University of Virginia Library

2. BOOK SECOND.

1. CHAPTER I.

The farther we advance in our history, the
more do we perceive the advantages of that extempore
writing, the example of which we have
borrowed from the great modern master of this
exceedingly pleasant and profitable mode of
exercising the fancy and invention, as it were,
at the expense of history. It is wonderful,
with what a charming rapidity the thoughts
flow, and the pen moves, when thus disembarrassed
of all care for the past, all solicitude for
the future. Incidents are invented or borrowed
at pleasure, and put together with a degree
of ease that is perfectly inconceivable by a plodding
author, who thinks before he speaks, and
stultifies himself with long cogitations as to probability,
congruity, and all that sort of thing,
which we despise, as appertaining to our ancient

and irreconcilable enemy, common sense.
It may in truth be affirmed of this new and happy
mode of writing, that it very often happens, that it
causes less trouble to the author than to the
reader, the latter of whom not unfrequently,
most especially if he is one of those unreasonable
persons who suppose that nature and probability
are necessary parts of an historical novel,
will be sorely puzzled to find out the motive of
an action, or the means by which it was brought
about.

But whatever may be the profit of the reader,
certain it is, that of the author is amazingly
enhanced by the increased velocity attained
by this new mode of writing. Certain plodding
writers, such as Fielding, Smollet, and
others, whom it is unnecessary to name, wrote
not above three or four works of this sort in the
whole course of their lives; and what was the
consequence? They lived from hand to
mouth, as it were, for want of a knowledge of
the art of writing extempore; and were obliged
to put up with an immortality of fame, which
they could never enjoy. Instead of making a
fortune in a few years by the power of multiplying
their progeny, they foolishly preferred
to pass whole years in the unprofitable business

of copying nature, and running a wild-goose
chase after probability. Now, we hold that an
author is like a black female slave, valuable for
the rapidity and ease with which she produces
her offspring, which are always worth something
in the market. As to the colour, shape, and
mental qualities of the bantling, these are of
little consequence, provided it is of a good size,
and comes of a well-tried breed.

And here we will take occasion to dilate a
little more copiously upon the great advantages,
which may reasonably be expected from
the apt disposition of the world, to imitate this
mode of writing without plan, and mixing the
opposite ingredients of truth and falsehood.
Books must of necessity multiply so fast, that
every village, and every individual will, after a
year or two from their publication, be able to
purchase a library of them for little or nothing,
as is the case with a vast many popular works,
which in a little time come upon the parish, as it
were, and are sold to whoever will afford them
house-room. Thus will knowledge be wonderfully
disseminated, and every body come to
know, not only what did happen, but also what
did not happen, in the various ages and countries
of the world. Nay, we should not be at all
surprised if, under the increased facilities afforded

by this happy invention of the extempore, every
person should in time become his own author,
and furnish his own library, at the expense of
paper and printing only; and without any trouble
of thought whatever.

We could dilate infinitely on this copious
subject, did we not feel confident that the reader
must be by this time extremely impatient to
pursue our story. We will therefore content
ourselves with expressing a firm belief, that, as
religion and politics are already taught through
the medium of fiction, it will not be long
before the sciences generally, both moral and
physical, will be inculcated in the same manner.
We confidently predict the delightful period
when history will be universally studied through
the medium of impossible adventure, and truth
sweetly imbibed in the fascinating draughts of
improbable fiction; when young people shall
make chemical love, and gain each other's affections
by the inevitable force of lines, tangents,
affinity, and attraction; and when the consummation
of all things shall happen, in young children
being taught their A. B. C. by the alluring and
irresistible temptation of being able to read the
Waverly Novels, instead of appealing to their
low-born appetites through the vulgar medium
of gingerbread letters.

2. CHAPTER II.

While Dan Cupid was shooting his arrows
with such effect from the windows of the prison,
to those of the palace, and so back again, the
Heer Piper and Madam Edith were taken up
with other weighty affairs, that prevented any
interference with the young people on their
part. His Excellency was confined to his
room with a fit of the gout; a disorder, which,
according to the theory of a waggish friend of
ours, naturally resolves itself into three distinct
stages in its progress. The first is the swearing
stage, wherein the patient now and then indulges
himself with damning the gout lustily. The
second, called the praying stage, is when he softens
down his exclamations into “O, my G—d!” or
“bless my soul!” and the like. The third, and
worst of all, is the whistling stage, during which
the patient is seen to draw up his leg with a long
wh—e—e—w! accompanied by divers contortions

of visage. This gout, the Heer was wont
to say, was the only inheritance he received from
his father, who left one of his sons the estate
without the gout, and the other the gout without
the estate; which, in the opinion of Governor
Piper, was a most unjust distribution.

During these attacks, the Heer's natural
irascibility of temper was, as might be expected,
greatly increased, insomuch, that if any one
came suddenly into the room, or opened the
door with a noise, or walked heavily, so as to
shake the floor, he would flourish his crutch most
manfully, and exclaim, “der teufel hole dich, der
galgen schivenkel;” or, if it happened to be Bombie
of the Frizzled Head, “das tonnerwetter
schlage dich kreutzeveis in den boden,” one of his
most bitter denunciations. Indeed, the only
person allowed to approach him was the fair and
gentle Christina, whose soothing whispers, and
soft, delicate touch, seemed to charm away his
pains, and lull his impatient spirit into temporary
rest. At such times, he would lay his hand
gently on her head, cry “God bless thee, my
daughter,” and close his eyes in quiet resignation.
Such is the balm of filial affection! such
the divine ministration of tender, duteous
woman!

On these occasions, the gentle Christina would
glide out of the room like the sylph of divine
poetry, and seat herself at her window, there to
indulge her newly awakened feelings, and sigh
over the captivity of the handsome stranger.

In the mean while, Madam Edith was busily
employed in the investigation of some stories
circulating in the village, and especially in getting
at the bottom of a report concerning a certain
love affair, current at that time. Any thing of
this sort gave her the fidgets in a most alarming
degree; for she resembled Queen Elizabeth in
this respect, that the marriage of any one within
the sphere of her influence, gave her a similar
sensation with that cherished by the dog in the
manger, who would not eat himself, nor suffer
any body else to eat. However this may be,
aunt Edith was so completely monopolized by
out-door business, that she paid little attention
to what was going on within, and suffered her
niece to do as she pleased, without interruption.

In process of time, the Heer Piper became
sufficiently recovered to limp about with crutch
and velvet shoe, and take an interest in the
affairs of the village, which, in his opinion, had
suffered exceedingly during his illness. One
day, by chance, he bethought himself of the Long

Finne, and pondered how it came to pass that
he had not been brought to confession by this
time. He had now been imprisoned nearly a
fortnight, and Governor Piper held him to be
a tough piece of humanity, if he did not, by this
time, feel somewhat compunctious, under the
combined influence of solitude and hunger. He
forthwith determined to call the fair, tall youth
before his privy council, and accordingly,
despatched his trusty messenger Cupid, grandson
to the incomprehensible Bombie of the Frizzled
Head, to summon them together.

