University of Virginia Library

1. BOOK FIRST.

1. CHAPTER I.

In order that our readers and ourselves may
at once come to a proper understanding, we will
confess, without any circumlocution, that we sat
down to write this history before we had thought
of any regular plan, or arranged the incidents,
being fully convinced that an author who trusts
to his own genius, like a modern saint who relies
solely on his faith, will never be left in the
lurch. Another principle of ours, which we have
seen fully exemplified in the very great success
of certain popular works, advertised for publication
before they were begun to be written, is,
that it is much better for an author to commence
his work, without knowing how it is to end, than

to hamper himself with a regular plot, a succession
of prepared incidents, and a premeditated
catastrophe. This we hold to be an error little
less, than to tie the legs of a dancing master, to
make him caper the more gracefully, or pinion
a man's arms behind his back, as a preparative
to a boxing match. In short, it is taking away,
by a sort of literary felo de se, all that free will,
that perfect liberty of imagination and invention,
which causes us writers to curvet so gracefully
in the fertile fields of historical fiction.

Another sore obstacle in the way of the free
exercise of genius, is for a writer of historical novels,
such as we have reason to suspect this will
turn out to be, to embarrass his invention by an
abject submission to chronology, or confine
himself only to the introduction of such characters
and incidents as really existed or took place
within the limits of time and space comprised in
the groundwork of his story. Nothing can be
more evident than that this squeamishness of the
author must materially interfere with the interest
and variety of his work, since, if, as often
happens, there should be wanting great characters
or great events, coming lawfully within
the period comprised in the said history, the
author will be proportionably stinted in his materials.

To be scared by a trifling anachronism,
in relation to things that have passed away a
century, or ten centuries ago, is a piece of literary
cowardice, similar to that of the ignorant
clown, who should be frightened by the ghost
of some one that had been dead a thousand
years.

So far, therefore, as we can answer for ourselves
in the course of this history, we honestly
advertise the reader, that although our hero is
strictly an historical personage, having actually
lived and died, like other people, yet in all other
respects, not only he, but every character in the
work, belongs entirely to us. We mean to make
them think, talk and act just as we like, and
without the least regard to nature, education or
probability. So also as respects the incidents
of our history. We intend, at present, reserving
to ourselves, however, the liberty of altering our
plan whenever it suits us in the course of our labours,
to confine our labours to no time nor place,
but to embody in our work every incident or
adventure that falls in our way, or that an intimate
knowledge of old ballads, nursery tales,
and traditions, has enabled us to collect together.
In short, we are fully determined, by the example
of a certain Great Unknown, that so long

as we hold the pen, we will never be deterred
from seizing any romantic or improbable adventure,
by any weak apprehension that people will
quarrel with us because they do not follow on in
the natural course, or hang together by any
probable connexion of cause and effect.

Another determination of ours, of which we
think it fair to apprize the reader, is, that we
shall strenuously endeavour to avoid any
intercourse, either directly or indirectly, with
that bane of true genius, commonly called common
sense. We look upon that species of vulgar
bumpkin capacity, as little better than the
instinct of animals; as the greatest pest of authorship
that ever exercised jurisdiction in the
fields of literature. Its very name is sufficient to
indicate the absurdity of persons striving to produce
any thing uncommon by an abject submission
to its dictates. It shall also be our especial
care, to avoid the ancient, but nearly exploded
error, of supposing that either nature or probability
is in anywise necessary to the interest of a
work of imagination. We intend that all our
principal characters shall indulge in as many inconsistencies
and eccentricities, as will suffice to
make them somewhat interesting, being altogether
assured that your sober, rational mortals,

who act from ordinary impulses, and pursue a
course of conduct sanctioned by common sense,
are no better than common-place people, entirely
unworthy the attention of an author, or his
readers. It is for this special reason that
we have chosen for our scene of action, a forgotten
village, and for our actors, an obscure
colony, whose existence is scarcely known,
and the incidents of whose history are sufficiently
insignificant to allow us ample liberty in giving
what cast and colouring we please to their
manners, habits and opinions. And we shall
make free use of this advantage, trusting to the
example of the great writer to whom we before
alluded, that the good-natured public will give
us full credit for being most faithful delineators
of life and manners. Great and manifold are the
advantages arising from choosing this obscure
period. The writer who attempts to copy existing
life and manners, must come in competition,
and undergo a comparison with the originals,
which he cannot sustain, unless his picture
be correct and characteristic. But with regard to
a state of society that is become extinct, it is like
painting the unicorn, or the mammoth;—give
the one only a single horn, and make the other
only big enough, and the likeness will be received
as perfect.

Certain cavillers, who pretend to be the advocates
of truth, have strenuously objected to the
present fashion of erecting a superstructure of
fiction on a basis of fact, which they say is confounding
truth with falsehood in the minds of
youthful readers. But we look upon this objection
as perfectly frivolous. It cannot be denied
that such a mixture of history and romance is exceedingly
palatable; since, if the figure may be
allowed us, truth is the meat, and fiction the salt,
which gives it a zest, and preserves it from perishing.
So, also, a little embellishment will save certain
insignificant events from being entirely lost or
forgotten in the lapse of time. Hence we find
young people, who turn with disgust from the
solid dulness of pure matter of fact history, devouring
with vast avidity those delectable mixed
dishes, and thus acquiring a knowledge of history,
which, though we confess somewhat adulterated,
is better than none at all. Besides this,
many learned persons are of opinion that all
history is in itself little better than a romance,
most especially that part wherein historians pretend
to detail the secret motives of monarchs and

their ministers. One who was himself an old
statesman, writes thus:
Such, then, being the case with history, we think
it a marvellous idle objection to this our mode of
writing, to say that it is falsifying what is true,
since it is only sprinkling a little more fiction
with it, in order to render it sufficiently natural
and entertaining to allure the youthful and romantic
reader.

Before concluding this introductory chapter,
which is to be considered the key to our undertaking,
we will ask one favour of the reader. It
is, that if on some occasions we shall, in the
course of this work, appear somewhat wiser in
various matters, than comports with the period
of our history, and at other times not so wise as
we ought to be, he will in the one case ascribe it
to the total inability of authors to refrain from
telling what they know, and in the other, to an

extraordinary exertion of modesty, by which we
are enabled, at that particular moment, to repress
the effervescence of our knowledge.

