University of Virginia Library

3. BOOK THIRD.

1. CHAPTER I.

If we examine, aided by the light of history,
the course of human events, we shall find that
every thing moves in a perpetual circle. The
world turns round, and all things with it. Every
thing new is only the revival of something
forgotten; and what are called improvements,
discoveries, or inventions, are, for the most part,
little else than matters that have again come
uppermost, by the eternal revolutions of the
wheel of fate. Mutability may be said to constitute
the harmony of the universe, whose vast
and apparent changes and varieties are produced,
like those of music, by the same notes differently
arranged.

“It is an ill wind that blows nobody good,”
says the old proverb, and accordingly we find,
that causes which produce the misery of one

being, bring about the happiness of another.
The tear of one eye is balanced by the smile of
another cheek; the agony of one heart, by the
transports of another, originating in the same
source. So, to extend our principle from individuals
to nations, the misfortunes of one contribute
to the prosperity of others; and, as the
circle of events is completed, these very nations
will be found to change their relations with each
other, the happy one being wretched, the miserable
one happy, in its turn. It is thus, too,
with the succeeding generations of man. The
struggles, violence, and crimes of a revolution
in one age, bring about a salutary reform of
abuses, of which many generations reap the
benefits in future times; and thus should every
suffering mortal, solace himself with the
comfortable assurance, that he is nothing more
than a martyr to the happiness of some unknown
being, who, in the course of events, will reap the
harvest in joy, of what hath been sown in tears.

The origin of moral evil, which is a problem
that has puzzled wiser heads than ours, is easily
and simply reconciled to the seeming contradictions
it involves, by means of this theory, which
will equally apply to man, and to all animated nature.
The sufferings of virtuous men, and the

apparent prosperity of the wicked, furnish, perhaps,
the strongest internal support to that universal
belief in a future state, which is cherished,
with some little varieties, all over the world.
Thus, a principle essential to our faith, and, of
course, a source of infinite happiness, both here
and hereafter, a great good in fact, owes its origin
in some measure to the existence of what
might, otherwise, be considered a great evil.
Those, therefore, who take advantage of this
seeming disparity to impeach the justice, and
sometimes the very existence, of a superintending
providence, look at but one side of the
question, and decide from partial views. But
perhaps the reader may be superficial enough
not to perceive the connexion between these speculations,
and the position with which we set out:
we will therefore leave this matter for the present.

That all things move in a circle is, however,
particularly demonstrated in affairs of less consequence,
which revolve perpetually before our
eyes. It is denominated, by philosophers, action
and re-action; but it is only the revolutions of
the wheel of mutability. For instance, it has
been supposed, that bigotry and intolerance were
synonymous with ignorance and hypocrisy;

yet we see the most virtuous and enlightened
monarchs, as well as the most learned and pious
preachers, sparing no pains to bring the world
back to a belief in dogmas and subtilties, supposed
to be peculiar to ages of barbarism and superstition.
No one doubts that the nineteenth century
is the most enlightened age the world ever
saw. Yet do we find the world, unless we mistake, is
in great danger of being brought, by a more
adroit appeal to its fears, or it may be to its reason,
to submit implicitly to old abuses under a
new name, with as much docility as in the tenth
century. For instance, the Inquisition, being
abolished in Spain, has revived in England under
a new name. The “Bridge-street Gang,”
as they are denominated, is nothing more than an
inquisition into men's consciences; and though
it cannot put the victims to the torture of the
rack or the boot, can put them to that of the
English law, and an English prison, which, in the
opinion of those who have had experience in
these delights, are no pitiful substitutes for the
discipline of a Spanish Inquisition. When a society
like that of Bridge-street is sanctioned by
courts of justice, in an interference with, and a
punishment of a man's opinions in matters of
faith, it is of little consequence whether you call
it an Inquisition, or a society for the suppression
of vice and the punishment of blasphemy. The
Inquisitors of Spain punished the Protestants
with the rack, the Inquisitors of London punish
those who differ with them in opinion, with fine
and imprisonment. Whatever body of men interferes
with men's consciences, in this or that
manner, is an Inquisition to all intents and purposes.

Beyond doubt, many people who have not
paid proper attention to the absolute monotony
which characterizes the course of events in all
ages of the world, and which is produced by the
revolutions of our wheel, are of opinion that
those refinements in police, those schemes for
public improvement, and that noble system of
political economy by which nations and communities
are enabled to get over head and ears
in debt, are the productions of the present age.
But whoever compares the system of the Heer Piper,
and his long-headed Counsellor Wolfgang
Langfanger, with that commonly in operation at
this time in our cities and states, will at once perceive
it is nothing more than the same thing
brought up again in the revolutions of the great
wheel, the primum mobile of human events. In defailing
the various plans of Governor Piper, to

make all the little bad boys good by means of
teaching them their A, B. C; in his attempts to
banish vice and poverty from Elsingburgh, by an
ingenious mode of encouraging idleness; and in
various other philanthropic schemes, which we
shall from time to time develop, it will appear
to demonstration, that he anticipated the
present age by at least a century and a half.
The evolutions of our wheel demonstrated their
inutility in a few years; but the lessons of experience
are ever forgotten when their effects
cease to be felt, and another turn of the world
brought these schemes uppermost again; whence
they will again fall, after having given their impulse
to the wheel, as the water falls out of the
buckets, runs away to put some other power
in motion, or is exhaled in clouds, whence it
falls in dews and showers, and once more replenishes
the brook that turns the wheel.

2. CHAPTER II.

The Heer Piper, as we have seen in the preceding
details, was principally influenced, in his
political designs, by the advice of Counsellor
Langfanger; but he intrusted the administration
of his ecclesiastical affairs to Domine
Kanttwell, director of the consciences of the
good people of Elsingburgh. The Domine,
though a follower of Martin Luther, had little

of the liberality of that illustrious reformer, being
somewhat intolerant in his principles, bigoted
in his doctrines, sour in his humour, and
a most bitter enemy to all sorts of innocent
sports, which he represented as the devil's toys,
with which that arch-enemy seduced people from
their allegiance to the church. He held all the
surplus earnings of the poor, as well as all laying
up for the future, to be little better than a
distrusting of Providence; taking every opportunity
to assure his flock, that it was their duty
to work hard all the week, shun all sorts of
amusements and indulgences, and devote all
they could earn to the good of the church, and
the comfort of the parson. He pledged himself,
if they would do this, they might be easy
as to the wants of the future, since, in case of
sickness, loss of crops, or any other accidents
of life, some miraculous interposition would never
fail to take place, by which their wants
would be supplied. Beans and bacon would
rain down from heaven, partridges would fly in
at their doors and windows, and all their wants
would be administered to, as a reward for their
generosity to the parson.

