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The outlines of some very early maps are given by Kunstmann, Kretschmer, and Winsor, but until 1505 they have no bearing upon our problem. In that year Reinel's map was made, and, although Newfoundland forms part of terra firma, the openings north and south of it are plainly indicated by unclosed lines.
The little boy took the paper and laid it in his portfolio. "The printer told me to ask you," said he, "if you had written nothing yet for the 'Miscellaneous. Spener's Journal had yesterday such a beautiful 'Miscellaneous, and told about a woman who had four children at a birth, and a stork which had arrived and built its nest, although it was the month of October." Mr. Kretschmer frowned.
Kretschmer flew from his stool, and grasped his hat. "My article! I must have my article back. The printer must give it up to me. Wait for me in the street. I come either with my article or not at all." Bidding Krause a hasty farewell, he hurried out.
After this silence had lasted some time, Krause and Kretschmer crept, cautiously looking around them, out of the summer-house in which they had secreted themselves up to this moment. Their countenances were pale and angry. "Gotzkowsky is a puffed-up fool," exclaimed Krause, with a dark frown.
With a wild scream Kretschmer tears himself loose from the hands of the provost-marshals, and rushes toward the general, crying out aloud; Mr. Krause awakens from his heavy, despairing brooding, and both editors sink down before the Russian general. With a mischievous smile, Tottleben looked at Mr. Kretschmer's bleeding back, and asked, "Who are you?" "I am the Vossian Gazette" whined out Mr.
Kretschmer, "whom you have accused of such cruel things. Ah! we have suffered great injustice, and we have been represented as worse than we really are. Oh, believe me, your excellency, I have been belied. I never hated Russia!" "You are both of you accused of libel," said Tottleben, sternly. "If we are guilty of libel, it is without our knowledge," said Mr. Krause.
Kretschmer, smiling, as he opened his window, and exchanged a look of recognition with the man who was gazing up at him. The linen-weaver and prophet had rapidly acquired some renown in Berlin by his prophecies and predictions. The people believed in his mystic words and soothsayings and mistaken fanaticism.
"With his swaggering phrases he has seduced these workmen away from us, to rush into the fight like wounded wild boars, and to bring the Russians down upon us." "We must not give up all hope," said Kretschmer; "the people are timid and fickle, and whoever will give them the sweetest words wins them over to his side. Come, let us try our luck elsewhere.
Yes, indeed, God gave me this picture that we might be warned not to terrify us. Listen, therefore, to my voice, and learn what God announces to you from my mouth." "I would like indeed to hear what the stupid rascal is going to announce to these poor foolish devils," muttered Mr. Kretschmer, leaning out of the window and listening attentively.
"The desired article for the 'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver, Pfannenstiel, is well worth more than the four children at a birth and the miserable stork's nest of yesterday's Spener's Journal. Let's write it off quickly." Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when he was suddenly interrupted by a violent knocking at the door.
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