This Cupid was a gentleman of colour, as
the polite phrase is, about four feet and a half
high, with an ebony complexion, flat nose, long
wrinkled face, small eyes, sunk in his head, a
wide mouth, high cheeks, bushy eye-brows and
eye-lids, small bandy legs, of the cucumber
outline, and large splay feet, which, it is affirmed,
continued to increase in size, long after every
other part of him had done growing. In short,
he was, to use the phrase of our southern
brethren, “a likely fellow.”

Cupid was reckoned the worst chap in the
whole village, being always at the head ofevery
species of juvenile mischief; and, if report spoke
truth, had more than once attempted to set fire

to the houses of persons against whom he had
a pique. Lob Dotterel's fingers itched to get
hold of him; but the awe in which he, together
with the rest of the villagers, stood of his
grandmother's supernatural powers, checked
the surprising vigilance of the high constable,
and saved Cupid's bacon more than once. The
boy, who was now supposed to be about
eighteen, notwithstanding his diminutive size,
was as obstinate as a mule, as mischevious as a
monkey, and as ill-natured as a bull-dog.
Punishment was lost upon him, and kindness
thrown away. Neither one nor the other ever
drew a tear from his eye, an acknowledgement
of his fault, or promise of future amendment.
Belonging, as he did, to a race who seemed
born to endure, both in their native Afric, and
everywhere else, he suffered in silence, and
revenged himself in the obscurity of the night,
by the exercise of a degree of dexterous cunning,
which is often seen among those whose situation
represses the impulses of open vengeance.

The only gleams of affection or attachment
ever exhibited by this dwarfish and miserable
being, seemed called forth by his grandmother,
and an old Swedish cur, belonging to the Heer.
If any one insulted or worried, as children are

wont to do, the old woman, or the old dog, the
rage of the dwarf was terrible, and his revenge
bounded only by his means of mischief. Twice
had he cut open the head of a village urchin
guilty of this offence, with a large stone, and
once was on the point of stabbing another, if he
had not been prevented. His grandmother
doated on him with that obstinate and instinctive
affection, which is so often called forth by those
very qualities that render its object hateful or
contemptible in the eyes of the world. As to
old Grip, the dog, he would obey nobody,
follow nobody, fawn on nobody, or bite, or wag
his tail at the bidding of any earthly being, except
the black dwarf Cupid, but on all occasions
condescended to obey the behests of this his
puissant master.

Then came, in due time, Wolfgang Langfanger,
the pottee-baker, Ludwig Varlett, the shoemaker,
who, if he ever heard the old proverb ne
sutor, &c. despised it with all his heart, and Master
Oldale, fat and plump as a barrel of his own
spruce beer, all good men and true, and members
of his Majesty's council in the good town of Elsingburgh.
After the different “how doon ye's”
had been exchanged, and the Heer had given a
full, true, and particular history of his late

fit of the gout, he opened his business, and
Lob Dotterel, who always instinctively attended
on these occasions, was depatched for the Long
Finne. In the mean time, the Heer and his council
lighted their pipes, and took their seats with
most imposing dignity. Master Lob fulfilled
his duty in the twinkling of an eye, and the Long
Finne appeared in the high presence, with pretty
much the same air of indifference as before, and
with a rosy complexion, which puzzled the Heer
not a little, till he resolved the thing into a blush
of conscious guilt.

“Well, henckers knecht,” said the Heer, “have
you come to your senses by this time?”

“I am no henckers knecht,” replied the Long
Finne, “and I have never been mad, all my
life.”

“Der teufel hole dich,” exclaimed the Heer,
waxing wroth; “dost think to brave it out with
me in this manner, der ans dem land gejacter
kerl? Where gottest thou that handful of Mark
Newby's halfpence? answer me that, der teufels
braden.”

“Ask Lob Dotterel,” replied the youth; “he
saw me receive them in change for a rix-dollar,
from a stranger who passed through the village.”

“Der teufel!” exclaimed the Heer, and there-upon
the three members of the council gave a
simultaneous puff extraordinary, expressive of
astonishment.

“Harkye, Lob Dotterel,” said the Heer,
“did'st see the Long Finne receive this money
in change from the stranger?”

“I did,” replied master high constable, who
began to feel his prisoner slipping through his
fingers.

“Verflucht und verdamt!” exclaimed the
Heer, dashing the ashes from his pipe in a mortal
passion; “and why didst not tell me so before,
der galgen schivenkel?”

“'Twant my business,” quoth Lob; “your
excellency always tells me not to put in my oar,
till I am called to speak.”

“Put him to his bible oath,” said the Heer,
who held that, though the oath of a witness was
not necessary to the committing of a person to
jail, yet was it indispensable to his release.
Whereupon Wolfgang Langfanger, the pottee-baker,
pulled out of his breeches pocket, a marvellously
greasy little square book with silver
clasps, which, having first rubbed bright on the
sleeve of his coat, he handed to the Heer. Lob
Dotterel was then incontinently put to his corporal

oath, and confirmed the account which the
prisoner had given of his coming into the possession
of such a quantity of Mark Newby's halfpence.

“Der galgen schivenkel!” exclaimed the Heer,
shaking his crutch at Lob Doterel, who looked
rather sheepish, and, for that matter, so did his
Excellency. However, he gathered himself together,
and forthwith pronounced so discriminating
a judgment on the case, that, had not the
town of Elsingburgh been destroyed long ago,
it would, doubtless, have been remembered to this
day in the traditions of the inhabitants. Mustering
together his recreant, runaway dignity, he
decided, that he should divide his judgment into
two parts. And first, as he, Koningsmarke, sirnamed
the Long Finne, was acquitted of treasonable
practices in regard to the possession of
Mark Newby's halfpence, he should be released
from prison. Secondly, that inasmuch as he had
not been able to give a good account of himself,
and of his motives for coming to the village, he
should be again remanded to jail, on suspicion of
certain designs, which, as yet, did not sufficiently
appear to the satisfaction of his Majesty's government.
The rest of the council signified
their approbation, according to custom, by saying

nothing; for it ought to have been premised that
the Heer Piper, as the representative of majesty,
held, that though bound to consult his council,
he was not bound to pay any attention to
their opinions. In fact, it was his maxim, that a
council was of no other use to a Governor, than
to bear the blame of any unlucky or unpopular
measure.

As Lob Dotterel placed his withering paw
on the shoulder of the Long Finne, that mysterious
and unaccountable youth took occasion to
except to the Governor's assertion that he had
not been able to give a good account of himself.

“If your Excellency is not satisfied, I will
begin again, and give you the history of my
family, from the flood, in which some of my ancestors
were doubtless drowned, to the present
time, when”—

“When,” interrupted the Heer, “one of their
posterity, at least, is in some danger of being
hanged. Begone, der ans dem land gejacter kerl.
Away with him to prison.”

The Long Finne bowed with a sly air of ironical
submission, shrugged his shoulders, and quietly
submitted to the guidance of the high constable
of Elsingburg.