Domine Kanttwell was a great dealer in judgments
and miracles. The direct interposition

of Providence was always visible to him, in
every little accident that happened in the village;
and while he preached that this world
was a mere state of probation, a furnace where
good men were tried by fire, and subjected to
every species of suffering, he took every other
opportunity of contradicting this doctrine, by
converting every little good or ill accident that
happened to his flock into a judgment or a miracle—a
reward for going to church, and honouring
the parson, or a punishment for neglecting
both. On one occasion, the only child of
a poor widow happened to be drowned in paddling
a boat on the river, on the Sabbath morning.
The Domine immediately visited the afflicted
parent, and comforted her with the assurance
of its being a judgment upon her for
not sending the boy to church. In the afternoon
he thundered forth from the pulpit, and
contrasted this unhappy catastrophe, or signal
judgment of Providence, with the miracle of
the poor man, who, notwithstanding he was
over head and ears in debt, with a family of
eight young children, had bestowed a part of
his earnings upon a fund for converting the Indians,
and was rewarded by a miraculous shot,
by which he killed a fat buck, a thing he had
never done before in all his life. What was very
singular, however, and would have excited
some little suspicion, in any other case but that
of the Domine, he never gave any thing away
himself, or trusted to any of these miracles in
his own particular case, it being a maxim of his,
that to cause others to bestow their alms for
any object, was equivalent to giving them himself.
In short, he held the consoling and comfortable
doctrine, that he was perfectly justified
in indulging himself with the good things of
this life, provided he could only persuade the
poor of his flock to appropriate a portion of
their necessary comforts to the great objects he
had in view.

The principal of these objects was, to put a
stop to all sinful recreations, such as dancing,
singing wicked ballads about love and murder,
indulging in the abominations of puppet shows,
reading plays, poetry, and such heathen productions,
and, in short, all those relaxations
with which the cheerful and amiable feelings of
our nature are so immediately connected. Hushed
was the laugh, and mute the sprightly song,
when Domine Kanttwell went forth into the village;
and nothing was heard but the nasal twang
of voices bellowing forth volumes of burning wrath,

and eternal fires, to those who dared to be happy, in
a moment of cessation from toil. These, together
with certain tracts, containing wonderful
accounts of conversions of young sinners of five
years old, denunciations of eternal punishment
upon wicked laughers, who dared to smile, even
while the bottomless pit was yawning to receive
them, together with pious exhortations to pay the
Domine well, and contribute to the conversion of
the Indians, were the only relaxations and amnsements
permitted in the village of Elsingburgh.

Aided by the influence of the Heer, the eloquence
of aunt Edith, and the activity of Lob
Dotterel, the merry little village of Elsingburgh
became a dull, torpid, dronish hive, where nothing
was thought of but the bottomless pit.
People neglected their labours to sing psalms,
and instead of paying their debts, gave their
money to the Domine, to convert the Indians,
trusting to a miracle for support in case of accident.
Lob intruded himself into every house,
in search of old ballads, and such like enormities,
which it was customary at that time to paste
upon the walls; and never rested, till he had succeeded,
either by persuasion, threats, or bribery,
in displacing these ancient memorials. These
were replaced by tracts, such as we have before

specified, which were printed on large sheets, to
be pasted on the walls, in the room of the carnal
and wicked legends of ballad poetry.

In a little while, there was not one of these to
be seen, except in the shop of a heterodox cobbler,
whose walls were decked with a numerous collection
of old Swedish ballads, such as he had
heard in his youth; and which were connected,
and intertwined with all the delightful recollections
which throng around the thoughts of our
native home, when we have left it for ever.
These venerable old legends were his choicest
treasures, and constituted the source of his principal
delights. He sung them while at work in
his shop; and in the leisure of evenings sat at
his door, chanting his ditties in an agreeable
voice, that never failed to collect around him
a crowd of little urchins, and sometimes seduced
the hearers from an opposite house, where the
Domine and aunt Edith had instituted a society
for celebrating the horrors of the bottomless
pit.

These seductions of the old ballads were
highly resented, and Lob Dotterel was directed
to arm himself with a quantity of tracts, replenish
his paste pot, and attack the ballads, tooth
and nail. Crispin, who had some idea that

nobody had a right to meddle with his ballads,
resisted the high constable, at first, with argument;
but finding that Lob was proceeding to
displace his favourite ditty, very discourteously
seized him round the waist, threw him out of
the window, and emptied the paste-pot upon
Master Dotterel's head. But this outrage of
the wicked cobbler, was speedily punished, by a
special judgment, according to the theory of
Domine Kanttwell; who wisely employed human
means, however, to bring it about. The
Domine used all his influence, as well as that
of the Heer Piper, and aunt Edith, to persuade
people their shoes would never prosper, if made,
or even mended, by the wicked, ballad-singing
cobbler. One, who persisted, notwithstanding, in
employing him, had a new pair of shoes, made
by poor Crispin, stolen from him, the very night
they were brought home, by some heaven-in-spired
rogue. The influence of the Domine,
and his coadjutors, aided by this judgment, did
not fail to bring another judgment on the cobbler,
who gradually lost his custom, and with it, all
heart to sing ballads. The judgment was
completed in a most singular manner, by the
destruction of his shop, ballads and all, by a fire;
which, as nobody could tell how it happened,
was set down by the Domine, in his next Sunday's
sermon, for a special interposition of
providence.

The cobbler departed from the village, and
many years afterwards, was discovered in the
person of the wealthy Burgomaster, or alderman
Spangler of New-York, who had risen to wealth
and city honours, and loved old ballads as well
as ever. But this did not impeach Domine
Kanttwell's miracle, or diminish the confidence
of the people of the village, in the aptitude of
Providence to revenge any offence to that worthy
person. Honest Spangler, however, died at a
good old age, and directed the following epitaph
to be graven on his tomb stone, in proof that he
had preserved his respect for old ballads, to
the last:

Wolvert was the last person that maintained
the legitimacy of old ballads in the village of

Elsingburg. From the time of the signal judgment
that followed his contumacy, the sound of
cheerful gayety, the merry laugh, and sprightly
dance were no more heard or seen; and even the
tinkling cow-bell, that homely music whose simplicity
so charmingly accords with rural scenes and
rural quiet, was banished, because the wicked
cows disturbed the Dominie by tinkling them on
Sabbath day.

The Dominie, and his zealous coadjutor aunt
Edith, rejoiced mightily in their work, and predicted
wonderful effects from the downfall of
wicked ballads, profane singing, and the tinkling
of the cow-bells. But it hath been shrewdly
observed, that the corruptions of human nature
are like those of the blood, that break
out into little pimples, which, though they disfigure
the face somewhat, produce no fatal results,
unless they are forcibly driven in, when they
are apt to occasion the most mortal diseases.
Physicians should be careful how they tamper
with the pimples; and reformers should beware,
lest, like unskilful tinkers, in stopping one hole,
they open half a dozen others. It was thus
with the result of Dominie Kanttwell's reformations.

The worthy folks of Elsingburg, being restrained

in those little amusements and recreations,
which, as it were, sanctify those hours of
leisure, so dangerous to mankind in general,
unless some license of this kind is allowed them,
began to indulge in practices more fatal to the
repose of society, and the happiness of mankind,
than singing or dancing. The pimples disappeared
from the surface, but the humours struck
deeper within. The deep and dismal vices of
gloom and superstition came in the place of
cheerful amusements; and it was observed, that
more instances of overreaching in bargains,
more interruptions in social harmony, and more
lapses from chastity, took place in one year,
than formerly occurred in five. The ignorant
seemed to think they obtained a license for certain
worldly offences, by practising the outward
forms of piety, and giving money to the Dominie;
while the evil disposed made religion a
cloak for their hypocrisy.

