ed, shrugged his shoulders, and calmly explained that
George Washington, the Rebel, had united with the Indian Savages and was
murdering all loyal English subjects in America, and for a few good
Germans to go to the rescue of England and help put down the
insurrection was a Christian act, and moreover, "it was nobody's
business but their own." He thought that this disposed of the matter,
but the ghost would not down.

In Eighteen Hundred Eight, an Imperial Decree was issued by the Emperor
to this effect: "Whereas, it seems that the House of Hesse-Cassel has
for some years persisted in selling its subjects to the English Crown,
to bear arms in quarrels that are none of ours, and that by this means
has amassed a large fortune, therefore this detestable avarice has now
brought its own punishment, and the Landgraviate of Hesse-Cassel from
now on ceases to exist, being incorporated with the Kingdom of
Westphalia."

* * * * *

Troubles, we are told, never come singly. Of this William the Elector
was convinced. The Emperor had cut off his official head with a stroke
of the pen. The money he possessed was to be taken by legal attachment,
its lawful ownership to be determined in the courts.

The lawsuit would have been a long and tedious one, but happily it was
not to be. Napoleon with his conquering army was sweeping Europe. The
Corsican was approaching Frankfort. The rumor was that the city was to
be wiped out of existence. Napoleon hated the Hessians--he knew all
about their having hired themselves out to fight the Americans. Aye! and
the French! The Hessians must be punished. Justice! The late Elector of
Hesse-Cassel was now only a private citizen, but his record was his
offense. Word had been brought to him that Napoleon had said he would
hang him--when he caught him. It is not at all likely that this would
have happened--Napoleon must have secretly admired the business stroke
that could extract so large a sum from England's exchequer. It was on
this same excursion that Napoleon placed a guard in Goethe's house to
protect the poet from possible harm. "If I were not Napoleon, I would be
Wolfgang Goethe," bluntly said the little man without removing his
cocked hat, when he met the King of Letters, thus paraphrasing his
prototype, Alexander. Goethe gave him a copy of his last book. "It lacks
one thing--your autograph!" said the man who was busy conquering a
world.

Goethe, being an author,