"'What did this man do in the daring of faith? He first got permission of his superiors; then he went aboard of a little boat, took nothing else with him but his Bible and his Prayer-book, his few tools, a fishing net, and food for several days, and then dropped down the Weser, all alone, intending by that way to get to the Eastphalians. But his chief strength was prayer, in which he lived day and night. When he came to the place where the Aller flows into the Weser, he quitted the Weser and went up the Aller, that he might look at the spot where those 4500 Saxons were cut to pieces by Charlemagne, and on the ground pray for the murdered men. For at that time it was believed that even the dead could be helped by prayer, as is still the erroneous teaching of the Catholics. Leaving that place, he wished to visit the "stone-houses," that he might pray there too, where the captive Franks had been slaughtered by the Saxons; and so he went on up the Aller and from the Aller into the Oerze, all the while living upon the fish which he caught.'"

"Had he no bread?" said Maggie.

"How should he?—going through wild woods and countries lone in his boat? He would come to no bakers' shops, Maggie."

"Just living on fish! Well, go on, Ditto."

"'But all along on this journey he had not only caught fish, but also everywhere preached the Gospel. And then must have been the first time that the sweet name of Jesus was ever heard in our region. Perhaps when you look at the map you will ask, why Landolf went this difficult way by water, which was a very roundabout way besides, to get to the "stone-houses," when he could have come across from Verden by a much nearer and straighter route? Our chronicle gives two reasons: first, the whole interior of the country at that time was almost nothing but thick forest and deep morasses, through which there was no going on foot; and secondly, he had been told in Verden, that if he wanted to visit the "stone-houses," he must first go to the Billing of the long-legged Horz-Saxons, who lived on the river Horz in Harm's "ouden dorp." Now this river Horz is the Oerze; and the name, the chronicle announces, comes from the fact that this river runs and leaps like a Horz—that is, a horse; and because a great many horses were pastured on its banks. For the chief wealth of our Saxon ancestors consisted in cattle, especially in horses, which they used not only for riding and in war expeditions, but reckoned their flesh a favourite food. And were a horse but entirely spotless and white, it was even held to be sacred. Such white horses were kept in the sacred forests of oak, where they were used for nothing but soothsaying; for by the neighing of these white horses the heathen priests prophesied whether a business, or a campaign, that was in hand, would turn out happily or unhappily. For this reason also our LÜneburg country since the earliest times has borne the free, bounding horse in its escutcheon; and for the same reason most of the houses in the country of LÜneburg down to the present times have their gables adorned with two wooden horses' heads; and it is only lately that this custom has somewhat fallen off.

"'The Saxons, or as the chronicle writes, Sahzen, were called "Horzsahzen," either because they lived on the Horz, or Oerze; or because they were almost all of them horsemen and owned a great many horses. They bore besides the honorary title of the "long-legged," for our forefathers were distinguished by their unusual stature. It is remarkable that the name "Lange" is still the widest spread family name of any in our region, so that there are villages that are almost exclusively inhabited by "Langen," among whom a goodly number might yet be called "long-legged;" though many also have grown something shorter, while they nevertheless bear the name of Lange. Well, that is all one, so they only keep the old, tried faithfulness and honesty, and the manly holding to their word, and the beautiful pureness of morals, for which our forefathers were renowned.

"'But now, what sort of a man is the Billing? Our chronicle translates the word into Latin; curatos legum, that is, the "guardian of the laws." Bill, you see, in old low German or Saxon, was a "law" which had been confirmed by the whole assembly of the people; and the man who proposed these laws, and when they were confirmed had the charge of seeing that they were not transgressed, was called the Billing. The Billing of the Horzsahzen was at this time a man named Harm, that is Hermann; and he lived in Harm's ouden dorp—or Hermann's old village. The spot where this old village of Hermann stood is now a cultivated field, about ten minutes away from the present Hermannsburg; and this field is still called at the present day up'n Ollendorp, and lies right on the Oerze. To this place accordingly the brave Landolf repaired, and was received kindly and with the customary Saxon hospitality by Hermann the Billing.