3. CHAPTER III.

It was on a Saturday afternoon that the
Long Finne was remanded to prison, in the
manner detailed in the last chapter. The
gentle Christina wept, and wrung her hands;
for he must know little of the heart of a woman,
who cannot comprehend to what a degree
the exercise of those good offices conferred
upon the Long Finne, through the instrumentality
of Bombie, together with the pity she
felt for his unmerited imprisonment, had softened
the heart of this gentle girl towards the tall,
fair youth. She besought the Frizzled Head to
carry him his supper as usual; but that ancient
sybil pertinaciously replied with her eternal
sing song of “I have seen what I have seen—I
know what I know.”

The blue-eyed damsel of the north could not

sleep that night, which turned out dark and
dismal. She sat at her window, and the death-like
silence, unbroken by a single sound, save the
howling of the north-east wind, added to her
feelings of desolation. Through the black void
that separated the prison and the palace, she
could see the Long Finne pacing past the grated
window, from which poured the light of his
lamp. When it disappeared, supposing the
youth had gone to rest, Christina threw herself
on her bed, and after, long and troubled wakefulness,
sunk into an unquiet sleep, haunted by
dreams even more doleful than her waking
thoughts.

She was roused by a glaring light shining
full into the room, with a brightness that astonished
and alarmed her. Starting up, and running
to the window that looked towards the
prison, she saw a sight that froze her blood into
horror. The bars of the prison seemed like
those before a red-hot furnace, and all within
exhibited a fiery redness. Anon, the flames
poured forth from the windows of the keeper's
apartment, in glaring volumes, advancing and
receding as the different currents of air obtained
a mastery. To utter a loud shriek, to run to
her father, and to awaken the whole household,

was the work of a moment; and in a few minutes
afterwards, all was noise and confusion in the
village of Elsingburgh.

Every man, woman, child, and dog in the
town was out, lending assistance to the uproar,
and impeding, in some way or other, the attempts
made by a few persons, not quite out of their
senses, to stop the progress of the flames.—
Tongue cannot describe, nor imagination conceive,
the discordant cries of “fire, fire,” the
shrieks of women, and the howls of dogs, that
mingled in the mighty uproar, and drowned
the voices of those who attempted to give directions
for preventing the fire from spreading into
the village.

With much difficulty they forced the outer
door, which led to the keeper's apartments,
where they found that trusty blade, Gottleib
Schwashbuckler, and his wife, fast asleep in each
other's arms, in spite of the shriekings of the
little urchins within, and the uproar without.
The truth is, that Saturday night was generally
devoted by Master Gottleib and his fat rib,
to certain loving tipplings, which commonly
ended in their both going to sleep, just on the
spot where they took the last glass together.
On this night, the fire in an adjoining room,

which served as parlour and kitchen, had been
left burning, for the purpose of drying Madam
Schwashbuckler's best, and indeed only, muslin
gown, (an article which conferred, at that time,
no little distinction on the possessor,) together
with certain other articles of dress, intended for
the husband and children the ensuing Sunday.
Besides these, there was in the chimney corner,
a quantity of light wood, which Master Gottleib,
who smelt a storm that night, had collected
together for the use of the morrow. Either the
clothes had taken fire, and communicated to the
dry wood, or the latter had first caught, and
communicated to the former; for this is one of
those knotty difficulties, which even authors,
who know so many secrets, are often unable
to resolve.

Be this as it may, when the door was burst
open, the flames had so far advanced, that a
few minutes more and it had been all over with the
ancient family of the Schwashbucklers. As the
door opened the little brood rushed out like so
many caged partridges; but it was with no little
difficulty that the sleeping pair were made to
comprehend their situation, and with still more
that they were got out of the building, it being

their pleasure to stay and dispute which was to
blame for this catastrophe.

The opening of the large door, which fronted
the direction from which the wind was blowing,
having given an impulse to the flames, they
almost instantaneously communicated to the
only staircase that led to the upper story of the
prison. It was now in vain to attempt saving
the building, and accordingly, one part of the
community were employing themselves in
sprinkling the roofs of such houses as were
most exposed to the flakes of fire, which now
began to soar into the air, while others were
quietly looking on in gaping wonderment,
sometimes watching the reflection of the flames,
that at one moment spread upwards on the
bosom of the dark sky, and at another receded,
leaving them darker than before. Others were
adding to the horrors of the scene, by wailings,
and cries of fire, fire, although by this time,
every one was collected from far and near.

At this moment the mysterious Bombie
rushed among the crowd, crying out, in a voice
that overpowered the infernal uproar,—“Shame
on the pale-faced race! They will let one of
their colour perish in the flames, without essaying
to relieve him, as if he were one of those ye call
the posterity of the first murderer!”

“There is nobody in the prison!” exclaimed
half a hundred voices.

“There is, I tell you,” replied the sybil.—
“Look! see ye not a shadow, passing among
the lights in yonder room? See ye not that he is
putting forth his hands through the grates, imploring
assistance? See ye not how he tries
to wrench the iron from its fixture in the last effort
of despair. He is innocent—at least,” muttered
she to herself, “he is innocent of the crime
for which he is here—would I could say, of all
others.”

“A ladder! a ladder!” cried half a hundred
voices at once. But alas! there was no ladder
to be had long enough to reach the window.

The person of master Gottlieb Schwashbuckler
was then searched for the key of the room where
the prisoner was confined, and all his pockets
turned inside out to no purpose. At last that
worthy, after rubbing his eyes, scratching his
head, and yawning half a dozen times, avowed
his firm belief that he had locked the room carefully
last evening, and as carefully left the key
sticking in the keyhole. Several attempts were
now made, by different persons, to ascend the
staircase and unlock the door, which was not
more than two paces from it; but they all returned

without success, some with their hair singed,
others with scorched hands, and almost suffocated;
in short, all now declared that relief was
entirely hopeless.

Bombie now advanced a little before the rest,
leaned upon her horn-headed stick, and cried out
with an almost supernatural voice—“Koningsmarke!”

“I hear”—answered a voice from within.

“Koningsmarke—thy fate is in thine own
hands; all human help, save thine, is vain.
Exert thy strength upon the door, or upon the
iron bars. Thou art strong, and thou art desperate;
exert thyself and be free, or perish—as
thou deservest,” said the sybil, ending in a low
mutter.

At that moment there was a crash within the
building, and the disappearance of the youth
was announced by a groan from the spectators,
whose noisy exclamations now sunk into a horrible
silence. A minute or two after, he appeared
again, at the window, having employed the
interval of his disappearance in attempting, in
vain, to force the door. Now he made a desperate
effort at the bars of one of the windows,
but they resisted his strength. “The other! the
other!” cried the sybil.

He essayed the other without success. “'Tis
in vain,” cried the youth, in despair. “I perish
here; remember! remember!”

“Remember thou!” shrieked the old woman:
“Remember that the dove of thy christian legend
went forth thrice, ere she found what she
sought. Try once again.”

He tried again, but in vain—the bars shook,
but did not yield.

“Once more,” cried she, “for the sake of
thy benefactress.”

He essayed again with convulsive strength—
the bars shook—moved—the wall in which they
were inserted trembled—gave way—and the
whole fell into the room. A shout of triumphant
humanity announced the event. “Jump—jump
for thy life!” cried out one and all, for that was
the only way to escape. Koningsmarke hung
for a moment, with his hands, from the side of
the broken window, and at length, letting himself
go, fell to the ground insensible.