Finally, in order that the reader may devour
our work with a proper zest, we hereby assure
him, (in confidence,) that our bookseller has covenanted
and agreed to pay us ten thousand dollars
in Kentucky bank notes, provided the sale of
it should justify such inordinate generosity. We
will now plunge directly into the thickest of our
adventures, having thus happily got over the first
step, which is held to be half the battle:

2. CHAPTER II.

The curious traveller along the western bank
of the Delaware river, will hardly fail to notice
some few scattered remains, such as parts of old
walls, and fragments of chimneys, which indicate
where once stood the famous fort and town of
Elsingburg, one of the earliest settlements of
the Swedes in this country. The precise spot
these ruins occupy we shall not point out, since
it is our present intention to give such an accurate
description, that it cannot be mistaken by
a reader of common sagacity.

At the time this history commences, that is to
say, somewhere about the middle of the sixteenth
century, a period of very remote antiquity considering
the extreme juvenility of our country, this
important little post was governed by the Heer
Peter Piper, a short thickset person, of German
parentage, whose dress, rain or shine, week days
or Sundays, in peace or war, in winter and summer,

was a suit of olive-coloured velvet, ornamented
with ebony buttons. A picture still preserved in
the Piper family, represents him with a round, and
somewhat full face, a good deal wrinkled; sturdy
short legs, thin at the ankles, and redundant at the
calves, such as we seldom see nowadays, since the
horrible invention of loose trowsers, which renders
it entirely unnecessary that nature should
take any special pains with that part of the animal
man; square-toed shoes, and square buckles
of a yellowish hue, but whether of gold or brass
is impossible to decide at this remote period.
We would give the world, that is to say, all that
part of it which is at present in our possession,
namely, a magnificent castle in the air, to be able
to satisfy the doubts of our readers in respect to
the problem whether the Heer Peter Piper wore a
cocked hat. But as the painter, with an unpardonable
negligence, and a total disregard to posterity,
has chosen to represent him bareheaded,
we can only say, that his head was ordinarily covered
with a thick crop of hair that curled rather
crabbedly about his forehead and ears. It hath
been aptly remarked by close observers of human
nature, that this species of petulant curl, is almost
the invariable concomitant of an irritable, testy,
impatient temper, which, as it were, crisps and
curls about after a similar manner with the said
hair.

Certain it is that, whatever exceptions may occur
to the general rule, the Heer Piper was not
one of them, he being, as the course of our history
will fully substantiate, an exceeding little
tyrant, that fell into mortal passions about nothing,
broke his nose over every straw that lay in
his way, and was seldom to be found in any
sort of good humour, except when he had swore
vengeance at every soul that excited his wrath.
Indeed, to say truth, he was one of those blustering
little bodies, who differ entirely from those
who are said to be no heroes to their valet-de-chambre,
since it was said of him that he was a
hero to nobody else, but his servants and dependants,
whom he bullied exceedingly. The good
people of Elsingburgh called him, behind
his back, Pepper Pot Peter, in double allusion
to the fiery nature of his talk, and his fondness
for the dish known among our ancestors by
that name, and remarkable for its high seasoning.
The distich placed at the head of this chapter,
was made upon the Heer Peter, by a wag of the
day, who excelled in alliterative poetry, and of
whom we shall say more anon, if we do not forget
it in the multiplicity of adventures we intend

to incorporate into this true history. But as we
mean to leave a good part of our work to the
imagination of the reader to supply to the best
of his abilities, we will let the character of Governor
Piper develop itself in his future conduct,
and proceed with our story.

One sultry summer afternoon in the month of
July, the Heer Peter having finished his dinner by
one o'clock, was sitting in his great arm chair,
under the shade of a noble elm, the stump of
which is still to be seen, and being hollow,
serves for a notable pig sty, smoking his pipe as
was his custom, and ruminating in that luxurious
state of imbecility between sleeping and waking.
The river in front spread out into an expansive
lake, smooth and bright as a looking glass; the
leaves hung almost lifeless to the trees, for there
was not a breath of air stirring; the cattle
stood midway in the waters, lashing the flies
lazily with their tails; the turkeys sought the
shade with their bills wide open, gasping for
breath; and all nature, animate as well as inanimate,
displayed that lassitude which is the
consequence of excessive heat.

The Heer sat with his eyes closed, and we
will not swear that he was not at this precise moment
fast asleep, although the smoke of his pipe

still continued to ascend at regular intervals, in
a perpendicular column, inasmuch as it was
affirmed by Wolfgang Langfanger, and some
others of his friends and counsellers, that the
Heer Peter did sometimes smoke somewhat instinctively,
as a man breathes in his sleep. However
this may be, whether sleeping or waking, the
Governor was suddenly roused by the intrusion of
one Lob Dotterel, a constable and busybody, who
considered himself, in virtue of his office, at full
liberty to poke his proboscis into every hole and
corner, and to pry into the secret as well as
public actions of every soul in the village. It is
astonishing what a triumph it was to Lob Dotterel,
to catch any body tripping; he considered
it a proof of his vigilance and sagacity. And
here, lest the reader should do Master Dotterel
wrong, in supposing that the prospect of bribes
or fees herein stimulated him to activity, we will
aver it as our belief, that he was governed by no
such sordid motive, but acted upon a similar
instinct with that of a well-bred pointer dog,
who is ever seen wagging his tail with great
delight when he brings in game, although he
neither expects to be rewarded, or to share in
the spoil, at least so far as we have been able to
penetrate his motives of action.

Master Dotterel was backed on the occasion
aforesaid, by one Restore Gosling, and Master
Oldale, keeper of the Indian Queen, the most
fashionable, not to say the only tavern, in the village
of Elsingburgh. These three worthies had in
custody a tall, straight, light-complexioned, blue-eyed
youth, who signified his contempt for the
accusation, whatever it might be, the constable,
Master Restore Gosling, Master Oldale, and
the Heer Peter himself, by rubbing his chin on
either side with his thumb and fingers, and
whistling Yankee Doodle, or any other tune that
doth not involve a horrible anachronism.

There are three things a real genuine great
man cannot bear, to wit:—to do business after
dinner—to be disturbed in his meditations—or
to suspect that the little people below him do not
think him so great a person as he is inclined to
think himself. All these causes combined to put
the Heer Peter in a bad humour, insomuch that
he privately communed with himself that he
would tickle this whistling, chin-scraping stripling.

“Well, culprit,” cried the Heer, with a formidable
aspect of authority—“Well, culprit, what
is your crime? I can see with half an eye you're
no better than you should be.”

“That's no more than may be said of most
people, I believe,” answered the youth, with great
composure.