"'Hermann's dwelling was a large cottage, surrounded with pens for cattle, especially for horses, which were pastured on the river meadows. There were no stables; the animals remained day and night under the open sky, and even in winter time had no shelter beyond that of the thick forest with which the land was covered. The pens themselves were merely enclosures without a roof. Landolf was entertained with roasted horses' flesh, which to the astonishment of his hosts he left untouched. For by the rules of the Christian Church at that time it was not permitted to eat horse-flesh; they reckoned it a heathen practice.

"'When Landolf had made his abode with the Billing for a while, he found out that his host was in fact the principal person in all that district of country, and as guardian of the laws enjoyed a patriarchal and wide-reaching consideration. He was indeed no edeling (or nobleman), only a freiling—a free man; but he possessed seven large manors; on which account later writers, as for instance Adam of Bremen, give the Billing family the name of Siebenmeyer.' (Sieben means seven, Maggie.) 'The oldest son, who regularly bore the name of Hermann, was the family head; and after the death of his father the dignity of Billing descended to him. The younger brothers were settled in some of the other manors, remaining nevertheless always dependent upon the oldest.

"'Now Landolf preached the Gospel zealously to the family whose guest he was, and they listened to him with willing ears. But when he would have declared his message also to the Saxons who lived in their neighbourhood, Hermann explained to him that by law and usage he must not do that, until permission had first been given him by the regular assembly of the people. As the house-father he himself could indeed in his own family allow the proclamation of the Christian faith; but a public proclamation must have the decision of the people upon it, that is, of the assembly of all the free men. Landolf had arrived in the autumn—the stated gathering of the commons would not be till spring, and indeed not till May; in the meanwhile he must be contented. Hard as it was for Landolf to wait so long, for his heart was burning to convert the poor heathen to Christ, he yet knew the people and their customs too well to contend against them. So all winter he abode with Hermann. And a blessed winter that was. It was the habit of the family, when at evening a fire was kindled in the middle of the hut, that the whole household, men, women, and children, even the servants and maids, should assemble around it—the master of the house having the place of honour in the midst of them. The house-father then generally told stories about the heroic deeds of their forefathers; about the ancient laws and usages, the knowledge of which was handed down from father to son; and Landolf sat among them and listened with the rest, but soon got permission to tell on his part of the wonderful things of the Christian faith. So then he profited by the long winter evenings to tell over the whole Bible story of the Old and New Testaments. And with such simplicity, and with such joy of faith and confidence he told it, that the hearts of his hearers were stirred. In addition to that, he often sang the songs of the Christian Church, in a clear, fine-toned voice; and presently some among them, the younger especially, began to join in the singing. His Bible stories were in all their mouths; and the people had such capital memories that, he says himself, he needed usually to tell a thing but once or twice, and all of them, even the children, could repeat it almost word for word. This is a common experience among people who have no written literature; they are apt to be uncommonly strong in power of memory. And when he prayed too, and he did it daily upon his knees, he was never disturbed, although he prayed in the cottage, which had only one room for all; instead, he soon had the joy of seeing that many kneeled down with him and with him called upon Christ, "the God of the Christians," as they phrased it. So the winter passed, May came, ice and snow melted away, and everybody got ready to attend the great assembly of the people. It was to be held at the stone-houses. Landolf travelled thither as Hermann's guest, under his protection—Hermann even letting him ride his best horse, by way of doing him honour before all the people. With a noble train of freilings—that is, of free men—they set forth.

