him to ask the
reason of so strange a proceeding. But, however he may push his
questions--however persevering he may be in getting at the bottom of the
mystery--if he examine and cross-examine fifty different persons, he
will get no other answer than--

"These are the devil's frills."

The frills of the devil! Horrible! What possible connexion can there be
between those beautiful Valenciennes, those splendid Mechlins, those
exquisite Brussels points, and his cloven-footed majesty? Is Haarlem a
city of idolaters? Are all these gossamer oblations an offering to
Beelzebub?

And are we to believe, in spite of well-authenticated tale and history,
that instead of horns and claws, the gentleman in black sports frills
and ruffles, as if he were a young dandy in Bond Street?

"These are the devil's frills."

It is my own private opinion that these mystic words contain some
prodigiously recondite meaning; or, perhaps, arise from one of those
awful incidents, of which Hoffman encountered so many among the
ghost-seeing, all-believing Germans. But don't take it on my simple
assertion, but judge for yourself. I shall tell you, word for word, the
story as it was told to me, and as it is believed by multitudes of
people, who believe nothing else, in the good town of Haarlem.

CHAPTER II.

Yes,--one other thing everybody in Haarlem believes--and that is, that
Guttenberg, and Werner, and Faust, in pretending that they were the
discoverers of the art of printing, were egregious specimens of the art
of lying; for that that noble discovery was made by no human being save
and except an illustrious citizen of Haarlem, and an undeniable proof of
it exists in the fact, that his statue is still to be seen in front of
the great church. He rejoiced, while living, in the name of Laurentius
Castero; and, however much you may be surprised at the claims advanced
in his favour, you are hereby strictly cautioned to offer no
contradiction to the boastings of his overjoyed compatriots--they are
prouder of his glory than of their beer. But his merits did not stop
short at casting types. In addition to his enormous learning and
profound information, he possessed an almost miraculous mastery of the
fiddle. He was a Dutch Paganini, and drew such notes from his
instrument, that the burgomaster, in smoking his pipe and listening to
the sounds, thought it had a close resemblance to the music of the
spheres.

There was only one man in all Haarlem, i