“Answer me, sirrah,” quoth the Heer, “what
is thy crime, I say?”

“Ask these Gentlemen,” said the other.

“What—eh! you can't confess, hey! an old
offender I warrant me. I'll tickle you before
I've done with you. What's thy name—whence
came you—and whither art thou going, culprit?”

“My name,” replied the fair tall youth, “is
Koningsmarke, surnamed the Long Finne; I
came from the Hoarkill, and I am going to jail,
I presume, if I may augur aught from your
Excellency's look, and the hard names you are
pleased to bestow on me.”

Nothing is so provoking to the majesty of a
great man, as the self-possession of a little one.
The Heer Peter Piper began to suspect that the
Long Finne did not stand in sufficient awe of his
dignity and authority, a suspicion than which
nothing could put him in a greater passion. He
addressed Master Dotterel, and demanded to
know for what offence the culprit was brought
before him, in a tone which Lob perfectly understood
as encouragement not to suppress any part

of the prisoner's guilt. Lob hereupon referred
the Heer to Master Oldale, who referred him to
Restore Gosling, who had laid the information.
This apparent disposition to shift the onus
probandi caused additional wrath in the Heer,
who began to tremble lest the Long Finne might
give him the slip, and escape the consequences of
his contempt of authority. He thundered forth
a command to Gosling to state all he knew
against the culprit; laying hard emphasis on the
word “all.”

Master Gosling, after divers scratches of the
head, such as my Lord Byron indulgeth in when
he writeth poetry, gathered himself together, and
said as follows—not deposed, for the Heer held
it an undue indulgence to prisoners, to put the
witnesses against them to their bible oath.—
Master Gosling stated, that he had seen the
young man, who called himself Koningsmarke,
or the Long Finne, take out of his pocket a handfull
of Mark Newby's halfpence, or, as it was
commonly called, Pat's halfpence, which every
body knew was prohibited being brought into
the dominions of Sweden, under penalty of confiscation
of the money; one half to the informer,
and the other half to his Sacred Majesty, the

King of Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and the
Goths.

“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the Heer, rubbing his
hands; “this looks like conspiracy and plot with
a vengeance. I should not be surprised if the
Pope and the — of Babylon were at the
bottom of this.” And here we will remind the
reader that this was about the time that the manufactory
of plots, Popish and Presbyterian, Meal
Tub and Rye House, flourished so luxuriantly,
under the fruitful invention of Shaftesbury, Oates,
Tongue, Dugdale, Bedlow and others. Now the
Heer Peter always took pattern after the old
countries, insomuch that whenever a plot came
out in England, or elsewhere, he forthwith got
up another at Elsingburgh, as nearly like it as
possible. In one word, he imitated all the
pranks, freaks and fooleries of royalty, as an ape
does those of a man. At the period, too, which
this history is about to commemorate, there were
terrible jealousies and heart-burnings betwixt the
representatives of royalty in the adjoining or
neighbouring colonies of New-Jersey, Pensylvania,
Maryland, New-York, and Connecticut.
The different monarchs of Europe, had not only
given away with astonishing liberality what did
not belong to them, in this new world, but given

it away over and over again to different persons,
so that it was next to impossible either to settle
the boundaries of the various grants, or to ascertain
who was the real proprietor of the soil.
As to the Indians, they were out of the question.
Now, though these tracts were, ninety-nine parts
in a hundred, a perfect wilderness, and the number
of inhabitants as one to a hundred square
miles, yet did these potentates, and especially
their governors, feel great solicitude lest they
should be in no little time stinted for elbow-room.
They were, consequently, always bickering about
boundaries, and disputing every inch of wilderness
most manfully, by protest and appeal to
any thing but arms.

The Heer Piper governed a territory by
right of discovery, grant, possession, and what not,
somewhat larger than Sweden, and which, at
the time of this writing, contained exactly
(by census) three hundred and sixty-eight
souls, exclusive of Indians. It is therefore
little to be wondered at, if, being as he was,
a long-headed man, metaphorically speaking,
he should begin to look out in time for the
comfort of the immense population, which he
foresaw must speedily be pressed for room. His
jealousy was of course continually squinting at

his neighbours, most especially the Quakers at
Coaquanock, and the Roman Catholics, who
about this time settled at St. Mary's under
Leonard Calvert. He therefore pricked up his
ears, and smelt a plot, at the very sound of
Mark Newby's halfpence, a coin then circulating
in West Jersey and Coaquanock, and forthwith
set down the Long Finne as an emissary
from the Quakers, who, he swore, although they
would not fight, had various ways of getting possession
of his territories, much more effectual
than arms. Moreover, he abhorred them because
they would not pull off their hats to the
representative of Gustavus Adolphus, and, as he
affirmed, were a people who always expected
manners from others, although they gave none
themselves. In addition to these causes of disgust,
it was rumoured, that his Excellency the
Heer, being once riding out near Coaquanock,
met a Quaker driving a great wagon, and who
refusing to turn either to the right or to the left,
rendered it necessary for Peter Piper to attempt
to pass him, by the which his buggy was
overset, and himself precipitated into a slough.
Let me tell the reader, that trifles less than
these have more than once set mankind together
by the ears, and caused the rivers of the earth
to run red with blood.

Under the influence of these statesmanlike
views, jealousies, antipathies, and what not, the
Heer viewed the possession of such a quantity
of Mark Newby's halfpence as a suspicious circumstance,
and indeed had little doubt, in his
own mind, that the Long Finne had come into
the settlement to seduce it from its allegiance to
the great Gustavus, by actual bribery. The reader
may smile at the idea of corrupting a community
with halfpence, now when paper money
is so plenty that dollars fly about like may-flies
in the spring, and that it sometimes actually takes a
hundred of these to purchase a man's conscience.
But we will make bold to tell him, his smile only
betrays an utter ignorance of the simplicity of
those times, when a penny was deemed equal to
six white and four black wampum; and a tract
of land, larger than a German principality, was at
one time purchased for sixty tobacco-boxes, one
hundred and twenty pipes, one hundred Jew's-harps,
and a quantity of red paint. It hath
been shrewdly observed, that the value of money
regulates the consciences of men, as it does
every other article of trade, so that the suspicion
of Governor Piper was not quite so ridiculous as

many ignorant readers may be inclined to suppose
at first sight. This explanation we afford
gratuitously, hinting, at the same time, that as it
is no part of our plan to make things appear probable,
or actions consistent, we shall not often
display a similar disposition to account for what
happens.