4. CHAPTER IV.

Where was the fair and gentle daughter of
the Heer, while what we have detailed in the
last chapter was passing? That innocent and
tender-hearted maiden, checked by the innate
sense of propriety, which is the truest safeguard
of virtue, and restrained by the timidity of new-born
affection, remained at home in a state of the
most painful anxiety. She despatched the old sybil
Bombie to bring her information, and then stood
at her window, watching with increasing agitation,
the progress of the devouring element.
She could distinguish, by the glaring light, the
stranger youth, sometimes standing at the
window, as if imploring his rescue, and every
time he disappeared, a hope arose in her bosom,
that the door had been opened for his escape.
But he returned again, and again, while at every

new disappointment, her agitation increased;
until at length, when she heared the crash of the
falling staircase, and saw a shower of burning
cinders rise into the air, the blood rushed to her
heart, and her senses became for a while
suspended.

With the first moment of returning animation,
the fair Christina beheld the black sybil standing
over her, muttering one of her incomprehensible
spells, in a low and sepulchral voice. “Is he safe,”
asked the maiden, fearfully.

“The wolf is again abroad, and let the innocent
lamb beware,” replied the Frizzled Head.

“What in the name of Heaven meanest thou,
by thy parable of the wolf and the lamb! Be
silent, or tell all thou knowest, I beseech thee,”
said the startled girl.

“The slave cannot witness against the master,
nor the colour I bear, testify against thine. I
have seen what I have seen—I know what I
know. Sleep out the rest of this night in the sleep
of innocence, for no one knows but it may be
the last.”

So saying, the mysterious monitor bade her
young mistress good night, and retired, leaving
poor Christina to muse with painful curiosity on
her dark and inscrutable oracles.

In the mean time, the Heer Piper had been

apprised of the situation of the Long Finne,
who, as we have before stated, was taken up
insensible, after his fall from the window of the
prison. Though a testy, impatient little man,
the Heer was, at the bottom, neither ill-natured
nor malignant. He could not reflect on the imminent
danger to which his suspicions had exposed
the stranger youth, without a painful feeling of
remorse, or contemplate his present forlorn and
desolate condition, without compassion. Yielding
to his feelings, he directed that the Long
Finne should be brought to his palace, where
he was placed on a bed, and every means in
their power used for his recovery. It was for
some time doubtful whether the soul and the
body had not parted forever; but at length
the youth opened his eyes with a long-drawn
sigh, then shut them again for a few moments,
during which, nature seemed to struggle between
life and death. At length, however, the
desperate contest was over; the colour gradually
came back into his cheeks, and he seemed to
recognise the Heer, who had watched his revival
with no little solicitude.

The recovery of the Long Finne, who was
sorely bruised with his fall, was slow and
gradual, but it was at last completed, and he

became a man again. Unwilling any longer
to trespass on the hospitality of the Heer, the
young man one day took an opportunity to
express his deep and indelible sense of the
obligations he owed to the Heer and his family,
his inability to repay them for the present,
his hope that providence would one day put it
in his power, and finally, his resolution to depart
on the morrow. The Long Finne had now
been an inmate of the palace, somewhat more
than a month, and during all that time experienced
unvarying kindness. It is one of
the most noble and delightful characteristics
of our nature, that whatever may be our first
motive for bestowing kindness on a fellow creature,
we cannot continue long to do so, without
in time coming to love the object of our benevolence.
Mankind, indeed, are prone to become
ungrateful for favours received, and to feel uneasy
at the sight of a benefactor; but the bestower
of benefits is never without his reward
in the complacency of his feelings, and the
approbation of his own heart. There is, too, a
social feeling in human nature, which is nurtured
by domestic intercourse, and which gradually
dissipates hasty and unfounded prejudices,
since it is hardly possible to live in the same
house with a person whose manners are tolerably
conciliating, without feeling something of that
species of neighbourly good will, which, after
all, is the strongest cement of society.

It was so with the Heer Piper, who felt no
little complacency of spirit, when he looked
back upon the various claims his late kindness
had given him and his, on the gratitude of the
youth. When, therefore, he heard the proposition
for to-morrow's departure, it was with
something like a feeling of dissatisfaction.

“Why, hang it, Long Finne,” he exclaimed,
“I hope there is no ill-blood between us about
the affair of Mark Newby's halfpence—eh!”

“I were ungrateful if I remembered that,”
said the youth. “Thou hast buried it for ever
under the recollection of a thousand kindnesses.
I remember nothing, but that I owe my life,
worthless as it is, to you.”

“Well, well,” replied the Heer, “I will tell
thee what. Thou sayest thou art friendless,
and without money, and where wilt thou find
either one or the other, in this wilderness?”

“Alas! I know not,” replied the youth;
“but it is better to go forth in search of new
friends, than to tire our old ones.”

“Der teuful hole dich,” cried the fiery and

puissant Heer; “who told thee thy old friends
were tired of thee? are my household negligent,
or do I treat thee with any more ceremony than
a kitten? 'Slife Master Long Finne, but that
the jail is unluckily burnt down, I'd clap thee
up again, for such a false suspicion, I would—
der teufel hole dich.”

“But I have not been used to live on charity,”
rejoined the youth.

“Charity!” furiously exclaimed the Heer.
“Charity! verflucht und verdamt! why, 'sdeath,
am not I Governor of this territory, and can't I
take a man into my palace out of my own free
will and pleasure, without being accused of
charity, and having the matter thrown into my
teeth, der teufel! Harkye, Long Finne, either
stay in my house till I can provide for thee, or
by the immortal glory of the great Gustavus,
I'll clap thee up between four stone walls, if I
build another jail on purpose.”

“Thou shalt not need,” replied the Long
Finne, smiling; “I will not run away from you.
Perhaps I may make myself useful, at least in
time of danger. I was once a soldier, and if
the savages should ever attempt the fort, I
may repay some of my obligations.”

“Very well,” quoth the Heer; “away with

thee; and harkye, if I hear any thing more about
that d—d charity, I'll set that mortal speechifier,
the Snow Ball, at thee, for I perceive thou art
more afraid of her confounded smoked tongue
than of der teufel.” As the Heer said this, he
looked round rather apprehensively, as if to see
whether the Snow Ball was not within hearing,
knowing full well that if he affronted her, she
would spoil his pepper-pot for him at supper.

The Long Finne bowed, and left the high
presence of the representative of majesty, and
from thence went to a place where he was
pretty certain of meeting the charming Christina,
who had ministered to his sick bed, like a
guardian sylph—Pshaw! like a gentle, compassionate,
sweet-souled woman! who is worth
all the sylphs that ever sung or flitted in the
vacuum of a poet's brain.

“Art thou going away to-morrow?” asked
Christina, with her blue eye cast to the earth.

“No,” replied the youth with a smile; “thy
father threatens me with building a new prison if I
talk of departing. I will stay, and at least
lose my liberty more pleasantly.”