But these were not the only consequences of this
system of coaxing the poor out of the surplus of
their little earnings, for pious purposes, and trusting
to miracles in time of need, backed by the proscription
of smiles and song. Instead of laying up
something for rainy days, and providing against
those ebbs of fortune which occur so frequently

in the tide of human affairs, they parted
with these little nest-eggs, trusting to the
assurances of Dominie Kanttwell, that if the
worst came to the worst, they would be fed like
the prophet, even by the ravens. But when
these trying seasons came, when the mildew
spoiled the harvest, or sickness unnerved the
arm of the lusty tradesman, if often came to
pass, that the bitter effects of neglecting worldly
means fell heavily upon them. The partridge
did not fly in at the window, nor the unskilful
marksman always hit his deer. Poverty, the
inevitable consequence of relying on miracles
for relief, at least in these latter days, came to
be the portion of many.

To meet these visitations, the Dominie, with
the aid of aunt Edith, instituted a society for the
relief of these unfortunate people, thus suffering
for their faith in miracles. Those who chanced
to have preserved that little surplus, so essential
to the welfare of the labouring classes, were induced
to part with all, or a portion of it, and
thus to prepare themselves for becoming objects
of charity in turn, by placing their future wants
at the mercy of the rubs and accidents of
life. Those who found it more agreeable to
live without labour, at the expense of others,

seeing they could now indulge their wishes,
without suffering the consequences of idleness,
gradually remitted their labours, both of earning
and saving. Thus recruits poured in on every
side; idleness increased; extravagance spread
abroad; and, in no long period of time, the
little industrious community of Elsingburgh,
where a beggar had hitherto never been seen,
became a nest of paupers. The busy Dominie,
together with his zealous assistant, then set
about instituting societies of other kinds, for the
relief of these growing miseries. But the more societies
they formed, the more beggary and
idleness increased. Counsellor Langfanger
was then consulted, as to the best remedy for
these crying evils; and accordingly, advised
a society for the encouragement of industry.
But this plan unluckily failed, owing to the extraordinary
fact, that so long as the other societies
offered relief without working, nobody
applied for employment, to the society for encouraging
industry. So easy is it to make people
worse, in trying to make them better!

3. CHAPTER III.

Our youthful readers may perhaps be inclined
to suspect that we have forgotten our heroine,
and lost sight of the principal object of every
history of this kind, which ought always to be that
of throwing as many obstacles in the way of the
happiness of the lovers as possible. But the
suspicion is entirely groundless. The fair
Christina is not an object to be so easily overlooked;
and though we may occasionally turn aside
from her affairs, to graver matters of state, it is
only with a view of giving our lovers an opportunity
of enjoying, without interruption, those
innocent, and never-to-be-forgotten delights,
that accompany the early dawnings of affection;
and to which the aged always look back
as the happiest period of existence.

The blue-eyed maid, and the fair, tall youth,

were left pretty much to themselves, during the
progress of the autumnal season, the Governor
and aunt Edith being both, as we have before
stated, busily employed, the one in public improvements,
the other reforming mankind. The
youthful pair sung, and read, and rambled
together; and every passing day added to the
strength of those ties, which were gradually
uniting their hearts for ever. Koningsmarke,
although his actions and looks expressed all
the feelings of a devoted attachment, never made
any explicit declaration on the subject, for both
seemed satisfied with the sweet consciousness of
mutual attachment. Christina had no rivals in
the village, and Othman Pfegel treated her with
a sort of pouting indifference, seldom intruding
on their lonely rambles, or disturbing their
domestic enjoyments.

But Christina was far from being happy.
She could not deceive herself with the hope,
that her affection would be sanctioned by her
father's approbation; and every new feeling
that developed itself in the progress of her affections,
served to convince her that a time would
come, when a more intimate union would be
necessary to her happiness. Besides this, certain
indefinable and vague suspicions, which,

ever as she chased them from her mind, returned
again to haunt her lonely musings, gave her
many a heart-ach. These suspicions were
kept alive, by the sudden and unaccountable
changes in the expression of Koningsmarke's eye,
which occasionally indicated a wild ferocity, as
well as by the mysterious warnings of the
Snow Ball, who took every opportunity of
uttering most fearful oracles, that Christina
could not comprehend, but which excited vague
apprehensions.

She became gradually fond of solitude, and
often indulged herself in long and lonely walks,
usually following the course of the little stream,
whose windings led to the forests, which spread
their endless shades towards the west, the haunt
of Indians and their game.

These neighbouring Indians were, for the
most part, on friendly terms with the whites
at Elsingburgh; but occasionally, took little
miffs, and committed depredations on the cattle
and fields.

On the banks of this stream, about a mile, or
perhaps a mile and a half from the village, resided
a singular being; a white man, who came there
about fifteen years from the period of which
we are treating, and had ever since lived

alone on that spot. His dwelling consisted of
dry sticks, supported on one side by an old log,
on the other by the earth, and covered over
with leaves. It was neither sufficiently high to
allow him to stand upright, nor long enough to
permit him to lie at full length. He possessed no
means for lighting or preserving fire, but, in the
coldest weather, contented himself with crawling
into his hut, stopping the mouth of it with leaves,
and remaining there till hunger drove him forth.
Yet he appeared to delight in this miserable mode
of existence, which no persuasion could induce
him to forsake, to join in participating in the
labours and enjoyments of social life. He enjoyed
perfect health, and never asked charity,
except when neither nuts nor apples could be
procured in the woods and orchards. Then he
would appear in the village, uttering certain
unintelligible sounds, which the people understood
as expressive of his wants, and relieved
him accordingly. For fifteen years this solitary
being had never been heard to speak a single
word that could be understood, either from a
natural dumbness, a derangement of mind, or a
wish to escape all questioning, as to who he was
or whence he came, two things that nobody ever
knew. He seemed, however, a harmless being,
and when the people got a little used to him, he
ceased to excite either curiosity or apprehension.

Christina often walked that way, without
thinking of the hermit, or fearing any outrage;
although there had been rumours in the village,
that he was once or twice seen, about the full of
the moon, in a paroxysm of raving insanity.

One afternoon she stole away from Konings-marke,
to take a solitary walk along the brook-side,
and strolled as far as the hut, which happening
to be untenanted at that moment, she
sat down near to it on the bank of the stream.
It chanced that a little popular song of her own
country, which turns on a breach of constancy
on the part of a young woman, came over her
mind, and she was singing it to herself, when a
wild and horrible laugh alarmed her fears. She
started up, and looking round, beheld the Hermit,
coming towards her with the look and action
of a maniac.

“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed; “have I found
you at last, faithless, inconstant girl! Thou
art she—I know thee by thy song.”