“Long Finne,” said the Heer, after considerable
cogitation—“Long Finne, thou art found
guilty of suspicion of traitorous designs against
the authority of his sacred majesty, Gustavus
Adolphus of Sweden, and in order that thou
mayest have time and opportunity to clear up
thy character, we sentence thee to be imprisoned
till thine innocence is demonstrated, or thou
shalt confess thy guilt.”

By this time half the village, at least, was collected,
as is usual on these occasions, when they
flock to see a criminal, as porpoises do about a
wounded mate, not to succour, but to worry him.
The whole assembly were struck with astonishment
at the wisdom of Governor Piper's decision,
which they looked upon as dictated by blind
Justice herself. Not so the Long Finne, who
like most unreasonable persons, that are seldom
satisfied with law or justice when it goes against
them, seemed inclined to remonstrate. But the

Heer, whose maxim it was to punish first and
pity afterwards, forthwith commanded him to be quiet, quoting his favourite saying, “Sirrah, if
we both talk at once, how are we to understand
one another?”

As they were taking him from the presence
of the Governor to convey him to prison, the tall,
fair youth, turned his eye mildly, yet significantly
towards the Heer, and pronounced in a low voice
the words, “Caspar Steinmets.” “What! who!
whose name did you utter?” exclaimed his excellency
in great agitation—

“Caspar Steinmets”—replied the youth.

“What of him”—rejoined the Heer.

“I am his nephew”—replied the Long Finne.
“The friend of your youth would be little obliged
to you, could he see you hurrying the son of his
bosom to a prison, because he possessed a handfull
of Mark Newby's halfpence.”

“Pish!” cried the Heer—“I never heard that
old Caspar Steinmets had a nephew, and I don't
believe a word of it.”

“He had a sister, who married a gentleman of
Finland, called Colonel Koningsmarke, against
the wishes of her friends. She was discarded,
and her name never mentioned. On the death
of both my parents, my uncle adopted me, but

he died also, not long after you sailed for
the new world.—Look, sir, do you know this
picture?”

“Blood of my heart,” exclaimed the Heer,
contemplating the picture, “but this is old Caspar
Steinmets, sure enough! Ah! honest, jolly
old Caspar! many a time hast thou and I drunk,
fought and raked together, in bonny Finland!
But for all that, culprit, thou shalt not escape
justice, until thou hast accounted to me for the
possession of this picture, which hath marvellously
the appearance of stolen goods.”

“Stolen goods, sir!” interrupted the fair
youth, passionately; but, as if recollecting himself,
he relapsed again into an air of unconquerable
serenity, and began to whistle in an under
tone.

“Ay, marry, stolen goods! I shall forthwith
commit thee to prison, and retain this
picture till thou provest property, and payest all
charges. Take him away, master constable.”

The youth seemed about to remonstrate, but
again, as if suddenly recollecting himself, remained
silent, shrugged his shoulders, and quietly
submitted to be conducted to the prison, followed
by the crowd, which usually, on such occasions,
volunteers as an honourable escort to

heroes of the bridewell and quarter sessions. But
nothing could equal the triumph of Lob Dotterel
on this occasion, who looked upon the establishing
of a man's innocence to be lessening the importance
of a constable, who, as he affirmed, derived
dignity and consequence in exact proportion
to the crimes of mankind.

Having despatched this weighty affair, the
Heer Piper knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
and returned to his gubernatorial mansion, with
a full resolution of communicating the whole affair
to the Chancellor Oxenstiern.

3. CHAPTER III.

Now the long shadows of the trees that stretched
almost half way across the river, began gradually
to disappear, as the sun of summer sunk behind
the hills that rose gradually and gracefully
one above another westward of the renowned,
or soon to be renowned, village of Elsingburgh.
The toils of the day being finished, some of the
villagers were sitting at the door of Master
Oldale's castle, smoking and telling tales of wars
in the old countries, or dangers encountered in
the new.

The maids and matrons were, some, busily
preparing the ponderous supper; others, milking
the cows; and others, strolling with their sweethearts
on the bank of the river, under the ancient
elms, full sorely scarified with names,
or initials of names, and true lovers' knots,

the rude, yet simple emblems of rustic love
Dame Partlet, the hen, with all her kackling
brood, nestled for the night upon the
shady boughs; the domestic generation of two-legged
and four-legged animals were about
seeking their various lodgings, and the careful
hind was seen unchaining the trusty and powerful
mastiff, the faithful guardian of himself,
his children, wife, and all his treasures, from
surprise, in the solitude of the night, when the
wild wolf, and the Indian equally wild, were
often heard to yell the quavering knell of danger
and death.

Every object began gradually to approximate
to that rural repose and happy quiet which
characterizes the evening of a country hamlet,
among a people of simple and virtuous habits.

In one word, it was just the period betwixt
daylight and dark, when the Heer Piper, as
affirmed at the end of the last chapter, returned to
his mansion, to indulge himself in his accustomed
stout supper, which usually consisted of a
tankard of what is called hard cider, a species of
beverage, which goes down a man's throat like
a sharp sword, and which the sturdy Heer called
emphatically man's cider, it being an unquestionable
demonstration of manhood to be able to

drink it, without causing people's eyes to start
out of their heads. To this was usually added
a mess of pepper-pot, with heaps of meat and
vegetables, among which figured, in all the
dignity of a national dish, the execrable and
ever-to-be-avoided sour-krout dire. All these
luxuries of the day were spread on the table,
and waited his coming, in company with the
members of the household.

The first of these which we shall introduce
in due form to the reader, was the lady Edith
Piper, only sister to his Excellency the Governor—a
person of ominious notability, who, on
the death of the Heer's wife, had taken command
of the establishment, and, if report says true, of
Governor Piper into the bargain. She was, in
the main, a good sort of a body, and of a most
public-spirited disposition, since she neglected
the affairs of the Heer, to attend to those
of every body else in the village. She knew
every thing that happened, and a vast many
things that never happened. And we will venture
to pledge our veracity as historians, that
there never were but two secrets in the village,
from the time of Madam Edith's arrival, to
the day of her final extinction. One was
the year of the lady's birth—the other we do

not care to disclose at present, being anxious
to convince the world that we too can
keep a secret as well as other folk.