That evening, the Long Finne and the gentle
Christina walked on the white sand beach,
that skirted the wide expansive river, over

whose placid bosom, the south wind gently
sailed, and the moonbeams sprinkled a million
of little bright reflections, that danced on the
waves, as they broke in gentle murmurs on the
pebbly shore. Night, and silence, those tonguetied
witnesses of the lover's innocent endearments,
the seducer's accursed arts, the murderer's
noiseless step, the drunkard's reel, and the
houseless wretch's wanderings—night, and
silence, created that solitude, in which happy,
youthful lovers, see nothing but themselves,
and forget that they exist not alone in this
world. The almost noiseless monotony of the
waves, appearing, breaking, vanishing one after
another, like the evanescent generations of man;
the splash of the sturgeon, at long intervals,
jumping up, and falling back again into the
waters; these, other soothing sounds,
enticed them to wander far down the
shore, out of sight and out of hearing of the
village.

All at once they were startled at the voice of
the solitary, ill-boding Whipperwill, which
whistled its shrill cry, as if it were close to their
ears, although entirely invisible. “Whip-poor-will—Whip-poor-will,”
cried the bird of superstitious
fears; and that moment a voice was

heard from the bank above them, exclaiming—
not, “O, yes! O, yes!” or “Hear ye! Hear ye!”
but singing the following wild, mysterious strain:

The voice and the figure were those of the
Frizzled Head, who possessed the musical talent,
so remarkable a characteristic of her African
race; and who, as she was seen by the moon-light,
standing half bent, leaning on her stick,
at the top of the bank, looked like an old witch,
if not something worse. As she finished this
long ditty, she cried out, in a sepulchral tone,
“Miss Christina, you're wanted at home; the
supper is ready, and the pepper-pot is getting
cold. The wolf is abroad, let the lamb beware.
I have seen what I have seen—I know what I
know.”

So saying, she mounted her stick, which we
are rather afraid was not a broomstick, and
capered off like an ostrich, half running, half
flying. The young couple returned to the
palace, and Christina remarked that the Long
Finne uttered not a word during the rest of the
walk.

5. CHAPTER V.

The summer passed away, and autumn began
to hang out his many-coloured flag upon
the trees, that, smitten by the nightly
frosts, every morning exhibited less of the green,
and more of the gaudy hues that mark the
waning year in our western clime. The farmers
of Elsingburgh were out in their fields, bright
and early, gathering in the fruits of their spring
and summer's labours, or busily employed in
making their cider; while the urchins passed
their holydays in gathering nuts, to crack by the
winter's fire. The little quails began to whistle
their autumnal notes; the grasshopper, having
had his season of idle sport and chirping jollity,
began now to pay the penalty of his thoughtless
improvidence, and might be seen sunning himself,
at mid-day, in melancholy silence, as if anticipating

the period when his short and merry
race would be run. Flocks of robins were
passing to the south, to seek a more genial
air; the sober cattle began to assume their
rough, wintry coat, and to put on that desperate
appearance of ennui, with which all nature
salutes the approach of winter. The little blue-bird
alone, the last to leave us, and the first to
return in the spring, sometimes poured out his
pensive note, as if bidding farewell to the nest
where it had reared its young, as is set forth
in the following verses, indicted by Master Lazarus
Birchem, erewhile flogger to the small fry
of Elsingburgh:—

All this while, the fair Christina and the tall
youth were left to take their own way; to wander,
to read, to sing, and to look unutterable
things, unobserved and unmolested, save by the
mysterious and incomprehensible warnings of
the black sybil of the Frizzled Head, who, whenever
she met them, was continually dinning in
their ears the eternal sing-song of “I have
seen what I have seen—I know what I know.”
At such interruptions, the eye of the Long
Finne would assume that fearful expression
which, we have before observed, had startled
the fair Christina, and which, now that she felt
a stronger interest in the youth, often occasioned
a vague sensation of horror, that caused her
many a sleepless night.

The situation of our little blue-eyed Finlander
became every day more painful and embarrassing.
The consciousness of her growing interest
in the Long Finne, the obscurity of his
character, the equivocal expression of his eye,
and the mysterious warnings of the Frizzled
Head, all combined to produce a sea of doubts

and fears, on which her heart was tossed to and
fro. At times she would resolve to alter her
deportment towards the youth, and banish him
her father's house, by a harsh and contemptuous
indifference. But here love, in the form of pity,
interfered. Poor, friendless, and unknown,
where should he find a refuge, if banished
from the village? He would be forced to seek
the woods, herd with the bands of Indians, and
become himself the worst of savages, a white
one. At other times she determined to consult
aunt Edith. But that good lady, as we observed
before, had too much to attend to abroad, to
mind affairs at home; and was so smitten with
a desire to do good on a great scale, that her
sympathies could never contract themselves to
the little circle of the domestic fireside. Her
father next presented himself to her mind, as
her natural guardian and counsellor. But the
Heer, though he loved her better than pipe or
pepper-pot, was a testy, scolding little man;
apt to speak rather more than he thought, and
to threaten more than he would do. Hence
the tender apprehensive feelings of a delicate
girl, thus circumstanced, shrunk from the idea
of being perhaps roughly assailed in the cutset,
although, in the end, she might meet with affectionate
sympathy.

The Heer, at this time, was sorely environed
with certain weighty cares of state, that perplexed
him exceedingly, and added not a little to
the irritability of his temper. He was engaged,
tooth and nail, in a controversy about boundaries,
with his neighbour William Penn, who, it
is well known, was a most redoubtable adversary
in matters of paper war. Two brooks, about
half a mile apart from each other, and having
nothing to distinguish them, caused great disputes,
with respect to the boundary line between
the territories of Coaquanock and Elsingburgh.
Trespasses, on either side, occasioned mutual
complaints, and though the Heer Piper fell into
a passion and swore, the other kept his temper,
and the possession of the territory in dispute
besides. In order to settle this affair, it was
proposed to send an envoy to Elsingburgh, on
the part of those of Coaquanock, and accordingly
he made his appearance, about this time,
at this renowned capital.

Shadrach Moneypenny, as he was called,
for Excellencies and Honourables did not fly
about like hail-stones, at that time, as now, was
a tall, upright, skin-and-bone figure, clothed

from head to foot, in a suit of drab-coloured
broad-cloth; a large hat, the brim of which
was turned up behind, and without any appendage
that approached to finery, except a very
small pair of silver buckles to his high-quartered
shoes. Yet, with all this plainness, there
was a certain sly air of extreme care in the adjustment
of his garments, in accordance with
the most prim simplicity, that shrewdly indicated
friend Shadrach thought quite as much
of his appearance as others, who dressed more
gaudily to the eye. The Long Finne, who was
somewhat of a mischevious wag at times, affirmed
that the worthy envoy looked very much as if
he had gone through the same process of washing,
clear-starching and ironing, with his precise
band and rigid collar. Shadrach Moneypenny
rode a horse seventeen hands high, and proportionably
large and jolly in his other dimensions,
which afforded a perfect contrast to the leanness
of his rider; so that one likened them unto Pharoah's
dream, another to king Porus and his
elephant, and various were the jokes cracked
upon Shadrach and his big horse, as they entered
the village. It was with much ado that Lob
Dotterel could prevent the bad boys from
jeering the stranger, as they sat in the road,
busily employed in making dirt pies, in joyful
anticipation of the coming of the Christmas
holydays.

