wns and districts. So it
had been even when the Slavonic race alone possessed the soil. Then the
site where Rosmin now stands was an open field, with perhaps a chapel or
a few old trees, and the house of some sagacious landed proprietor, who
saw farther than the rest of his long-bearded countrymen. At that time
the German peddler used to cross the border with his wagon and his
attendants, and to display his stores under the protection of a crucifix
or of a drawn Slavonic sword. These stores consisted of gay
handkerchiefs, stockings, necklaces of glass and coral, pictures of
saints and ecclesiastical decorations, which were given in exchange for
the produce of the district--wolf-skins, honey, cattle, and corn. In
course of time the handicraftsman followed the peddler, the German
shoemaker, the tinsmith, and the saddler established themselves; the
tents changed into strongly-built houses that stood around the
market-place. The foreign settlers bought land, bought privileges from
the original lords of the soil, and copied in their statutes those of
German towns in general. In the woods and on the commons round, it was
told with wonder how rapidly those men of a foreign tongue had grown up
into a large community, and how every peasant who passed through their
gate must pay toll; nay, that even the nobleman, all-powerful as he was,
must pay it as well. Several of the Poles around joined lots with the
citizens, and settled among them as mechanics or shopkeepers. This had
been the origin of Rosmin, as of many other German towns on foreign
soil, and these have remained what at first they were, the markets of
the great plains, where Polish produce is still exchanged for the
inventions of German industry, and the poor field-laborer brought into
contact with other men, with culture, liberty, and a civilized state.

As we have before said, the market-day at Rosmin is a great day still.
From early dawn hundreds of basket-carriages, filled with field-produce,
move on toward the town, but the serf no longer whips on the used-up
chargers of his master, but his own sturdy horse of German breed. And
when the light carriage of a nobleman rolls by, the peasant urges his
horse to a sharper trot, and only slightly touches his hat. Every where
they are moving on toward the town: the children are driving their geese
thither, and the women carrying their butter, fruit, and mushrooms, and,
carefully concealed, a hare or two that has fallen a vict