"'The first day, however, they went no further than about a quarter of an hour from Harm's ouden dorp, to a sacrificial altar which was placed close by what was called the Deep Moor (Deepenbroock, the chronicle says). There Landolf was to be spectator of a terrible scene, which shows as well the frightful savageness and cruelty of the Saxons as their noble purity of manners. By about noon of the abovenamed day, all the free men of that whole region had gathered together at the altar of sacrifice. This altar consisted, as may still be seen by the so-called stone-houses now standing, of eight slabs of granite, set up in a quadrangle; with four openings, or doors, towards the four quarters of the heaven, broad enough to let a man go through; and covered over on the top with another great granite block. The young warriors brought up two prisoners, who had been taken in a late campaign and fetched along. One of them was made to go under the sacrifice altar through the north and south doors, the other through the east and west doors. Then stepped forth two priests, having their long flowing hair bound with a mistletoe branch, and a sharp knife of flint in the hand. You must know that the mistletoe, which is still to be found in plenty in our woods, growing especially on birch trees, was held among our forefathers to be sacred. For since it does not grow upon the ground like other plants, but upon trees, birches particularly, it was believed that the seed of this plant fell down from heaven; and this belief was strengthened by the remarkable manner of its growth, so unlike other plants, with its forking opposite branches and shining white berries. After solemn prayers, which were half sung half said, to the two gods Woden and Thor, and the two goddesses Hela and Hertha, the captive men were one after the other laid each upon his back on the altar, so that his head hung down over the edge of the altar.'"

"Oh, stop, Ditto!" cried Maggie.

"Why?"

"It is too horrible."

"It is pretty horrible. But men did it, and men suffered it. Can't you hear it?"

"Men were dreadful!"

"Men are dreadful where the light of the Gospel has not come. 'The dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty.'"

"Tell me about those gods and goddesses."

"Were those Saxon Druids?" Flora asked.

"It sounds so. But I don't know the gods of the Teutons as well as I do those of the Greeks; I can't tell you much about Woden and Thor, Maggie. We'll look when we go home. Now, am I to go on?"

"I suppose so. Oh yes, I want you to go on. But it is dreadful.""Well, the captives were laid on the altar, as I read, 'and the priests cut their throats with their knives of flint. When the quivering victim had ceased to bleed, the body was taken up by the young warriors and cast into the Deep Moor, where it immediately sunk in the bog. Landolf had not recovered from the shock—for he had never seen a human sacrifice before, having gone while yet a boy into the country of the Christians—when his attention was fettered by another dreadful drama.

"'Some of the young men fetched a long and broad hurdle, woven of fir branches, laid it down before the altar, and went away; but came back again presently with a man and a woman, who had been accused and convicted of breaking the marriage vow. An accuser stepped forth, and repeated the charge before the Billing. The Billing then asked the accused whether the charge was true? and admonished them to confess the truth, since never yet had a free Saxon told a lie. And when the guilty people had owned their guilt, first their relations came forward and spat in their faces; then the man's weapons were taken from him, his hands and feet and the woman's were tied together: and so tied they were thrown into the Deep Moor, the hurdle covered over them, and this and the underlying bodies, by their nearest relations first of all, were trodden down into the deep morass. So came the marriage-breakers to a shameful end and received the reward of their sin.

"'Hermann told Landolf afterwards that there were three crimes which they punished on this disgraceful wise—marriage-breaking, lying, and cowardice; because such people were not held worthy to die the honourable death of a warrior, and be slain with weapons. Landolf answered "O Billing! you are terrible people! yet even as heathen you hate the sins that you know. What would you be, if you were once Christians, and the Lord Jesus gave you His light!"

"'And as I write down these words from the old chronicle, I could cast my eyes to the ground for shame and weep tears of blood over the deep, shameful apostasy of the German Christianity of the present day. Christ gives us His light now; we are Christians now; but where have purity, truth, and courage hid themselves? Are there ten in a hundred German Christians that keep a pure life, true lips, and a brave heart? I do not think it. Open and secret impurity, coarse and polished falsehood, disgraceful cowardliness, fear of men and men-pleasing, have infested the whole German Christian nation, and will soon bring down the judgment of God; for "the bruise is incurable, and the wound is grievous." Great and small, men and women, old and young, all are tainted with the plague. Our heathen forefathers were better and cleaner in these things than we Christians—they will condemn us at the last judgment, and we shall have to stand abashed before them. And you that read this, if you prize the name of a German—if, as you should, you prize a thousand times more the name of a Christian—ask your conscience whether it has not been uneasy under the foregoing narration; and if it has, then repent, you degenerate German, you hypocritical Christian; repent in sackcloth and ashes, and on your knees implore your God, the living Saviour: "Jesus, my Lord, thou holy God, give me a pure nature, a lip of faithfulness, and a bold heart, through the faith that is in Thee."