The Governor received the envoy in full
council.—And here it occurs to us, that we have
not properly introduced these distinguished
persons to the reader, an omission which shall
be duly supplied, before we proceed one step
further in our history.

Wolfgang Langfanger, the pottee-baker, was
the greatest smoker, and of course the greatest
man in the village, except the representative of
majesty himself. He was, in time past, considered
among the most prosperous and thriving
persons in all the territories of New Swedeland,
being an excellent baker of stone pots, some of
which remain to this day in the houses of the
descendants of the ancient inhabitants, beautifully
lackered with green flowers, and bearing
the initials of W. L., which would doubtless
sorely puzzle future antiquaries, were it not for
this true history. What he earned, he saved;
and being manfully assisted by his spouse, within
doors, he gradually waxed wealthy, insomuch,
that he every year built either a new henhouse,
pig-sty, or the like, and whitewashed his
garden fence, in spring and fall. But from the

period in which he arrived at the unexpected
honour of being of the King's council, his head
seemed turned topsy-turvy, and his good helpmate's,
inside out. Wolfgang fell into such a turmoil,
respecting the affairs of the great Gustavus,
who, at that time, was carrying the reformation
on the point of his sword into Germany, that he
never baked a good pot afterwards; while his
wife began to scorn whitewashing fences, and
ehurning infamous butter. The very next Sunday,
she took the field at church, dressed in a
gown of the same piece, and a cap of the same
fineness, with those of madam Edith, to the
great scandal of Dominie Kanttwell, and the utter
spoiling of aunt Edith's pious meditations for
that day. More than that, Wolfgang began
to frequent master Oldale's house, where he
talked politics, drank ale, smoked his pipe,
till the cows came home, and got the reputation
of a long-headed person that saw deep into futurity.

Sudden wealth and sudden honour ruineth
many an honest man. We have seen a prize
in the lottery, and an election to the dignity of
assessor or alderman, spoil some of the most
worthy tradesmen in the world. Thus was it
with Wolfgang Langfanger, who spent his money,

and neglected his business, till at length he
had not a rix-dollar left, and his reputation, as a
pot-baker, was ruined for ever. At the time we
speak of, he lived, sometimes upon credit,
sometimes by his wits; the former he employed
in running up long scores with master
Oldale; the latter, in suggesting divers famous
schemes for the improvement of Elsingburg,
whereby the value of property would be trebled,
at least, and every soul suddenly become
rich: but of these anon. Still, the dignity of
his office supported him in the midst of his poverty;
for, even at that time, it was possible for a
great man to live sumptuously, and spend other
people's money, without its being considered as
any disparagement to his wonderful talents and
honesty.

The second member of his Majesty's council
was Othman Pfegel, who had some pretensions
to an old Swedish title of Baron, which lay dormant,
somewhere under the polar ice. He professed,
what was called, a sneaking kindness for
the fair Christina, and was highly in the favour
of the Governor, with whom he was very sociable,
insomuch that they would smoke for hours
together, without uttering a word. Truth, however,
our inflexible guide in this history, obliges

us to confess, that the only overt act of love he
ever committed against the heart of the fair
Christina, was, always puffing the smoke of his
pipe towards that fair damsel, whenever she was
in the room, which was held a sure indication of
the course to which his inclinations pointed.
Othman was considered a most promising youth,
seeing that he had arrived at such a distinguished
honour at the early age of forty-eight; and
there were those who did not scruple to hint that
he might one day come to be Governor of Elsingburgh.
Othman and the Long Finne were sworn
enemies; the one, evincing his hostility, by comparing
his rival to a barn-door in a frosty morning,
which is always smoking; the other,
by taking no notice, whatever, of his rival, in
his presence, and making divers reflections upon
him, when absent.

The third member of the great council of
New Swedeland was Ludwig Varlett, a wild,
harem-scarem, jolly fellow, lazy as a Turk, idle
as a West India planter, and so generous, when
he had money, that he was often obliged to be
mean for the want of it. He held prudence,
economy, necessity, and the like, to be words of
Indian origin, and whenever any one used them
in his presence, would exclaim, “Eh! what?—

pru—I don't understand it, it's Indian.” Counsellor
Varlett dealt liberally, in a great variety
of singular expletives and epithets, peculiar to
himself, and which were at every one's service.
But then he would consign people to the bitterest
punishments in this way, with such a good-humoured
eccentric vehemence, that nobody ever
thought of giving him credit for being in earnest,
or taking offence at his discourse. A
singular colloquy, which hath been accidentally
preserved, by a curious person of our
acquaintance, will, perhaps, throw more light
on the character of Counsellor Varlett's eloquence
than any general outlines we could give.

The goblin Cupid used to do various little
jobs and errands for master Ludwig, who was
in the habit of calling after him with, “here, you
d—d, idle, good-for-nothing rogue; you've nothing
to do; go catch my horse, yonder—you
bloody black snow ball.” Cupid, so far
from taking this in dudgeon, would acquiesce
with a mortal exhibition of white ivory, knowing
full well the Counsellor would pay him liberally,
whenever he got money. On some one
of these occasions, Ludwig had promised Cupid
a rix-dollar for doing a job, and, being a little
tardy in the performance, that likely fellow called

one day to dun him, when the following dialogue
is said to have taken place: Ludwig's wife enters
and says—

“Cupid wants you.”

Ludwig. “What does the fellow want? curse
his picture, if he wants money, tell the rascal I'll
cane him.”

“He says you owe him a rix-dollar, for cutting
wood last winter.”

Ludwig. “I don't owe him a halfpenny, the
infernal lying son of a —. Show him in here,
and let's have a look at him; it's mighty likely
I've paid him already. Come in, sir. Are you
now ready to swear, and take your bible oath,
I did'nt pay you before? Not a d—d stiver
shall you have, till you prove I haven't paid you
at least twice already—you d—d gizzard-heel'd,
bumbo-shinn'd, cushion-ancle'd son—how much
do I owe you?”

Cupid, (smiling, he being used to such episodes.)—“A
rix-dollar, massa.”

Ludwig. “There, take it and be d—d, and I
wish I may go to the lowermost pit of—hem!
if this fellow isn't enough to ruin any man, I'll
tell you what, you infernal Snow Ball, if you
ever come here dunning me again, I'll make you
drink a gallon of brimstone, stirred with a

lightning rod; I will, you bloody infernal cucumber-shinn'd
rascal.”

But with all this bad habit, Counsellor Ludwig
was, in the main, a good-natured man, who
took the world as it went; charitable to the poor,
whom he would relieve with a hearty malediction;
one, in fact, who would have deserved
great credit for his liberality, had it not been too
often exercised at the expense of his creditors.
He never looked beyond the present moment,
and was accustomed to anathematize Counsellor
Langfanger's schemes of improvement, which
were always founded on distant views of future
advantage. The consequence was, that the
latter got the reputation of a very long-headed
person, while honest Ludwig was stigmatized
as a short-sighted fellow.