To do the good lady no more than justice,
she was not ill-natured, although her thirst after
knowledge was somewhat extreme; nor did she
ever make any bad use of the village tittle-tattle,
which came to her ears. She never repeated
any tale of scandal, without at first impressively
assuring her hearers that she did not believe one
word of it, not she; she merely told the story, to
show what an ill-natured world it was that they
lived in. Madam Edith was supposed to maintain
her authority over the Heer Piper, more by
dint of talking incessantly, than through the
agency of fear. When she had a point to gain, she
never abandoned it; and if, as often happened,
the governor walked out in a pet to avoid her
importunities, she would, on his return, resume
the argument just where it was left off, with astonishing
precision. In process of time she worried
him out, and, from long experience of the
perseverance of the dame, as well as the inefficacy
of resistance, Governer Piper came at last
to a quiet submission to be tyrannized over
within doors, being resolved to make himself
amends by tyrannizing without. The Vrouw

Edith, who, we neglected to premise, was never
married, not being able to find any body in the
old or new world good enough for her, was, in
sober truth, a considerable talker, although the
same regard to veracity impels us to the confession
that she was not always understood by her
hearers. Taking it for granted, that every body
was as anxious about every body's business as
herself, she gave them credit for as much knowledge,
and was perpetually indulging in hints,
innuendoes, and scraps of biography, which
puzzled her friends worse than the riddle of the
Sphinx. Thus she generally alluded to her
acquaintances in old Finland, by their christian
names, and detailed the various particulars incident
to nurseries, kitchens, &c. as if the whole
universe felt an interest in the subjects of her
biography. In one word, she was a thin, short
little body, dressed in high-heel'd shoes, a
chintz gown, with flowers as large as cabbages,
and leaves like those of the palm, together with
a long-tabbed lawn cap, which, on great occasions,
was displaced for a black velvet skull-cap,
fitting close to the head, and tied under the chin.
Of her voice, it may be affirmed that it was as
sharp as the Heer's favourite cider.

The only being in the governor's establishment

that could hold a candle to aunt Edith, as
she was usually denominated, or who ventured
to exchange a shot in the war of words with her,
was a certain mysterious, wayward, out-of-the-way
creature, who was generally reputed to be
an equal compound of fortune-teller and witch.
She was by birth an African, and her general
acceptation was that of Bombie of the Frizzled
Head. Bombie was a thick, squat thing, remarkable
for that peculiar redundancy of figure,
so frequently observed in the ladies of her colour
and country. Her head and face were singularly
disproportioned to her size, the first being very
small, and the latter, proportionably large, since
it might with truth be averred, that her head was
nearly all face. The fact was, that nature had given
her such a redundancy of broad flat nose, that in
order to allow of any eyes at all, she was obliged to
place them on either side of the head, where they
projected almost as far, and as red as those of a
boiled lobster. This gave her an air of singular
wildness, inasmuch as it produced the peculiar
look called staring, which is held to be the favourite
expression of that popular class of lately created
beings who stand in a sort of a midway between
witches, goblins, fairies, and devils; but are an
odd compound of them all, being made by the
mere force of the author's genius to supply the
want of every natural or physical advantage.

Bombie of the Frizzled Head, was so surnamed
on account of her hair, which was distinguished
by that peculiar and obstinate curl, which, together
with the accompanying black complexion,
are held to be the characteristics of the posterity
of Cain. Age had, at this period, bent her body
almost double, seamed her face with innumerable
wrinkles, and turned her hair white, which
contrasted singularly with her ebony skin.
But still she exhibited one of the peculiarities
of this unhappy race, in a set of teeth white as
the driven snow, and perfect as the most perfect
ever seen through the ruby lips of the lass the
reader most loves. And if the truth must be
told, her tongue seemed to be as little injured
by the assaults of time as her teeth. She was,
in fact, a desperate railer, gifted with a natural
eloquence that was wont to overpower the voice
and authority of aunt Edith, and drive the Heer
Piper from his sternest domestic resolves.

The tyranny of Bombie's tongue was, however,
strengthened in its authority by certain vulgar
opinions, the more powerful, perhaps, from
their indefinite nature and vague obscurity. It
was said that she was the daughter and the wife

of an African King, taken in battle, and sold to a
trader who carried her to St. Barts, where she
was bought by the Heer Peter Piper, who whilome
figured as Fiscal of that fruitful island,
from whence she accompanied him first to Finland,
and afterwards to the new world. Rumour,
that progeny of darkness, distance, and obscurity,
also whispered that she of the Frizzled
Head could see into the depths of futurity;
was acquainted with the secrets of sticking
crooked pins, and throwing invisible brickbats;
and dealt in all the dread mysteries of Obi.
These suspicions were strengthened, by the peculiar
appearance and habits of the Frizzled
Head, as well as by the authority of certain instances
of witchcraft that happened about this
time in the East, as recorded by the learned and
venerable Cotton Mather, in his book of wonders,
the Magnalia.

Like the owl and the whipperwill, she scarcely
ever was seen abroad except at night, and,
like them, she was supposed to go forth in the
darkness, only to bode or to practise ill. With
her short pipe in her mouth, her horn-headed
stick in her hand, she would be seen walking at
night along the bank of the river, without any
apparent purpose, generally silent, but occasionally

muttering and mumbling in some unknown
gibberish that no one understood. This habit
of prowling abroad at night, and at all times
of the night, enabled her to attain a knowledge
of various secrets of darkness that often seemed
the result of some supernatural insight into
the ways of men. Indeed, it has been, or it may
be shrewdly observed, that he who would see
the world as it really is, must watch like the
mastiff that bays the moon, and sleeps but in
the sunshine. When at home, in the Heer's
kitchen, she never slept except in the day
time; but often passed the night, wandering about
such parts of the house as were free to her, apparently
haunted by some sleepless spirit, and
often stopping before the great Dutch clock in
the hall. Here she might be seen, standing
half double, leaning on her stick, and exhibiting
an apt representation of age counting the
few and fleeting moments of existence. Her
wardrobe consisted of innumerable ragged garments,
patched with an utter contempt for congruity
of colouring, and exhibiting the remnants
of the fashions of the last century. On particular
occasions, however, Bombie exhibited
her grand costume, which consisted of a man's
hat and coat, and a woman's petticoat, which
combination produced a wild, picturesque effect,
altogether indescribable. In justice to the
Heer, we must premise, that it was not his fault
that Bombie was not better clad, for he often gave
her clothing, with which no one ever knew what
was done, as she was seldom seen in any thing but
a multiplicity of rags.