"'And now I must go on to tell what more befell that same day, in which the devilish nature of heathenism among our forefathers was shown as frightfully as in their murderous sacrifices. Far behindhand as our ancestors at that time were in all civilisation, they nevertheless already understood the art of preparing intoxicating drinks. For this purpose they used especially the wild oats which grew all over, and the darnel grass, of which a strong, intoxicating beer was brewed; and to make it yet more stupefying, they added a certain marsh plant. And scarce ever was there a sacrifice that was not concluded with a drinking-bout. So it fell out at this time. Many writers tell, how among the old Germans it was even made a boast to spend eight or even fourteen days, one after another, in such carousals. On the occasion of which we are speaking, indeed, they lasted only over the rest of that day and through the night; for the next day the intent was to go on to the stone-houses. But what horror must Landolf have felt even in that short time! When all of them had got drunk, a quarrel sprang up; and as each man had his weapons with him, his war-axe especially, the quarrel came to duels between man and man; and soon blood was flowing from most of the people, and several corpses lay here and there. The bodies were burned, their ashes buried, and a round hillock of earth thrown up over them; for, as it was thought, they had fallen in honourable fight, as it became men to do. And when Landolf, full of astonishment, asked the Billing, who of all the crowd was the only one that had remained sober, whether they did not then punish people for murder? the Billing in wonder retorted by the question, where the murderers were? There had been nothing but an open, honest fight, which was to the honour of those concerned in it.

"'Yet another abomination Landolf saw on this occasion, which, however, was in a remarkable manner mixed up with truth and noblemindedness. I mean that while this drinking-bout was going on, a number of men, young and old, amused themselves with gaming, of which they were passionately fond. To be sure they had no cards, neither dice. But they had little longish, square cornered, wooden sticks, shaved white, and with certain marks painted on the upper side. Each man took a certain number of these in both hands, shook them, and threw them up in the air. When they fell on the ground, they were carefully looked at to see how many of them lay with the painted side up, and how many with the unpainted; and whoever then had the most sticks with the painted side up, he had won. Upon each throw they set some of their cattle, a hog, a cow, or an ox, or a horse; perhaps at last a specially prized drinking vessel, made out of a ure-ox horn; even finally, what they held to be most valuable of all, their weapons; and at last Landolf saw a young man, who had lost all he had, cast his freedom upon the last throw; and when this too was lost, he saw how frankly and without grumbling he gave himself up to be the slave of his fellow-player; so fast the German, even amid the bewilderments of sin, held to truth and the inviolable keeping of his word once given. Liberty was truly his most valuable and precious possession, for which at any other time he was ready to die, arms in hand. And yet he yielded this treasure quietly up, when he had lost it at play, rather than break his word and his faith; if he were the stronger, he did not defend himself; he did not take to flight, though he might have a hundred opportunities—the free man who gloried in his freedom, became a slave, that he might keep faith. This was how Landolf found things among the heathen; he wept bitter tears over it; but he never desponded: so much the firmer grew his resolution to preach the Gospel to this people, and make the true God known to them. For the thought always rose in him, what might come of a people whom God had so nobly endowed, among whom even in the abominations of idolatry there shone forth such traits of pureness of manners and nobleness of thought, were they but once renewed and born again by the glorious Christian faith.