When Shadrach Moneypenny appeared before
the council of New Swedeland, the first
offence he gave was omitting either to make
a bow, or pull off his hat, to the great annoyance
of Governor Piper; who was as great a stickler
for ceremony as the emperor of China, or the
secretary of state, in a republic, where all are
equal. The Heer fidgeted, first one way, then
another, made divers wry faces, and had not

Shadrach been a privileged person, on the score of
his plenipotential functions, would have committed
him to the custody of Lob Dotterel, to be
dealt with contrary to law.

In the mean time, Shadrach stood bolt upright,
with his hands crossed before him, his
nose elevated towards the ceiling, and his eyes
shut. At length he snuffled out—

“Friend Piper, the spirit moveth me to say
unto thee, I am come from Coaquanock to commune
with thee on the subject of the disputes
among our people and thine, about certain
boundaries between our patent and the pretended
rights of thy master.”

“Friend Piper—pretended rights,” repeated
the Heer, muttering indignantly to himself.
“But harkye, Mr. Shadrach Mesheck and the
d—l, before we proceed to business, you must
be pleased to understand, that no man comes
into the presence of the representative of the
great Gustavus, the Bulwark of the Protestant
Religion, without pulling off his hat.”

“Friend Piper,” replied Shadrach, standing
in precisely the position we have described—
“Friend Piper, swear not at all. Verily, I do
not pull off my hat to any one, much less to the
representative of the man that calleth himself the

great Gustavus, whom I conceive a wicked man
of blood, one who propagateth religion with the
sword of man instead of the word of Jehovah.”

“Verflucht und verdamt!” exclaimed the
Heer, in mortal dudgeon; “the great Gustavus,
the Bulwark of the Protestant Faith, a man of
blood! Der teufel hole dich! I swear, you
shall put off your hat, or depart, without holding
conference with us, with a flea in thine ear.”

“Swear not at all,” replied Shadrach, “friend
Piper. Again I say to thee, I will not pull off
my hat; and, if necessary, I will depart with a
flea in mine ear, as thou art pleased to express
thyself, rather than give up the tenets of our
faith.”

“Du galgen schivenkel,” quoth the Heer;
“does thy religion consist in thy hat, that thou
refusest to put it off? But whether it does or
not, I swear—

“Swear not at all,” cried the self-poised Shadrach.

“'Sblood! but I will swear, and so shall Ludwig
Varlett,” cried the Heer; whereupon Ludwig
hoisted the gates of his eloquence, and
poured forth such a torrent of expletives, that,
had not Shadrach been immoveable as his
hat, he had been utterly demolished. That invincible

civil warrior, however, neither opened
his eyes nor altered his position, during all the
hot fire of Counsellor Varlett, but remained motionless,
except the twirling of his thumbs.

“Friend Piper, is it thy pleasure to hear what
I have got to say? The spirit moveth me”—

“The spirit may move thee to the d—l,” cried
Peter, “or the flesh shall do it, if you don't
pull off your hat, du ans dem land gejacter kerl.”

“Verily, I understand not thy jargon, friend
Peter,” rejoined Shadrach; “neither will I go
to him thou speakest of, at thine or any other
man's bidding. Wilt thou hear the proposals of
friend William Penn, or wilt thou not?”

“No, may I eat of the teufel's braden if I
hear another word from that ugly mouth of
thine, till you pull off your hat,” exclaimed the
choleric Heer, starting from his seat.

“Thou mayst eat what thou pleasest, friend
Piper,” rejoined the other; “and for my ugly
mouth, since it offends thee, I will depart to
whence I came.” So saying, he leisurely turned
himself round, and was proceeding on his way,
when the Heer Piper, to whose choler the dry
eloquence of Shadrach added fresh fuel, cried
out, “Stop!” in a voice of thunder.

The machinery of Shadrach, which had been

put in motion for his departure, stopped, accordingly,
and he remained, standing in most rigid
perpendicularity, with his back to the Heer, and
his head turned over his shoulder, so as to meet
his eye.

“I am stopped, friend Piper,” quoth he.

The Heer Piper, hereupon, directed Lob
Dotterel, who was in attendance, as part of the
puissance of the Governor of Elsingburgh,
forthwith to procure him a hammer and a ten-penny
nail, an order which that excellent and
attentive officer obeyed with his usual alacrity.

“Art thou going to build thee an house, friend
Piper, that thou callest for nails and hammers?”
asked Shadrach.

“You shall see presently,” answered the Heer.
“Since your religion consists in wearing your
hat, I shall take care, you stick fast to the faith
by nailing your hat to your head, with this ten-penny
nail.

“Thou mayst do as thou pleasest, friend Piper,”
replied Shadrach, unmoved by the threat.
“We have endured worse than this, in the old
world, and are ready for sufferance in the new.
Even now, in you Eastern settlements, our
brethren are expelled from the poor refuges they
have sought, and chased, like beasts, from the

haunts of the new-settled places, as if their blood
was the blood of wolves, their hands the claws
of tigers, and their feet the feet of the murderer.
Our faith grew up in stripes, imprisonment,
and sufferings, and behold, I am ready; smite—I
am ready. The savage who hath no God, endures
the tortures of fire, without shrinking, and
shall not I dare to suffer, whom he sustains?
Smite—I am ready.”

The Heer was now in the predicament, of
certain passionate people, who threaten, what,
when it comes to the point, they shrink from inflicting.
Besides that the law of nations made
the persons of envoys sacred, he could not
bring himself to commit violence upon one,
whose principles of non-resistance were so inflexible.
By way of coming off, therefore, with
a good grace, he and Ludwig Varlett, fell into a
great passion, and saluted Shadrach Moneypenny,
with a duet of expletives, which that worthy
plenipotentiary bore, for some time, with
his usual stoical indifference.

“Art thou ready, friend Piper,” exclaimed
he, taking advantage of the two singers being
out of breath.

“Begone, and der teufel hole dich, and das
tonnerwetter schlage dich kreutzeveis in den
boden,” cried the Heer.

“I go, verily;” and the good Shadrach
marched leisurely out of the council chamber,
with his hands crossed over his breast, his eyes
turned upwards, neither looking to the right nor
to the left. Coming to the place where he had
left his horse, he untied him from the branch of
an apple-tree, mounted by the aid of a
friendly rock, and seated himself in the saddle;
whereupon, he smote him in the side with his
unarmed heel, and the horse, taking the hint,
trotted off for the territory of Coaquanock.

Thus was the negotiation between the powers
of Elsingburgh and Coaquanock, wrecked on a
point of etiquette, like that between England
and China, which happened in later times. The
obstinacy of Shadrach, in not pulling off his hat
to the Heer, and that of my Lord Amherst, in
refusing to prostrate himself ever so many times
before the elder brother of the moon, were both,
in all probability, followed by consequences
that affected millions of human beings, or will
affect them at some future period. This proves
the vast importance of etiquette, and we hope
our worthy statesmen at the capital will persevere

in their praiseworthy attempts, to make
certain people, who don't know the importance
of these matters, sensible of the absolute necessity
of precedence being rigidly observed, in going
into dining rooms, and sitting down to dinner.

6. CHAPTER VI.

Wolfgang Langfanger, the long-headed
member of the council of Elsingburgh, having,
as we stated before, brought his private affairs
into great confusion, by devoting too much of
his time to the public good, began, a year or two before
our history commences, to think it high time
the public good should repay some part of its
weighty obligations. He had accordingly invented,
and persuaded the Heer Piper to put
into practice, a system of internal improvement,
which has been imitated, from time to time,
in this country, ever since, with great success.
The essence of his plan consisted in running in

debt for the present, and living afterwards upon
the anticipation of future wealth.