Thus saying, he rushed towards the affrighted
maid, and attempted to drag her towards his
hut. Christina struggled, and begged him for

God's sake to release her; but his violence only
increased with opposition. His eyes flashed
fire, he gnashed his teeth, and foamed at the
mouth in horrible ecstacy.

“O! for pity's sake—for the sake of Heaven,
my father, all those who have been kind to
you, let me go—I am not her you think; my name
is Christina.”

“False, deceitful woman,” cried the maniac;
“did I not hear the sing thee song—the very song!
do I not know thee by thy soft blue eye, thy
curling, flaxy hair, thy voice, thy very breath,
whose sweetness I once used to inhale? Thou
hast sought me, to laugh at my misery and triumph
in my wrongs. But come—come in,”
added he in a hurried tone—“come in; the bridal
bed is made; I have waited for you many
long wintry nights, when the wolves howled,
and thought you'd never come. In—in—we
shall be happy yet.”

So saying, he again attempted to force her
towards the door of his wretched hut. The
poor girl shrieked and struggled with all her
might, and the fury of the madman increased
with her resistance. He dragged her forcibly
along, and when she caught by the young trees,
to enable her to resist more effectually, cruelly

bruised her tender hands, to force her to let go
her hold. Gradually her powers of resistance
gave way to a fainting, deadly languor. Again
she shrieked; and at that moment a man with a
gun darted from the woods towards them. The
maniac let go his hold, and, ere the stranger
could point his gun, darted forward, and seized
it with both hands. A mortal struggle ensued.
The maniac, with a desperate effort, snatched the
gun from the other; who, springing forward,
seized him round the waist, and forced him to
drop the weapon, in order to defend himself.
They fell, the stranger uppermost; but in the
act of falling, the maniac seized him by his ruff,
tore it off, grappled his neck with his long nails,
and, burying his teeth in his flesh, seemed to enjoy
the sucking of his blood. Koningsmarke,
for it was he, turned black in the face, and his eyes
became gradually almost shrouded in darkness,
when, with a convulsive effort, he placed his
knee on the breast of the maniac, drew himself
up on a sudden, and loosed his hold. Both
started up; but Koningsmarke had a moment's
advantage, which he employed in seizing the
gun and running a few steps from him. The
other followed.

“Stand off,” cried Koningsmarke. “Were

I alone, I would give you a fair chance; but the
life and happiness of an angel is at stake.
Stand off—or—”

The maniac advanced—one—two steps. The
third was the step to eternity. The piece went
off with a true aim; he uttered a yelling laugh,
jumped into the air, and fell without sense or
motion. Koningsmarke, after satisfying himself
that all was over with the poor wretch, hastened
to Christina, who was lying insensible,
with her hair dishevelled, her garments torn, and
her cheeks as white as the pure and snowy bosom,
whose modest covering had been displaced
in the struggle. He called her his dear Christina;
he ran to the brook for water to sprinkle
her face; and kissed the drops as they rolled
down her pale cheeks. At length she opened
her eyes, gazed for a moment as if bewildered,
and shut them again. By degrees, however,
she recovered a recollection of her situation—
adjusted her dress, and essayed to express her
gratitude. But her voice failed her. She saw
the blood running from the neck of her deliverer,
wiped it away with her hair, and wistfully gazing
on the wound, cried out with an expression
of horrible and sudden despair—“The scar!
the scar!” Covering her face with both her

hands, she groaned in the agony of conflicting
emotions, and throwing herself to the earth, was
relieved from distraction by a shower of
tears.

It was now evening—the youth raised her up,
placed her arm within his, and pressed it
tenderly to his heart. Christina shuddered,
and looked up in his face with an expression so
tender, yet so wretched, that had not his conscious
heart told him it was now impossible, he
would have asked her to be his for ever. They
walked home without uttering a word, and were
received with a very bad grace by the Heer, who
did not much like their walking so late by moonlight.
But when he heard the story of Christina's
deliverance from the blue-eyed maiden herself,
he wept over her like an infant, and, grasping
the Long Finne in his arms, blessed the
youth, and called him his dear son.

A long illness followed this adventure, on the
part of Christina, and when her health was
apparently restored, her innocent sprightliness,
her buoyant step, rosy cheek, laughing eye, and
all the bright hopes which youth delights to cherish,
seemed gone for ever. From this time
forward, the character and deportment of the
poor girl seemed to have undergone a great

change. Violent bursts of gayety, followed by
instantaneous gloom and despondency; laughter
and tears; listless acquiescence, or obstinate
opposition to the wishes of all around her, bespoke
either an unsettled mind, or a heart torn
by contending feelings. It was believed that
the fright of her late adventure had unsettled
her nerves, and all the wise old women of the
village prescribed for her in vain.

But her deportment towards the Long Finne
was marked by the most sudden and extraordinary
inconsistencies. Sometimes she would
silently contemplate his face, till the tears gushed
from her eyes; and at others, when he came
suddenly into her presence, utter a scream of
agonized feeling, and flee from his presence with
a look of horror. She would sometimes consent
to take the arm of the youth, and walk along the
river side, and then, as if from a sudden and
irresistible impulse, snatch it away, and recoil
from him, as from the touch of a serpent. In
short, every passing day made it more and more
apparent, that she was struggling with powerful
and contending emotions, that obtained an alternate
mastery, and governed her actions for
the moment, with unlimited sway.

Koningsmarke, though he saw, and appeared

to lament this change in her character, never
essayed to draw from her the cause. He seemed
deterred by a secret consciousness, that a full
explanation would do him at least no good, and
continued his attentions as usual.

Bombie of the Frizzled Head acted a conspicuous
part at this time, and became more incomprehensible
than ever. She seemed to know
the secret of all these wonders, but would tell
nothing of what she knew; contenting herself
with a more than usual quantity of mysterious
warnings, too well now understood by Christina
but incomprehensible to her father. The Heer
often cursed her in the bitterness of his perplexity,
exclaiming—“why dost thou not speak out,
thou execrable Snow Ball.” But Bombie only
shook her head, and replied as usual: “I have
seen what I have seen—I know what I know.”

One day as Koningsmarke had taken a solitary
walk, and was seated on the bank of the
stream, close by the hut of the solitary stranger,
reflecting painfully on matters that deeply concerned
himself, he was roused from his reverie
by the well-known voice of the Snow Ball, calling
out, “Koningsmarke!”

“I am here,” he replied.

“Thou art here, when thou shouldst be far

away,” cried the Snow Ball. “Art thou not
satisfied with the mother's fate, that thou hungerest
for the ruin of the daughter's happiness?
Go thy ways, or I will tell what I have seen, and
what I know.”

“Who will believe thee?” replied the Long
Finne. “Thou art a slave, and canst not witness
against him that is free. I have been long
enough a wanderer, without a resting place; I
have found a home at last, and I will not go
hence. Tell what thou wilt; I care not.”

“Ay,” cried the sybil, “thou hast found a
home, at the price of misery to those who afford
thee a shelter; thou hast turned viper, and stung
him that warmed thee at his fire; thou hast
nestled thyself into an innocent bosom, to destroy
its repose, or corrupt its innocence, and
tortured the heart that would, ay, and will yet,
die for thee, if thou lingerest here. Depart, I
say, and let this one act towards the daughter
atone for thine acts to the mother.”