"'But if Landolf were to come to light again in these days, when we are Christians, what would he say of us? Outward culture truly he would find—the face of the earth would indeed have changed. But if he came into the inns, where drinking and gaming are going on, into the so-called Maybeers, into the assemblies for eating and drinking, and playing at weddings, and housewarmings, and christenings; or into the private drinking and gaming parties in people's houses, the gaming hells at the watering-places, the drinking carousals of students, the companies of the noble, the so-called entertainments with which everything must be celebrated in Germany—how confounded would he be, to find that the drinking and gaming devil is still the ruling devil in Germany! but, on the other hand, faith and truth are extinguished. It is true what the old song says—"Most are Christians only in name. God's true seed are thinly scattered, those who love and honour Christ and do His pleasure!" Well, God mend it!'"

Meredith shut up his book.

"Ditto," said Maggie thoughtfully, "is it so bad here?"

"How do I know, Maggie?"

"But what do you think?"

Flora lifted up her head. "Now, Meredith, don't go and say something absurd."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Why, the truth! that there are a great many nice people in America."

"I have no doubt, so there are in Germany."

"Then that talk is all stuff."

"Pastor Harms never talked stuff."

"How do you know?"

"I have read enough of him to know. He was one of those he calls God's true seed."

"Then what did he mean? Or what do you mean?"

"Well, Flora, I will ask you a question: How many people do you know who live to do Christ's will?"

Flora did not answer immediately. Maggie on her part went to calculating.

"I know—I know—three!" she said slowly.

"Three!" said Flora. "Who are they?"

"That's not the question, Flo," said her brother. "How many do you know?"

"Well," said Flora, "Mr. Murray is one, and you are another, I believe; but there are other nice people in the world."

"I know people drink," said Maggie, so gravely and sagely that the others laughed. "I do know. I have seen them at our house. You needn't say anything, Esther; I have once or twice when I have been at dinner, when you were not at home. Not papa, of course, and they don't do it now. Papa won't have wine on the table at all, but I saw how they did. Some of the gentlemen began with whisky and water, and one took brandy and water, before dinner began."

"Oh stop, Maggie!" Esther exclaimed.

"No, but I want to tell you. Then they took Greek wine or Sauterne with their soup. Then they took champagne with the dinner. Then they had port wine with the cheese—oh, I recollect, Esther—and then they had Madeira and sherry with dessert, and claret and Madeira and sherry with the fruit. And some of them drank every one. I am glad papa won't have wine at all now. Uncle Eden wouldn't, a good while ago."

"People used in England, not very long ago, to drink a bottle or two of wine after dinner each man," said Meredith; "but it is not quite so bad as that nowadays."

Flora was vexed, but silent; she too remembered bowls of punch and baskets of champagne in her father's time.

"And gaming—" said Maggie, and stopped.

"What?" said Meredith.

"I was thinking how fond Fenton was of it."

"Oh hush, Maggie! he wasn't!" Esther exclaimed.

"It was just the same thing, Uncle Eden said."

"Where is Fenton?" said Meredith.

"He's coming to-morrow. He likes champagne too, and other wine when he can get it. And Bolivar—Bolivar put something in his lemonade!"

"Why, Maggie," said Meredith, smiling and passing his hand gently over the little girl's head, "you are taking gloomy views of life!"

"I was only thinking, Ditto. But it seems to me so very strange that people should be worse now than when they were heathen Saxons."

"People are a mixture now, you must remember. The good part are a great deal better, and I suppose the bad part are a great deal worse."

"Worse than the heathen!" cried Flora.

"Well, judge for yourself. But darkness in the midst of light is always the blackest, and not only by contrast either."

"If you think people are so awful, I should think you would go to work and preach to them," said Esther.

"I will," said Meredith calmly.

"Then what will you do with Meadow Park?"

"Oh, he proposes to turn that into an hospital."

"An hospital!"——

"Flora is romancing a little," said her brother. "There are no infirmaries put up yet. How sweet this place is! Do you smell the fir trees and pines? The air is a spice-box."

"The air a box!" cried Maggie laughing.

"I mean it is full of perfumes, like a spice-box. And these old stones, laid up here by the soldiers' hands of a hundred years ago, just make a dining place for us now. But it's pretty! And the air is nectar."

"You can choose whether you will smell it, or swallow it," remarked his sister.

"By your leave, I will do both. Well, shall I go on?"