class="normal">Mr. Brown spoke with great earnestness. Most of his hearers, whose eyes wandered back and forth between the speaker and the farmer at the edge of the quay, seemed to be convinced. However Samuel Squenz would not keep quiet, but cried out with a grieved voice:

"What do you thus show, Mr. Brown, except that these scamps swallow up the land to which we, and our children, and our children's children, are entitled? And one must not speak of injury done to the commonwealth! I would like to know what else it should be called?"

"A strengthening," cried Mr. Brown; "a strengthening and an establishing of the commonwealth. That would be the right word. Is it not a blessing for us all that outside, on the farthest border, these poor Germans have settled, and, if God permit, will settle still farther, and, by their position, are in constant conflict with the French, and whom we have to thank that you, and I, and all of us here in New York, can peacefully prosecute our business. When last fall Captain Belletre, with his French and Indians, fell upon the valley of the Mohawk, who hindered that he did not reach Albany, and God knows how much further? We did not, for two years ago we allowed Fort Oswego to be taken; and General Abercrombie, who commands at Albany, had done nothing to protect the threatened points until October when Belletre came. I ask again, who hindered? The Germans, who fought as well as they could under the lead of their watchful captain, Nicolas Herkimer, though they lost forty killed and one hundred and two prisoners, not to speak of the $50,000 damage done by the thieving, burning murderers. That is an injury to the commonwealth, Mr. Squenz, of which you may take occasion to think, Mr. Squenz, and therewith I commend you to God."

The choleric old gentleman had spoken in such a passion that, in spite of the rain, he took off, not only his hat, but also his wig, and was now wiping his bald head with his handkerchief as he left the group and shuffled over to the young countryman, who still stood in the same place on the quay looking at the ship. Now, however, as the old man patted him on the shoulder, he turned about with the appearance of one who has just been awakened out of a dream. It could not have been a pleasant dream. On the fine, dark-complexioned face there was a trace of deep grief, and the large, blue, kind, German eyes looked very sad.

"Ah, Mr. Brown," said the young man, "I supposed you had long since gone home."

"While I stood but ten steps behind you and spent my breath in defending you! But so it is with you Germans. To strike home when it comes to the worst--that you can do; but to speak for yourselves--to maintain your rights against the simpletons who look at you over the shoulder and who shrug the shoulder over you--that you leave for others."

"What has happened, Mr. Brown?" said the young man.

"What has happened! The old story. I have again rushed into the fire for you sleepy fellows--I, an old fool. Do you think--but for this morning I have already vexed myself enough on your account, and I can surely reckon on having an attack of the colic this evening. And this weather besides--the devil take the weather, and the Germans too! Come, Mr. Lambert, come."

The old man moved about uneasily.

"I would like to stay a little longer," said Lambert, hanging back.

"You have no time to lose if you mean to go by the Albany boat. It leaves at three o'clock, and you also wanted to get your horse shod."

Lambert turned from the ship, which by this time had come quite near, to his business friend, and from him again to the ship.

"If you will permit me," said Lambert.

"Do as you please," cried the old man. "You may look at your countrymen and spoil your appetite for dinner. Or you may buy a young blockhead who will eat the hair off your head, or a handsome maid who would not behave at home, but is naturally good enough for you--or perhaps rather two--that your brother Conrad may also be provided for. Do as you please, but let me go home. We eat at twelve, and Mrs. Brown likes her guests to be punctual. Good morning."

Mr. Brown held down his hat, which the wind threatened to take off, with his bamboo cane, and hurried away at the moment when a dull sound from Broadway indicated that the immigrants were returning.

CHAPTER II

There entered new life into the wet and surly groups on the quay. Men stood on tiptoe and eagerly looked in the direction of Broadway, where the wretched crowd now appeared. Others pressed forward to the point where the ship was to land. It was now so near that they were already casting over the ropes. Lambert, who still stood on the outer edge, saw himself surrounded by a dense mass, and thus kept in a place he would now have gladly surrendered to anyone whose eyes and heart could better endure the sight of the utmost human wretchedness.

The scene of this misery was the deck of the ship above and below, of which he now had an unobstructed view. Already, from a distance, had the confusion caused by the commingled piles of bales, casks, trunks, and baskets, between which wives and children were wandering about, filled him with sad reflections. But his heart ceased to beat and his chest to heave as, clearer and clearer, and now also very near, the crying and scolding, weeping and lamenting of the unfortunate people struck upon his ear. As his glance wandered from one pitiable object to another, he everywhere saw countenances deathly pale and disfigured by hunger and sickness, out of whose deep, sunken eyes dull despair and frenzied anxiety fearfully glared. As they thus stood in motionless groups it seemed as if they had lost all power and inclination to do anything for themselves. Their heads were stretched forward like timid sheep which the butcher's dog has driven to the door of the slaughter house. Thus they hastened and hurried and crowded between the chests and casks, and greedily gathered up their poor belongings. Elsewhere, in confused quarreling and strife, they snatched bundles from each other, and threatened each other with their fists, until the supercargo intervened and with scolding and pushing and striking, separated them. Lambert could endure the horrible sight no longer, and pressed back the crowd which now surrounded him like a wall. As he involuntarily cast a last glance over the deck it fell upon a form which he had not before noticed, and at once he stopped as though struck by lightning.

Directly before him there leaned against a great pile of bales a young, tall, slender maiden. Her right arm was thrust against the bales, the hand supporting her head. Her other arm hung at her side. Her face, of which he had only a side view, was so thin and pale that the long, dark eyelashes were brought out with singular distinctness. The lustrous black hair was wound around the head in comely braids, and her dress, though poor and threadbare enough, was more tasty than that of the other women, to whom she was evidently greatly superior in refinement. As though a powerful enchantment had seized him, Lambert could not withdraw his gaze from this face. He had never seen anything so beautiful. He had not thought that anything so beautiful could be found. Nearly breathless, without knowing what he was doing--even forgetting where he was--he looked at the stranger as though she were an apparition, until, with sad shaking of the head, she let her supporting arm fall and, passing around the pile of goods against which she had leaned, she disappeared from his sight.

At this moment, back on the Battery, there sounded a great shouting and drumming and fifing. The crowd pressed forward, and was again pushed back. The police who accompanied