The Long Finne wrung his hands, and the
tears rolled down his cheeks, as he exclaimed,
“Woman! woman! whither shall I go? I
would remain here, where none but thou and
— know who I am, and atone for the past,
by devoting myself to the happiness of Christina

and her father. This is my only chance;
for if I go hence an outcast, I shall become—
what I once was. The fate of mine immortal
soul turns upon this cast.”

“It is too late,” replied the other; “SHE
KNOWS IT NOW. Dost thou not see it in her
tears, her struggles, her pale cheek, and wild
and hollow eyes? It is too late; if thou stayest,
she dies—if thou goest speedily, she may
yet live. Hence, then, and never let her see
thee more.”

“Away, old raven,” answered the youth, resuming
his obduracy. “If SHE should rise
from the dead, and motion me with her fleshless
finger, to the north or the south, the east or the
west—nay, if I saw the hand of Fate pointing
to the destruction of myself and all around me,
I would stay.”

The sybil dropped her horn-headed cane,
raised her bent, decrepit figure, till she stood
upright as the tall pine, threw her hands and
eyes towards heaven, and cried out, in the bitterness
of her heart—

“Stay then—and may the curse of the wicked
come swiftly upon thee. May the sorrows
thou hast caused unto others recoil tenfold upon
thy blasted head. May the malediction of the

father, who opened his house to thee, crush the
spoiler. May the forgiveness of her who will die
forgiving thee, be but the forerunner of thine
eternal condemnation to that fire which is never
quenched and never consumes.”

Again Bombie relapsed into her usual stooping
attitude, picked up her stick, and disappeared, leaving
the youth with a load of consciousness on his
heart, but with a determined purpose not to depart
from Elsingburgh.

4. CHAPTER IV.

Winter, with silver locks and sparkling
icicles, now gradually approached, under cover
of his northwest winds, his pelting storms, cold,
frosty mornings, and bitter, freezing nights.
And here we will take occasion to express our
obligations to the popular author of the
Pioneers, for the pleasure we have derived
from his happy delineations of the progress of
our seasons, and the successive changes which
mark their course. All that remember their
youthful days in the country, and look back
with tender, melancholy enjoyment, upon their
slippery gambols on the ice, their Christmas pies,
and nut-crackings by the cheerful fireside, will
read his pages with a gratified spirit, and thank
him heartily for having refreshed their memory,
with the half-effaced recollections of scenes and

manners, labours and delights, which, in the
progress of time, and the changes which every
where mark his course, will in some future age,
perhaps, live only in the touches of his pen. If,
in the course of our history, we should chance
to dwell upon scenes somewhat similar to those
he describes, or to mark the varying tints of
our seasons, with a sameness of colouring, let us
not be stigmatized with borrowing from him,
since it is next to impossible to be true to nature,
without seeming to have his sketches in
our eye.

The holydays, those wintry blessings, which
cheer the heart of young and old, and give to
the gloomy depths of winter the life and spirit of
laughing, jolly spring, were now near at hand.
The chopping-knife gave token of goodly
minced pies, and the bustle of the kitchen afforded
shrewd indications of what was coming
by and by. The celebration of the new year,
it is well known, came originally from the northern
nations of Europe, who still keep up many of
the practices, amusements, and enjoyments,
known to their ancestors. The Heer Piper valued
himself upon being a genuine northern
man, and, consequently, held the winter holydays
in special favour and affection. In addition

to this hereditary attachment to ancient
customs, it was shrewdly suspected, that his zeal
in celebrating these good old sports was not a
little quickened, in consequence of his mortal
antagonist, William Penn, having hinted, in the
course of their controversy, that the practice of
keeping holydays savoured not only of popery,
but paganism.

Before the Heer consented to sanction the
projects of Dominie Kanttwell for abolishing
sports and ballads, he stipulated for full liberty,
on the part of himself and his people of Elsingburgh,
to eat, drink, sing and frolic as much as
they liked, during the winter holydays. In
fact, the Dominie made no particular opposition
to this suspension of his blue-laws, being somewhat
addicted to good eating and drinking,
whenever the occasion justified; that is to say,
whenever such accidents came in his way.

It had long been the custom with Governor
Piper, to usher in the new year with a grand
supper, to which the Dominie, the members of
the council; and certain of the most respectable
Burghers, were always bidden. This year, he
determined to see the old year out, and the new
one in, as the phrase was, having just heard of
a great victory gained by the Bulwark of the

Protestant Religion, the immortal Gustavus
Adolphus; which, though it happened nearly
four years before, had only now reached the village
of Elsingburgh. Accordingly, the Snow Ball
Bombie, was set to work in the cooking of a
mortal supper; which, agreeably to the taste
of West Indian epicures, she seasoned with such
enormous quantities of red pepper, that whoever
ate, was obliged to drink, to keep his mouth from
getting on fire, like unto a chimney.

Exactly at ten o'clock, the guests sat down
to the table, where they ate and drank to the
success of the Protestant cause, the glory of the
great Gustavus, the downfall of Popery and
the Quakers, with equal zeal and patriotism.
The instant the clock struck twelve, a round
was fired from the fort, and a vast and bottomless
bowl, supposed to be the identical one in
which the famous wise men of Gotham went to
sea, was brought in, filled to the utmost brim
with smoking punch. The memory of the departed
year, and the hopes of the future, was
then drank in a special bumper, after which
the ladies retired, and noise and fun became
the order of the night. The Heer told his great
story of having surprised and taken a whole
picquet-guard, under the great Gustavus; and

each of the guests contributed his tale, taking
special care, however, not to outdo their host in
the marvellous, a thing which always put the
Governor out of humour.

Counsellor Langfanger talked wonderfully
about public improvements; Counsellor Varlett
sung, or rather roared, a hundred verses of a
song in praise of Rhenish wine; and Othman
Pfegel smoked and tippled, till he actually came
to a determination of bringing matters to a
crisis with the fair Christina the very next day.
Such are the wonder-working powers of hot
punch! As for the Dominie, he departed about
the dawn of day, in such a plight, that if it had
not been impossible, we should have suspected
him of being, as it were, a little overtaken with
the said punch. To one or two persons who
chanced to see him, he actually appeared to
stagger a little; but such was the stout faith of
the good Dominie's parishioners, that neither of
these worthy fellows would believe his own eyes
sufficiently to state these particulars.

