Friedrich August Schulze

“ The last day of his residence in Ruhethal had at length arrived; and from the top-most window of his house Mr. Recorder threw down a looks of indulgent tender pity upon the poor infatuated town that lay ben beneath him. “Poor erring place!” said he; most certainly as the Horatian Flaccus observed Quos deus vult perdere, prius dementat. But bitterly I shall be avenged. Soon, too soon (I fear) , will Ruhethal be taught to know be taught—whom it is that she has lost in losing me. But who will pity her? ”

“ But, as far as this Ruhethal is concerned, what has come of it? AbsolutelyWhy nothing: not a soul in the place pay any heed to my wordsthem: ghosts are as plenty as ever. But bitterly— shall I now be avenged terribly shall the Klatschhausen Gazetteer avenge me: and it shall now be shown what consequencea weight in the (illegible text) scale of illumination even small states (illegible text) may attain when great men stand at their head! ”

“ Are there their there ever any footpads seen on these roads—any highwaymen—robbers, or what is it you call ’em?”
“Oh Lord, your honor, plenty plenty; according to season, plenty: of a clear night I’ve seen ’em stand behind the hedges as rank as blackberries.”
“Is it possible?”
“Aye sure enough: but we don’t call un’em robbers in these parts: we call un murderers, if it please your worship.”
Why“Murderer! Why, boy, surely you’re dreaming. ”