Though, to appearance, exceedingly aged and
infirm, the Snow Ball, as Governor Piper used to
call her, was gifted with an activity and power
of endurance, that had something almost supernatural
in it, and which enabled her to brave all
seasons, and all weathers, as if she had been the
very statue of black marble she sometimes
seemed, when standing stock still, leaning on her
stick and contemplating the silent moon. She
had a grandson, of whom we shall say more
by-and-by. At present we will leave the
Heer to finish his supper, as we mean to do our
own presently, not wishing to burthen the reader
with too much of a good thing, which is
shrewdly affirmed to be equivalent to a thing
which is good for nothing.

4. CHAPTER IV.

We left our hero, at the conclusion of the last
chapter save one, quietly on his way to prison,
in the custody of Lob Dotterel, the vigilant
high constable of Elsingburgh. The reader
may perhaps wonder at the spiritless acquiescence
with which the Long Finne submitted to
the decision of the Heer Piper, as well as to
the safe conduct of the constable. Now, though
it is in our power, by a single flourish of the
pen, to account for this singularity, we are too
well acquainted with the nature of the human
mind, to deprive our history at the very outset
of that indescribable interest which arises from
the author's keeping to himself certain secrets,
which, like leading strings, as it were, conduct
the reader to the end, in the hope of at length
being fully rewarded by a disclosure of the

mystery. Suffice it to say that the tall youth was
quietly conducted to prison, apparently without
either caring much about it himself, or exciting
the compassion of a single soul in the village.

But it was not so.—There was one heart that
melted with sympathy, and one eye that shed a
solitary tear, to see so interesting a youth thus,
as it were, about to be buried alive, upon so
vague and slight a suspicion. That heart, and
that eye, beat in the bosom, and sparkled in the
brow of as fair a maid as ever the sun shone
upon in this new world, whose sprightly daughters
are acknowledged on all hands to excel in
beauty, grace, and virtue, all the rest of the universe.
The daughter, the only daughter, nay,
the only offspring of the Heer, was sitting in the
low parlour window that looked out upon the
green sward, where that puissant governor used
to smoke his afternoon's pipe in pleasant weather,
when the vigilant high constable brought in the
tall, fair prisoner. Her eye was naturally attracted
by a face and figure so different from
those she had been accustomed to see in the village,
and being sufficiently near to hear his examination,
she was struck with wonder and curiosity,
two sentiments that are said to be inherited
by the sex, in a direct line from grandmother
Eve.

Those readers, ay, and writers too, who
happen to know as much of human nature as the
head of a cabbage, are aware of the electrical
quality of any excitement that springs up in the
heart, in a situation, and under circumstances,
where objects of interest are rare, and there is
no variety to attract us from the train of thought
and feeling, which such objects inspire. In early
youth, and just at that blooming period of
spring, when the bud of sentiment begins to
expand its leaves to the zephyr and the sun, it
often happens, that the memory and the fancy
will both combine to rivet in the mind, a feeling
lighted by a single spark, in a single moment,
and make its impression almost indelible.

It was thus, in some degree, with the fair and
gentle daughter of the Heer, whose light blue
eye, the colour of the north, seemed destined to
conquer all hearts in the new world, as her blue-eyed
ancestors did the old with their invincible
arms. She had never yet seen, except in
dreams, since she entered her teens, a being like
the Long Finne, who, contrasted with the sturdy
boors around her, not even excepting her admirer
Othman Pfegel, was an Apollo among satyrs.
Christina, for so was she called, had indeed

some remote recollection of a species of more
polished beings, such as, when a little girl, she
had seen in Finland; but the remembrance was
so vague as only to enable her in some degree
to recognise the vulgarity and want of refinement
of the Sunday beaux of Elsingburgh.

The heart, the pure, warm, social heart of a
girl of seventeen, may be said to be like the
turtle dove, which pines in the absence of its
mate, and fills the wilderness of the world with
its solitary moanings. It waits but to see its
destined counterpart, to tremble and palpitate;
and if its first emotions are not rudely jostled
aside, or overpowered by the distraction of conflicting
objects, and the variety of opposing
temptations, they will become the governing
principle of existence during a whole life
of love.

Koningsmarke was, in truth, a figure that
might have drawn the particular attention of a
lady whose eyes were accustomed to the finest
forms of mankind. He was nearly, or quite
six feet high, straight, and well proportioned,
with a complexion almost too fair for a man, and
eyes of a light blue. His hair was somewhat
too light to suit the taste of the present day, but
which, to an eye accustomed to associate it with

ideas of manly beauty, was rather attractive than
otherwise.

With these features, he might have been
thought somewhat effeminate in his appearance,
were it not that a vigorous, muscular form,
and a certain singular expression of his eye,
which partook somewhat of a fierce violence,
threw around him the port of a hardy and fearless
being. This expression of the eye, in after times,
when their acquaintance had ripened into intimacy,
often gave rise to vague and indefinite
suspicions of his character, and fears of its
developement, which the fair Christina could
never wholly discard from her bosom. The
dress of the youth, though not fine nor splendid,
was of the better sort, and in excellent taste,
except that he wore his ruff higher up in the
neck than beseemed.

The person whose appearance we have thus
sketched, as might be expected, excited a degree
of interest in the maiden, sufficiently powerful
to have impelled her to actual interference with
the Heer, in favour of the prisoner, had it not
been for that new-born feeling, which, wherever
it is awakened in the bosom of a delicate and
virtuous female, is accompanied by a shrinking
and timid consciousness, that trembles lest the

most common courtesies, and the most ordinary
emotions, may be detected as the offspring of a
warmer feeling. Besides this, the fair Christina
knew from experience that though her father
loved her better than all the world besides, there
was one thing he loved still better, and that was,
the freedom of his sovereign will and pleasure,
in the exercise of his authority as the representative
of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. The Heer,
in fact, never failed to resent all interference
of this nature on the part of the ladies of his
household, always accompanying his refusal by
some wicked jest, or some reflection upon people's
not minding their own business. Christina,
therefore, remained quiet in her seat, and accompanied
the fair, tall youth to prison with the
sigh and the tear heretofore commemorated.

The prison formed one side of the square, at
the opposite extremity of which was placed the
Governor's palace, as he called it, videlicet, a
two-story brick house, with a steep roof, covered
with fiery red tiles, lapping over each
other like the scales of a drum fish. The
bricks which composed the walls of the palace
were of the same dusky hue of red, so that the
whole had the appearance of a vast oven, just
heated for a batch of bread. Agreeably to the

fashion of the times, the house was of little
depth, the windows of the same room opening
to both front and rear; but then it made up in
length what it wanted in depth, and when not
taken in profile, had a very imposing appearance.
Exactly opposite, at a distance of about
thirty yards, was the prison, also of brick, with
small windows, having ominous iron bars, and
other insignia shrewdly indicative of durance vile.
One part of the building was appropriated to
the accommodation of persons who had the
misfortune to fall under the guilt of suspicion,
like the Long Finne; and in the other portion,
was the great court room, as it was pompously
called, where the Heer met, as was his custom,
to consult with his council, and do just as he liked
afterwards, as practised by the potent Governors
of that day. In truth, these little men were so
far out of the reach of their masters, that they
considered themselves as little less than immortal,
and often kicked up a dust for the sole
purpose of showing their authority.

