that corps, to the outrage we have
related. It is not within our plan to follow the
Long Finne, step by step, till his appearance at
Elsingburgh. Suffice it to say, that he was
left, by the death of his father, an extravagant
daring adventurer, without money, or the means
of subsistence: that, not long afterwards,
when his mother died in great distress, she gave
him a letter to her brother, the Heer's old
friend, Caspar Steinmets, who received him as
a son, and with whom he lived for some time.
Old Caspar, however, was a man who thought
no more of to-morrow than a grasshopper, but

sung, and basked in the sun, and was merry all
day long. Such men seldom leave much behind
them, except a sort of equivocal posthumous
fame, made up of a kind recollection of their
generosity and good humour, mixed with a
few shrugs of pity, at their want of prudence.

Old Caspar died; his money was all spent;
his salary, as high bailiff to a prince whose
territories, we are credibly informed, extended
over two square miles, throughout which he held
absolute sway, ceased with his latest breath;
and when honest Caspar was fairly housed in the
final asylum, there was nothing left to his heir,
but the recollection of his kindness, that last
legacy of gratitude, which the good heart delights
to cherish as a keepsake for ever.

In casting about where to choose his future
lot, or, in other words, what he might do to keep
soul and body together, when the few rix-dollars
he had about him should be melted into thin
air, and identified with the things that have been,
young Koningsmarke, who was called the
Long Finne, gentle reader! because he was
born in Finland, and nearly six feet high,
was attracted by the new world. It was now about
the time when the dashing adventurers; the ruined
lads, who had wasted their inheritance; the

younger brothers, who never had any inheritance
at all; the hero, alive to glory; the daring spirit,
willing to stake his life on the chance of unbounded
wealth; and, lastly, the pious convert,
ready to do all, to dare all, and to suffer all,
were, each and every one, turning their faces
towards the setting sun, as to a region where
some might retrieve their fortunes, others enjoy
the liberty of their consciences. Koningsmarke
knew that Sweden claimed rights, and had a
settlement in this quarter of the world, and that
was all he knew. He was little aware that this
territory was governed by the Heer Piper,
whose house, when a boy, he had entered in the
manner aforesaid; and, indeed, he had long since
forgotten the whole affair, as we forget our
boyish frolics when arrived at the age of manhood.
He took the first opportunity of embarking
for the new world; arrived at the Hoarkill;
proceeded to Elsingburgh; where he fell into
the custody of that vigilant police officer, Lob
Dotterel, and was recognised by Bombie, who
accidentally discovered the scar, which, as
rather unbecoming to his appearance, he generally
hid with a high ruff.

Koningsmarke, at the conclusion of this explanation,
solemnly assured Christina that every

word of it was true; that he had extenuated
nothing; and that, any farther than hath been
just related, he had no participation in an event
which he had first learned from the Frizzled
Head, on his arrival at Elsingburgh, but in a
manner so mysterious and exaggerated, as almost
convinced him he was actually a murderer.
Christina, too, when she looked attentively
backwards, and traced the progress of her impressions
with regard to this painful event, could
not but acknowledge, that they were in a great
measure derived from the declamations of
Bombie.

To the foregoing explanations of the Long
Finne, we beg leave to prefix a few of our own. In
addition to the declamatory exaggerations of the
Frizzled Head, it is probable that the Long Finne
himself may have contributed to mislead our
readers, by occasionally indulging in that inflated,
romantic style, too common, with those of exalted
imaginations—calling himself an outcast to
whom the elements themselves afforded no refuge;
a prey to the worm that never dies—as if for the
sole purpose of making himself interesting.
To this we may add, that we ourselves, with
the most disinterested intentions of enhancing
the reader's perplexity and delight, in perusing

this work, have now and then coloured the charges
of the Frizzled Head, and the admissions of
the Long Finne, a little highly. Should the reader
be ill-natured enough to find fault with us for
thus verifying the old proverb that “a story never
loses by telling,” we shall take care how we
treat him to another mystery.

The explanation of Koningsmarke, with his
solemn assurances of its truth, removed a load
that had long pressed on the heart of Christina,
and when he again besought her to comply with
the wishes of her father, she held out her hand
with a smile, such as had not lighted up her eyes
for a long time past.

“The will of my father shall be obeyed,”
said the blue eyed maiden; “for now I trust that
so it can be done, without any offence, either to
my father, or my mother that is in heaven.
Oh God! I thank thee; I can now conform to
his wishes, and consult my own heart, without
wedding myself to never dying remorse. I am
thine for ever.”

A kiss, and an embrace, sealed this covenant
just as the two old squires entered the room.

“Well,” quoth the Heer, “are we to be united
to-morrow, never to part, or to part, never
to meet again?”

“She has said that to-morrow she will be
mine,” replied the Long Finne, “and she never
broke her word.”