A couple of hours sleep sufficed to disperse
the vapours of punch and pepper-pot; for heads
in those days were much harder than now, and
the Heer, as well as his roistering companions,
rose betimes to give and receive the compliments

and good wishes of the season. The morning
was still, clear, and frosty. The sun shone with
the lustre, though not with the warmth of summer,
and his bright beams were reflected with
indescribable splendour, from the glassy, smooth
expanse of ice, that spread across, and up and
down the broad river, far as the eye could see.
The smoke of the village chimneys rose straight
into the air, looking like so many inverted
pyramids, spreading gradually broader, and
broader, until they melted away, and mixed
imperceptibly with ether. Scarce was the
sun above the horizon, when the village was
alive with rosy boys and girls, dressed in their
new suits, and going forth with such warm anticipations
of happiness, as time and experience
imperceptibly fritter away, into languid hopes,
or strengthening apprehensions. “Happy
New Year!” came from every mouth,
and every heart. Spiced beverages and lusty
cakes, were given away with liberal open hand;
every body was welcomed to every house; all
seemed to forget their little heart-burnings, and
disputes of yore—all seemed happy, and all were
so; and the Dominie, who always wore his coat
with four great pockets on new-year day, came
home and emptied them seven times, of loads of
new-year cookies.

When the gay groups had finished their
rounds in the village, the ice in front was seen
all alive with the small fry of Elsingburgh,
gamboling and skating, sliding and tumbling, helter
skelter, and making the frost-bit ears of winter
glad with the sounds of mirth and revelry.
In one place was a group playing at hurley,
with crooked sticks, with which they sometimes
hit the ball, and sometimes each other's shins.
In another, a knot of sliders, following in a row,
so that if the foremost fell, the rest were sure to
tumble over him. A little farther might be
seen a few, that had the good fortune to possess
a pair of skates, luxuriating in that most
graceful of all exercises, and emulated by some
half a dozen little urchins, with smooth bones
fastened to their feet, in imitation of the others,
skating away with a gravity and perseverance
worthy of better implements. All was rout,
laughter, revelry and happiness; and that day
the icy mirror of the noble Delaware reflected
as light hearts as ever beat together in the new
world. At twelve o'clock, the jolly Heer, according
to his immemorial custom, went forth
from the edge of the river, distributing apples,

and other dainties, together with handsfull of
wampum, which, rolling away on the ice in different
directions, occasioned innumerable contests
and squabbles among the fry, whose disputes,
tumbles, and occasional buffetings for the
prizes, were inimitably ludicrous upon the slippery
element. Among the most obstreperous
and mischievous of the crowd was that likely
fellow Cupid, who made more noise, and tripped
up more heels that day, than any half a
dozen of his cotemporaries. His voice could
be heard above all the rest, especially after the
arrival of the Heer, before whom he seemed
to think it his duty to exert himself, while
his unrestrained, extravagant laugh, exhibited
that singular hilarity of spirit which distinguishes
the deportment of the African slave
from the invariable gravity of the free red-man
of the western world.

All day, and until after the sun had set, and the
shadows of night succeeded, the sports of the ice
continued, and the merry sounds rung far and
near, occasionally interrupted by those loud
noises, which sometimes shoot across the ice
like a rushing earthquake, and are occasioned
by its cracking, as the water rises or falls. All
at once, however, these bursts of noisy merriment

ceased, and were succeeded by a hollow,
indistinct murmur, which gradually died
away, giving place to a single voice, calling, as
if from a distance, with a voice growing feebler
at every repetition, “Help! help! help!”

Presently it was rumoured, that a traveller,
coming down the river on the ice, had fallen
into what is called an air-hole, occasioned by
the tide, which was stronger at this spot, in consequence
of the jutting out of a low, rocky
point. In places of this sort, the ice does not
cease all at once, but becomes gradually thinner
and weaker towards the centre, where there
is an open, unfrozen space. The consequence
is, that if a person is so unfortunate as to fall
into one of these places, which are, in fact,
hardly distinguishable at night from the solid
ice, it is next to impossible to escape by his own
efforts, or to be relieved by those of others. As
fast as he raises himself upon the ice, it breaks
from under him, and every effort diminishes his
strength, without affording him relief. Thus
the poor wretch continues his hopeless struggles,
and becomes gradually weaker and weaker, until,
finally, his blood is chilled, his limbs become
inflexible, he loses his hold, and sinks to
rise no more.

The same cause that forbids his relieving
himself, operates in preventing others; since, if
any one were to approach sufficiently near to
reach his hand, the ice would break under him,
and both would perish together. In this situation
was the poor man whose cries were now
heard, at intervals, growing weaker and weaker.
All the village was out, and many hardy
spirits, actuated by feelings of humanity, made
vain and desperate attempts to approach sufficiently
near to afford assistance. But although
several risked their lives, none succeeded; and
at length the conviction that his fate was inevitable,
was announced in a dismal groan from the
bystanders. At this moment the Long Finne
approached, with two boards upon his shoulder,
which he brought as near to the opening
as was safe to approach it on foot. Standing
exactly at this line, he threw one of the boards
upon the ice before him, and, dragging the other
after, proceeded cautiously along to the end.
Then he drew up the board which he had dragged
behind, and threw it before him, walking
steadily and cautiously on that, dragging the
other after him as before. In this manner,
while the bystanders watched in breathless silence,
he gradually approached the opening,

encouraging the poor man to hold out, for
God's sake, a few moments longer.

At last he came near enough to throw him a
cord, which he had brought with him. The
perishing wretch caught it, and while Koningsmarke
held the other end, essayed to raise himself
out of the water by its assistance. But the effort
was beyond his strength, the ice again broke
under him, and he disappeared, as all thought,
forever. He arose, however, with a desperate
effort. “Tie the cord around your
waist,” cried the youth. “My fingers are
stiff with cold,” replied the other, “and if I let
go the ice to tie the cord, I am gone.” Koningsmarke
now crawled on his hand and knees,
on one of the boards, and pushing the other before
him, cautiously crept to the end of the
advanced board. He was near enough to
reach the hand of the drowing man, and to fasten
the cord about his arm. Then, receding
in the manner he had advanced, he threw the
other end of the cord to the people, who dragged
the poor wretch out of the water, with a shout
that announced the triumph of courage and
humanity.

During the whole of the scene we have just
described, the anxiety of Christina had been

excited in the most painful manner. At first, the
situation of the poor perishing traveller monopolized
her feelings; but when it was told her, that
the Long Finne was risking his life for the stranger,
her apprehensions rose to agony; she wrung
her hands, and, unconscious of the presence of
any body, would exclaim, “he will be drowned,
he will be drowned!” The hollow voice of
the Frizzled Head answered, and said, “be
not afraid; the race of him for whose safety thou
fearest, is not destined to close here. He will
not perish by water.”

“What meanest thou!” exclaimed the apprehensive
girl.

“He will go upwards, not downwards, out of
the world,” replied the Frizzled Head, and glided
out of the room.

Now was heard the noise of many footsteps,
and many tongues, approaching, and Christina
summoned her fortitude to go down stairs, for
the purpose of offering her assistance, should
it be necessary. The body of the stranger,
now almost stiff and frozen, was brought in, laid
in a bed with warm blankets, and every means
taken to restore the waning circulation. Slowly,
these applications had the desired effect: the
stranger gradually recovered. He announced

himself as from Coaquanock, and as being on
his way down to the Hoar Kills, having taken the
ice, as the best and most direct path thither,
The worthy Heer, whose generous feelings never
failed to conquer his antipathies, treated the
stranger with the greatest kindness, during his
progress to a perfect recovery; praised and caressed
the Long Finne, for his gallant presence
of mind; and finally observed, “I would give
twenty rix-dollars, if the galgen schivenkel had
been any thing save a Quaker.”