The Governor's mansion, and the court-house
or jail, were the only brick buildings in the village,
the rest consisting of wooden edifices of
round logs for the vulgar, and square ones,
filled in with mortar, for the better sort. These

were huddled close together round the square,
for two special reasons; one, that they might
be the more easily included in the strong palisade,
which had been raised about the town
for security against any sudden irruption of the
savages; the other, that no ground might be
wasted in laying out the place, which, in the
opinion of the longest heads, was so advantageously
situated, that every foot of
land must be of immense value some day or
other. Vain anticipations! since the place is
now a ruin, and the colony no more; yet such
is the usual fate of all the towering hopes of
man! The houses we speak of, were all nearly
of the same size and fashion, and equally dignified
by an enormous chimney of brick, which appertained
to the house, or more strictly speaking,
to which the house seemed to appertain,
and which being placed outside of the wall instead
of inside, for the purpose of affording
more room to the family, gave the mansion
somewhat the relative appearance of a wren
house stuck up against the side of a chimney.

In this veritable jail, we have just described,
the Long Finne was consigned by Lob Dotterel.
and received by the Cerberus who guarded it,
and who, finding the emoluments of his office

considerably inadequate to maintain a family,
of some eight or ten children, generally worked
at his trade of carpenter abroad, leaving the
keys of the prison in the hands of his wife. The
latter was popularly considered the better man
of the two, and currently reported not to fear
devil or dominie, in fair open daylight.

Master Gottlieb Swaschbuckler's vocation
might be said to be almost a sinecure, since,
notwithstanding Lob Dotterel's vigilant police,
the prison was, during the greater part of the
year, undignified by a single inhabitant, save
the jailer and his family. And here we cannot
but express our mortification, that, notwithstanding
the vast pains taken since that time
to improve the mind and morals of mankind,
and the astonishing success of all the plans laid
down for that purpose, there should be such
a singular and unaccountable increase of the
tenants of jails, bridewells, penitentiaries, and
such like schools of reformation. So extraordinary
indeed is the fact we have just stated,
that we feel it incumbent upon us, to request of
the reader a little exertion of that generous credulity,
by which he is enabled to gulp down the interesting
improbabilities of our modern romances.

Dame Swaschbuckler was, consequently, delighted

at the appearance of the Long Finne,
having been some time without any body but
her husband and family upon whom to exercise
her authority, and holding, as she did, that a
prison without a prisoner was, like a cage without
a bird, utterly worthless and uninteresting.
She was resolved to entertain him in her best
manner, and accordingly showed him into a
room, the doors of which were twice as thick,
and the windows ornamented with double the
number of bars, of any other in the whole
building.

Having thus accommodated our hero with
board and lodging, we shall pause a moment
in order to cogitate what we shall say in the
next chapter.

5. CHAPTER IV.

We neglected to mention, not foreseeing that
it might be necessary to the course of our history,
that the Heer Piper, when he pronounced
sentence upon the Long Finne, did also at the
same time declare, all that portion of Mark
Newby's halfpence which he carried about him,
utterly forfeited, one half to the informer, the
other to the crown of Sweden. It was accordingly
divided between Restore Gosling and the
Governor, as representative of Majesty.

The Long Finne accordingly entered the
prison, without that key which not only unlocks
stone walls, but also the flinty hearts of those
who are wont to preside within them. His
pockets were as empty as a church on week-days.
When, therefore, the next morning he
felt the gnawings of that insatiate fiend, whom

bolts, nor bars, nor subterranean dungeons,
suffice to keep from tagging at the heels of
man, and ventured to hint to dame Swaschbuckler
that he had some idea of wanting his
breakfast, that good woman promptly desired
him to lay down his dust, and she would procure
him a breakfast fit for Governor Piper
himself.

“But I have no dust, mother, as you call it,”
replied the youth.

“What, no money!” screamed out the Dame;
“der teufel hole dich, what brought thee
here then.”

“Master Lob Dotterel,” replied he.

“And thou hast no money—du galgen
schivenkel,” roared the dame.

“Not a stiver, nor even one of Mark Newby's
halfpence,” responded the Long Finne.

“Then thou gettest no breakfast here,” cried
the mistress of the stone jug, “except der
teufel's braden. It would be a fine matter
truly, if every galgengefallener spitzbube
were to be maintained here in idleness, at the
expense of the poor.” So saying, she waddled
indignantly out of the room, shutting the door
after her with great emphasis, and turning the

key with a quick motion, indicating wrath
unappeasable.

Dinner-time came, but no dinner; supper-time
came, but no supper; for it ought to be
premised, that it was one of the Heer Piper's
maxims, that the less a criminal had to eat in
prison, the more likely he would be to come to a
speedy confession of his crime. He therefore
made no provision for persons committed on
mere suspicion. Most people, we believe,
happen to be aware of the vast importance of
eating and drinking, not only as a very simple
means of supplying the wants of nature, but likewise
as creating certain divisions of time, where-by
that venerable personage is disarmed
of half his terrors, and the desperate uniformity
of his pace agreeably interrupted. Accordingly,
when the night came, and nothing to eat, the
Long Finne began to feel not a little tired of his
situation. He paced his solitary room in silent
vexation, occasionally stopping at the window,
which fronted the Governor's palace, and gazing
wistfully at the figures which passed backwards
and forwards about his little parlour. As he
stood thus contrasting the cheerful aspect of the
palace with his dark, noiseless prison, and his
own solitary starving state, he beheld them

bringing in the Heer's supper, and his bowels
yearned. The contrast was more than he could
bear; he flung himself upon the straw in a
corner of the room, and communed with himself
in the bitterness of his heart; he drank his
own tears in the extremity of his thirst, and
finallysinking under weakness, and the emotions
of his heart, fell asleep.