“Did I not tell thee,” quoth the Cavalier
Lovelace, “that there was nothing like leaving
them alone? Egad, there is always two to one
against a woman in such a case, not to say two
to nothing; for there is the lover and the lady
on one side, and nobody on the other.”

“Well, then,” quoth the Heer, “to-morrow
shall see thee one.”

“Nay, let it be the day after to-morrow,”
rejoined Governor Lovelace: “I must have
time to bid the company, and, 'fore Heaven,
Heer! but we'll carouse a little, shall we?”

“Verily,” replied the other, “I see no special
reason why the heart of an old man like me
may not, on an occasion like this, rejoice and
be glad. I will drink a bumper to the name of
the best of daughters with thee.”

“Ay, and to every letter of her name, or my
name is not Richard Lovelace.”

This matter being concluded upon, the preparations
were made by the hearty Cavalier
Lovelace, to celebrate the wedding, in a style
suitable to his own dignity, and the regard he
began to feel for Christina, whose appearance

and character had won his warm heart. One
thing he especially stipulated, to wit, that the
ceremony should not be performed by a
Presbyterian parson, nor the wedding dress
made by a French milliner. The former part
of the stipulation was easily accorded, and the
latter was entirely unnecessary, as there was
not a single French milliner at that time in the
whole province.

At length the happy hour arrived, which for
ever united Koningsmarke and Christina in one
fate and one name. All the dignitaries of the
city were bidden, not forgetting Alderman Spangler
and his dame; and it was the opinion
of the young ladies present, that the bridegroom
was quite as handsome as the red-coats of Governor
Lovelace's staff, who made such havoc
in the tender hearts of the pretty maidens of
New-York. Truth, our governing principle in
this history, obliges us to state, that Governor
Lovelace, the Heer Piper, Alderman Spangler,
and one or two others, did carouse it lustily till
the second crowing of the cock, when the Governor's
old black valet entered the room, and
informed his Excellency that it was high time
to go to bed, an intimation which he never failed
to attend to with perfect docility.

The day but one after the wedding, the Heer,
his daughter, and the Long Finne, bade the
worthy Cavalier Lovelace farewell, and embarked
in his state barge, for Elizabeth-Town
Point, where they took up their line of march,
and arrived in due time, without any accident,
at Elsingburgh. After sojourning a few days,
they retired to a beautiful farm, on the banks of
a little river, about half way between Elsingburgh
and Coaquanock, where, in rural ease,
rural quiet, the enjoyment of leisure, health, and
competency, combined with exercise and employment,
they passed quietly down the stream
of life, with as much content as falls to the lot of
this world. But the Heer and his daughter
could never agree on the subject of rural economy.
Christina was for planting flowers, and
ornamental shrubs, and beautifying all around;
while the Heer had a most pestilent propensity
for the useful, and valued a patch of cabbages
above a bed of tulips of a thousand dies.
Christina at length succeeded so far as to make
him promise to pay some little attention to ornament,
and cultivate a few favourite flowers,
which engagement he conscientiously kept, by
planting a notable bed of cauliflowers.

In process of time the good Heer saw his race

prolonged, in the person of a little blue-eyed
grandson, concerning whom he balanced three
whole days, in sore perplexity, whether to call
him after the immortal Gustavus, or his good
friend the Governor of New-York. Gratitude
at length got the better of loyalty, and the boy
was christened Richard Lovelace. The Heer
privately covenanted with himself, at the same
time, that the next should be called Gustavus
Adolphus, let what would happen.

As we like to follow old customs, sanctioned
by the examples of our betters, we will conclude
by gratifying the reader's curiosity with regard
to the other principal characters of our history.

The worthy Dominie Kanttwell, not long afterwards,
married the prettiest and richest girl in the
whole village, and the next sabbath preached a
mortal philippic against the lusts of the flesh,
and the mammon of unrighteousness. On this
unlooked for event taking place, aunt Edith
took mortal disgust to his doctrines, turned
backslider, and married Wolfgang Lang-fanger,
then a spruce widower, who privately
declared one night at master Oldale's, that
the improvement of that good lady was the
hardest task he ever undertook in all his life.

Lob Dotterel being, by the influence of the

Heer with Governor Lovelace, reinstated in his
office of High Constable, passed the rest of his
days in busy importance, and happy assiduity,
only that he was ocasionally molested by the intrusion
of the ghost of Bombie of the Frizzled
Head, which never forgave his agency in the
catastrophe of the likely fellow Cupid.

Poor Othman Pfegel having been confidentially
apprized, that the Long Finne intended to
take the first opportunity of giving him a sufficiency
of drubbing to last him all the days he
had to live, departed suddenly—not this life
but the village of Elsingburgh, and settled
down at the Hoarkill, where nobody thought it
worth while to molest him.