It happened, about the time we refer to, that
a schooner arrived from some part of New-England,
with a cargo of odd notions, commanded
by a certain adventurer, who designated himself
as follows, to wit:—

The sage Langfanger hailed this event as furnishing
unquestionable augury that the town of
Elsingburgh was destined to monopolize the
commerce of all the dominions of his Swedish
Majesty in the new world, provided proper measures
were taken to improve its natural advantages.
He accordingly planned a great wharf,
for the accommodation of thirty or forty large
ships, with stores for goods, and every matter
requisite for carrying on a great trade.

Having provided for the external commerce
of Elsingburgh, Langfanger next turned his attention
to its internal trade, which consisted, as
yet, in the cargoes of a few bark canoes, in
which the Indians brought down muskrat and
bear skins, to barter for aqua vitœ. In order

to accommodate these, he planned a canal, to
connect the Brandywine with the Delaware, by
a cut, that would shorten the distance at
least six miles. By this he boasted that the
whole trade of the interior would centre at Elsingburgh,
to the complete abandonment and
destruction of Coaquanock, which must necessarily
dwindle into utter insignificance. The
Heer was excessively tickled with the idea of
being so effectually revenged upon Shadrach
Moneypenny, and the rest of his old enemies,
the Quakers.

His next project was that of beautifying the
town, which, it must be confessed, was rather a
rigmarole sort of place, built at random, the
streets somewhat crooked, and the houses occasionally
protruding themselves before their
neighbours, in somewhat of an unmannerly
manner. Langfanger proposed to revise the
whole plan, widen many of the principal streets,
lay out several others upon a magnificent scale,
and pull down the houses that interfered with
the improvement of the city, as he soon began
to call the great town of Elsingburgh. The
Heer was rather startled at this project, considering
the expense of purchasing the houses to
be pulled down, and the probable opposition of

the good people who inhabited them. But
Langfanger was never at a loss on these occasions.

He went forth among the villagers, with a
string of arguments, deductions, calculations, and
anticipations, enough to puzzle, if not convince,
much wiser heads than those which grew on the
shoulders of the simple inhabitants. Admitting
only that his premises were true, and that what
he predicted would certainly come to pass, and
there was no denying his conclusions. Accordingly,
the good people became assured that the
pulling down their houses, and cutting up their
gardens and fields into broad streets and avenues,
would, in no little time, make every soul of them
as rich as a Jew. It was curious to see the apple
trees cut down, the grass cut up, and the lots
carved into the most whimsical shapes, by Wolfgang's
improvements.

The beautiful grass-plots gave place to
dusty or muddy avenues, branching off in all
directions, and leading no where, insomuch, that
people could hardly find their way any where.
Houses, that had hitherto fronted the street, now
stood with their backs to it, or presented a
sharp corner; and the whole world was turned
topsy-turvy at Elsingburgh. But the genius of

Counsellor Langfanger appeared to the greatest
advantage in respect to certain obstinate persons,
who did not choose to have their houses pulled
down over their heads, without being well paid
for it. Wolfgang settled matters with these, by
causing the houses to be valued at so much, and
the improvement of the property, in consequence
of pulling them down, as equivalent to the loss
of the houses. These unreasonable persons
were, by this equitable arrangement, turned out
of doors, and left to live very comfortably upon
the anticipation of a great rise in the value of
their estates.

Under the magnificent system of Counsellor
Wolfgang, the village of Elsingburgh grew and
flourished, by anticipation, beyond all former
example; although, since that time, many
similar wonders have been exhibited to the world.
But there are always drawbacks upon human
prosperity—an inside, and an outside, to every
thing. The mischief was, that these great
improvements cost a great deal of money, and
there was very little of it to be had at Elsingburgh.
Improvements brought debts, and
debts are as naturally followed by taxes, as a
cow is by her tail. It became necessary, at
least, to provide for the payment of the interest

upon the debt contracted, in consequence of these
invaluable improvements, in order to keep up
the public credit, and enable Counsellor Langfanger
to carry on his schemes, and improve the
town, by running up a still heavier score. And
here we will take occasion to remark upon a
great singularity, which distinguishes the man
who lays out his own, from him who disburses
the public money. How careful is he, in the
first instance, to make the most of it, to turn
every penny to his advantage, and to weigh the
probable gains in employing it, before he parts
with a dollar! Whereas, on the contrary, when
he hath the management of the public funds, it is
astonishing how liberal he becomes; how his
generosity expands, and upon what questionable
schemes he will expend millions, that do not
belong to him. There is another peculiarity,
which ever accompanies the management of the
public wealth, which is, that let a man be ever
so honest before hand, or ever so desirous to
exhibit to the world a pure example of disinterestedness,
some of this money will stick to his
fingers in spite of his teeth, and bring his integrity
into question. This is doubtless the reason
why men are so unwilling to undertake these matters,
and that only the warmest patriotism will
induce them to have any thing to do with the
public mony.

But, to return to our history. The worthy
Counsellor Langfanger, by direction of Governor
Piper, forthwith set about devising the ways
and means to keep up public credit, and go on
with the public improvements. Political economy,
or the art of picking the pockets of a community,
was not much understood at this time;
but genius supplies the want of precept and example.
Counsellor Langfanger devised, and
the Heer Piper adopted and enforced, a system
of taxation, more just and equally proportioned
than any ever before known. Nobody was
to be taxed above one per cent. on his property;
but then, the Heer reserved to himself to value
the said property agreeably to his discretion.
Accordingly, to make his revenues meet his improvements,
he was obliged to rate things at a
sort of imaginary prospective value, at least
three times greater than any body would give for
them. The good people of Elsingburgh were
highly astonished at finding themselves so rich,
and paid their taxes cheerfully, until the perpetual
drain upon their pockets, to pay for Counsellor
Langfanger's improvements, made it convenient
to sell some part of their property, when
they were utterly confounded to find themselves

rich only according to the Heer Piper's tax
list.

But agreeably to the homely old saying, “In
for a penny, in for a pound.” Wolfgang assured
them that if they stopt short in their improvements
before they had got half through, all the money
hitherto expended would be utterly lost; but if
they only persevered to the end, they could not
possibly fail of reaping a glorious harvest. The
good folks scratched their heads, and paid their
taxes. In the mean time, the Heer and his
Counsellor every day discovered some new article
to tax, until at length it came to pass, that
every thing necessary to the existence of the
people of Elsingburgh, every thing that belonged
to them, to the very heads on their shoulders,
and the coats on their backs, was loaded
with imposts, to contribute to the great end of
public improvement. It will be only anticipating
the course of events a few years, to say,
that many of these projects of Counsellor Langfanger
never realized the advantages he predicted,
and of others that did, the profits were never
reaped by those who paid for them, since a
great portion of these were, in process of time,
compelled to sell their property by piecemeal,
to meet the perpetual exactions of the Heer Piper
and his long-headed Counsellor.