5. CHAPTER V.

Fortune, or fate, or call it what you will,
seemed to have ordained that the struggles of
the fair Christina, between filial piety and
youthful love, should be perpetually revived,
and become more painfully bitter by the conduct
of the Long Finne. He had saved her from
the violence of the maniac, and thus excited her
everlasting gratitude; and soon after, performed
an act of daring humanity, that called forth all
her admiration. Thus every effort she made to
drive him from her heart, was met by some
action of his, that only riveted him more
strongly there.

Gradually, during the long winter, she
withdrew herself as much as possible from
the society of the youth, and avoided all
private interviews, or solitary walks. She

was one of those rare females, the rarest and
the most valuable of all the blessed race of
women, who never suffer the weakness of their
nerves, or the intensity of their feelings, to
interfere with filial, maternal, or domestic
duties. She was aware that this was little else
than the indulgence of an overwrought self-love,
and that employment in the discharge of one's
duties, is twice blessed—blessed in the happiness
it communicates to those within the sphere of
its influence, and blessed in the balm it administers
to our own sorrows. She became even more
unremitting than ever, in attending upon her
father, administering to his little infirmities, and
anticipating all his wants. She never willingly
subjected herself to the dangers of idleness, but
sought, on all occasions, to force her mind from
painful contemplation, by the performance of
her domestic duties. Still there were long hours
of the night, when she could not be busy, and
when, in silence and solitude, her woes clustered
around her like shadowy spirits, destroying the
blessed comfort of a quiet sleep, by awakening
recollections of the past unaccompanied by
pleasure, and anticipations of the future destitute
of hope. The paleness of her cheek, the languor
of her figure, and her eye, gradually became
more and more apparent, until at last the good
Heer began to observe, and to be alarmed at
her looks.

In the mean time, the Long Finne passed
whole days in the woods, with his dog and gun,
either to relieve Christina from his presence, or
to hide his own feelings in the depths of the forest,
where the axe of the woodman, or the voice of
a civilized being, had never been heard. Sometimes
he crossed the river on the ice, and penetrated
into the pines, which reared their green
heads into the heavens, and presented, in their
dark foliage, a contrast to the white snow,
that, if possible, added to the wintry gloom.
At other times, he turned his steps westward,
where, save a little cultivated space about the village,
one vast and uninterrupted world of forest
tended, as it were, to the regions of the setting
sun. Here he roamed about, immersed in
thoughts as gloomy as the black wintry woods
over his head, and unconscious of his purpose,
until the whirring partridge, suddenly rising
and thundering among the branches, or the
sudden barking of his dog at a squirrel, or occasionally
at a bear, roused his attention. He
seldom or never brought home any game, and
numerous were the jests which the Heer cracked

on his want of skill in the noble sports of hunting.
The Long Finne would often have been
lost in the woods, had it not been for his dog,
who, with unerring sagacity, always showed
him the way home.

One day, we believe it might have been towards
the latter end of February, Koningsmarke
set forth on his customary ramble, with his gun
on his shoulder, his tinder-box, flint, and steel,
the indispensable appendages of ramblers in those
pathless woods. He whistled, and called for his
dog, but the animal had been seduced away, in
the pure spirit of mischief, by that likely fellow,
Cupid. Koningsmarke, therefore, proceeded
without him, with a friendly caution from the
Heer, to look which way he went, not to wander
too far, and, with an arch wink, to be sure and
bring home a fat haunch of venison. The Long
Finne soon forgot the advice, and the joke, and
before noon, had wandered so far into the forest,
that he could see none of his usual landmarks,
nor any object which he recognised.
Towards one o'clock it became overcast, raw
and chilly, and every thing presaged a storm.
The Long Finne thought it high time to retrace
his steps; but without some path, or some guide,
to direct his course, a man in a great forest only

walks in a circle. He heard that dreary, dismal
howl, which is caused by the wind rushing among
the leafless branches of the trees, gradually increase,
and swell, and sharpen, till it became a shrill
whistle that made his blood run cold. In a little
time the snow began to fall in almost imperceptible
particles, indicating not only intense
cold, but a long-continued and heavy fall. The
Long Finne had just made a discovery that he
had lost his way, and that if,he did not speedily
find it, the chances were ten to one, that he perished
that night in the snow. Now, though
he had, in the course of his day's ramble, twice
come to a resolution to put an end to his miserable
perplexities by shooting himself through
the head, he felt not a little startled at the dangers
of his present situation. There is a great
difference between a man dying of his own accord,
and dying because he cannot help it.
The one is an act of free will, whereas the other
smacks of coercion; and men no more like
to die, than Jack Falstaff did to give a reason,
upon compulsion.

The Long Finne, accordingly, tacitly agreed
with himself to postpone dying for the present,
and make use of the few remaining hours of
daylight to seek his way home. But in his perplexity,

he wandered about in the labyrinths of
the forest until near dark, without recognising
any object that could assist in deciding where
he was. He hallooed, and fancied he heard
the barking of a dog, but when he approached
it nearer, it turned out to be the howling of a
wolf. At another time he heard, afar off, the
long echoes of a gun, but, in the depths of the
woods, could not distinguish the direction in
which it was fired.

The dusky shadows of night began to gather
around, and reminded the Long Finne, that if
darkness overtook him before he had prepared
some kind of shelter, he would never see the
morning. In looking about, he observed a
large pine tree that had been blown down, to
the roots of which was attached a quantity of
earth, which afforded some shelter in that quarter.
The snow had drifted against the windward
side of the fallen trunk, and, as frequently happens,
left a bare space on the leeward. By
scraping under the snow, he gathered a quantity
of dry leaves, with which he made a bed; and
contrived a sort of covering, by breaking off
the branches of the fallen pine, and laying them
with one end on the ground, the other resting on
the trunk of the tree. He then gathered a

quantity of brush, dry wood, and leaves, with
which to keep fire during the night, for such
was the intensity of the cold, that without the
aid of artificial warmth, he must have inevitably
perished before morning. By the time these
preparations were finished it was quite dark; the
wind whistled louder and louder through the
leafless branches, that cracked in the onset, and
the storm every moment increased in violence.

In painful anxiety, the Long Finne prepared
his implements for striking fire, and collected
some of the driest leaves and sticks, for the
purpose of lighting them with his tinder. In his
eagerness to strike fire, the flint flew from his
benumbed hand, and he could not find it again
in the obscurity that surrounded him. He then
unscrewed the flint from his gun; but, just at the
instant the sparks had communicated to the
tinder, a sudden puff of wind blew it out of the
box, and scattered it in the air. A moment of
irresolution and despair, and he bethought
himself of one more chance for his life. He replaced
the flint in his gun, which he fired off
against the trunk of the fallen tree; the burning
wad fell upon the dry leaves placed there, and
by carefully blowing it with his mouth, a little

flame was produced, which at length caught the
leaves, and relieved his breathless anxiety.