From this last refuge of misery and hunger
the Long Finne was awakened by a loud peal
of thunder, that seemed to have shattered the
prison into atoms. On opening his eyes, the
first object he beheld, by the almost unceasing
flashes of lightning, was a figure standing over
him, half bent, and leaning upon a stick, muttering
and mumbling some unintelligible incantation.
Her eyes seemed like coals of fire,
dancing in their deep sockets, and her whole
appearance was altogether, or nearly supernatural.

“Who, and what are you, in the name of
God?” cried the Long Finne, starting up from
his straw.

“I am a being disinherited of all the rights,
and heir to all the wrongs to which humanity
is prone. I was born a princess in one quarter
of the globe—I was brought up in another,

a beast of burthen. I am here the slave of
man's will, the creature of his capricious tyranny.”
The voice of the apparition was hollow,
and rung like a muffled bell.

“And what brought thee here at this time
of the night,” replied the youth, “and such a
night too!”

“The thunder and the lightning, the storm
and the whirlwind, are my elements; night to
me is day; and when others sleep, the spirit
that is unseen in the morning, the guilty that
fear, and the injured that hate the light and the
face of man, go forth to warn the living, to indulge
the bitterness of their hearts, or to commit
new crimes.”

“Away!—I know thee now; thou art Bombie
of the Frizzled Head—I know thee now,” replied
the youth.

“And I too KNOW THEE,” hollowly rejoined
the figure—“I know thee, Long Finne. Thou
comest here for no good; thou art here to stab
the sleeping innocent—to engraft upon the tree
of my master's house the bitter fruit of guilt and
misery. I am sent here to prevent all this. I
come with food, and the means of freeing thee
from thy prison. Follow me, and go thy ways,
never to return.”

“I will stay here and die,” bitterly exclaimed
the fair youth. “I am an outcast from my native
land—a hunted deer, to whom neither the
woods, the waters, nor the air afford a refuge.
Whither shall I go? Nor white man nor red
man will shield me from that which follows me
everywhere—from the worm that never dies,
the fire that is never quenched. No—I will stay
here and perish.” He flung himself recklessly
on the floor, and covered his face with his
hands.

“Stay here and perish!” replied the Frizzled
Head, scornfully. “Thus does the coward
white man quail and whimper, when he hath
done that which his abject spirit dare not look
in the face. He that hath the courage to commit
a crime, should have the courage to face its
consequences. Coward, arise and follow me.”

“No—I will die here.”

“And perish hereafter,” cried the black mystery,
setting down a little basket beside the
youth. “Farewell; but be careful what thou
doest. Wherever thou goest I will follow;
whatever thou doest I shall know; and if, under
cover of night and solitude, when thou thinkest
that no mortal eye seeth thee, thou darest to do

ill, my eye shall be upon thee, and my spell wither
thy resolves. Beware!”

Thus saying, she departed, and sorry are we
to say, it was in a manner somewhat unworthy
her mysterious dignity; for she passed out at
the door, and locked it after her. The Long
Finne lay and ruminated for some time on what
he had seen and heard; but at length his curiosity
inspired him with the idea of examining
the basket, the contents of which drove every
thing else out of his head. And here we might
tamper with the reader's curiosity, and affect
that mystery with which our great prototype is
wont so unmercifully to torment his readers.
But we scorn all such vulgar arts of authorship,
and honestly confess that the Long Finne was
struck dumb by the sight of an excellent supper,
which he attacked with great vigour, after the
manner of men that have fasted much and prayed
little.

The visit of the Frizzled Head was, after this,
repeated nightly, and the supper with it, doubtless
with the connivance of dame Schwasch-buckler,
whose husband, being a great politician,
usually spent the first part of the night in
getting foxed at Master Oldale's shrine, and the
other part in sleeping himself sober at home.

In truth, the weeping blood of woman's heart
seldom beats with a stronger feeling of pity,
than it now began to do in the bosom of the fair
Christina. She was observed to be often at the
window of her chamber, which fronted the prison,
through whose bars she had a dim and
indistinct view of the tall, fair youth, pacing
backwards and forwards in his narrow bounds,
and sometimes stopping before the grates, where
he would lay his hand on his heart, and bow
his head profoundly, as if to thank her for her
charity to a poor wanderer. Sometimes, in the
evening, he would play on a little flageolet which
he managed exquisitely, and occasionally sing
portions of the tender and popular airs of her
country, among which she often distinguished the
following couplet:—

which seemed to her expressive of the triumph
of mind over time and circumstance.

Those who have studied the heart of womau,
and read in its ruddy pages how prone it is to
pity, and how naturally it passes from pity to a
warmer feeling, we trust will give us credit for
some little regard to probability, when we venture

to hint, that the little simple village girl had
not long indulged in the one, till she began to
feel the approaches of the other.

The moment she became aware of this change
in her feelings, all the pleasure she had hitherto
felt in administering, through the instrumentality
of Bombie, to the wants of the prisoner, vanished.
An indescribable sensation of awkward embarrassment
possessed her, whenever she applied
to the sybil to carry his daily supply. And
the blush which accompanied the application,
was the silent, yet sure testimony that she was
now acting under the impulses of a new feeling,
which she dared not avow.

The conduct of the Frizzled Head increased
this embarrassment.—The sybil every day discovered
more and more unwillingness to go on
her nightly errand of charity, and was perpetually
pouring forth mystical prophecies and
denunciations.

“I will not,” said she at last “I will not
pamper the wolf that he may be preserved to
devour the innocent lamb. I have seen what I
have seen, I know what I know. There is
peril in the earth, the sea, and the air, yet the
young see it not till it comes, and when it comes

they know not how to escape.—I will go to
the prison no more.”

“And the youth will be left to perish with
hunger,” replied the young damsel, sadly.

“Let him perish!” exclaimed the Frizzled Head.
“The guilty die, that the innocent may live; for
wickedness is the strength of the lion, and
the cunning of the tiger combined. Enough
can it accomplish of mischief without my assistance—I
will go no more.”

“In the name of Heaven, what meanest thou,”
asked the trembling girl, “by these fearful hints
of danger? Who is the wolf, and who the lamb,
that thou shouldst thus thwart me in my errand
of compassion?”

“I have seen what I have seen—I know what
I know,” replied the sybil. “The warning that
is given in time, is the word which is howled out
in the wilderness. Better were it for one of my
colour to be dumb than speak evil of one of thine.
But I have seen what I have seen—I know what
I know.”

This was all poor Christina could get out of
the old mystery, and that night the Long Finne
went supperless to his straw, with the thought
lying like lead upon his heart, that he was now
forgotten and forsaken by all the world.