The Long Finne carefully placed the wood
over the leaves, until a blazing fire illuminated the
dismal gloom of the forest; and then proceeded to
collect a sufficient quantity of fuel to last the night.
The fire was kindled just at the mouth of his little
shelter, into which he crept with a determination
to watch through the night, and keep up his
fire, well knowing that if he fell asleep, and
suffered it to go out, he would probably never
wake again. But the fatigue he had gone
through during the day, the intense cold he had
endured, and the weakness occasioned by long
fasting, all combined to produce an irresistible
drowsiness, and long before morning he fell
asleep. How long he slept he knew not, but
when he revived to some degree of consciousness,
he was without the use of his limbs; the
fire was almost extinguished, and he was unable
to raise himself up, or move hand or foot. A
horrible apprehension came over him, and the
sudden impulse it communicated to the pulsation
of the heart, probably saved his life. By degrees
he was able to crawl to the fire, which he
raked together, and replenished with fuel;
and then, by violent exercise, restored the circulation

of his blood. In a little while the day
broke, the clouds cleared away, and the sun rose
bright and clear. By the aid of this sure guide,
he was enabled to shape his course towards the
river, which having once gained, he could easily
find his way back to the village.

It being usual for the Long Finne to stay out
all day on his hunting excursions, his absence
excited no anxiety until it became dark. The
intense cold had gathered the good Heer and
his family close around a blazing hickory fire,
where, at first, they began to wonder what had
become of the youth. By degrees, as the evening
advanced, and the storm grew louder and
louder, their apprehensions became painful, and
each furnished a variety of suggestions, to account
for his non-appearance, none of which,
however, were satisfactory. As bed time drew
near, and he came not, the fair and gentle Christina
could no longer conceal those keen anxieties
which virtuous timidity had hitherto enabled
her to smother in the recesses of her heart. “He
will perish in the snow,” cried she in agony; and
she besought her father to alarm the village.
Accordingly, a party was collected, some carrying
lights, and others guns, to go into the woods
in search of the lost Koningsmarke. They hallooed

and fired their guns to no purpose: no
answer was received, except from others of the
party; and about midnight they had all returned,
with a full conviction that the Long Finne had
already perished in the snow. The good Heer
shed tears at the thought of his melancholy fate;
but the eyes of his fair daughter were dry, while
her heart wept drops of blood.

She retired to her chamber, and gave vent to
her feelings in exclamations of despairing anguish.
“He has perished alone; he is buried
under the cold snows, and the wolves will devour
his dead corse!” “Better,” answered the
voice of the Frizzled Head—“better that he
should perish alone, than that others should die
for him! better that the wolves should devour
him, than that he should devour the innocent
lamb! Heaven is just.”

“But to perish thus!” exclaimed Christina,
wringing her hands.

“It may serve to expiate his crime,” answered
the Snow Ball. “Better to perish unseen in
the depths of the forest, than dangle in the air,
a spectacle for the multitude to scorn, and the
vultures to peck at!”

“It may be so—it may be so,” replied the
maiden, “but oh! righteous Providence, would

that I had been spared this dreadful, dreadful
struggle!”

“Remember,” answered the Snow Ball, “remember
what he who saved thy life caused to
her who gave thee thy life: her spirit watches
thee.” So saying, she glided out of the room,
and poor Christina threw herself on the bed,
where she lay till morning, a prey to the most
bitter and conflicting emotions.

As the Long Finne was bending his weary course
towards the rising sun, he heard the barking of
a dog at a distance, which he answered by hallooing
aloud. Presently the barking came
nearer, and in a few minutes he saw his faithful
fox-hound speeding towards him. The poor
animal crawled at his feet, wagged his tail, and
whined his joy at seeing his master. He
then licked his hand, looked up wistfully in his
face, and proceeded onwards, every moment
turning back, as if to see whether his master
followed. Koningsmarke understood all this,
and proceeded on after him, until the sagacious
animal led him directly in a straight line to the
village.

A hundred shouts from the good people of
Elsingburgh hailed his return. The Heer Piper
fell on his neck and blessed him; while his

pale daughter, after rushing half way into the
room, as if to welcome him, suddenly recoiled,
and fainted away. For the first time, did the
Heer begin to suspect the state of his daughter's
heart; for, although the mysterious hints of the
Snow Ball, together with some occasional sly
innuendoes of his long-headed counsellor, Wolfgang
Langfanger, had sometimes set him thinking
on the subject, he was always called off to
the more weighty affairs of state, before he could
come to any conclusion on the subject. But
the truth flashed upon his mind at once, and
his conviction was followed by the exclamation
of “der teufel.”

Now the Heer was a warm-hearted little man,
that came to his conclusions somewhat suddenly.
He liked the Long Finne, was accustomed to
his society, and, in looking around the village,
could see no one worthy the hand of his daughter,
or of being son-in-law to the Representative
of Majesty. After reflecting a moment on
these matters, he slapped his hand smartly on
his thigh, and pronounced, with an air of decision,
“It shall be so.”

“Long Finne,” quoth the Heer—“Long
Finne, dost thou love my daughter?”

“She knows I do,” replied the youth, “more
than my life.”

“Christina, my daughter, my darling, come
hither,” said the Heer. Christina approached
her father, pale as a lily, and trembling like the
aspin leaf.

“Christina, art thou willing to be the wife
of this youth? Remember, he saved thee from
death, and worse perhaps than death.”

“And caused the death of—” muttered Bombie
to herself, indistinctly, and without being
noticed.

The poor girl struggled almost to dissolution;
the paleness of death came over her; she trembled,
and sunk on a chair, her head resting on
her heaving bosom. The Heer approached,
took her cold hand, and said, “Answer me, my
daughter; wilt thou be the wife of this youth?”

“I will,” replied she, gasping for breath.

“Then join your hands,” said the good
Heer, the tears starting from his eyes, “and receive
the blessing of a father.”

“And the curses of a mother!” exclaimed
Bombie of the Frizzled Head, as she hobbled
out of the room.

Christina snatched her hand from the eager
grasp of Koningsmarke, and rushed out of the

Heer's presence, exclaiming in agony, “Oh,
God! direct me.”

“Der teufel hole that infernal black Snow
Ball,” cried the irritated Heer; “what means the
the old hag, Long Finne?”

“She means—she means—that I am—what I
pray God thou mayest never be,” answered the
youth, and staggered out of the room.

“Der teufel is in ye all, I think,” muttered the
Heer Piper, and proceeded to eat his breakfast,
out of humour with every body, and particularly
with himself. It will generally be found, that
a person in this state of mind, at length concentrates
his ill humour upon some particular object;
and accordingly
it happened that the Heer,
by tracing up effects to their causes, discovered
that all the mischiefs of the morning originated
in Cupid's having, as we before stated, enticed
away the Long Finne's dog. Whereupon, he ordered
him a sound flogging, at the hands of Lob
Dotterel. As the stripes of Boadicea whilome
produced a rising of the ancient Britons, so did
those of Cupid bring forth results which were
long afterwards felt by the good people of Elsingburg.