as subjects of the Dutch, though still without
suffering coercion in their consciences. Sir
Edwin, one of the sons of archbishop Sandys,
happened to be the treasurer, and afterwards
the governor of the Virginia Company, and
with Sir Samuel, his brother, the Separatist
Elder, Brewster, in his postmaster days, had
been connected as a tenant of estate, the
Scrooby manor being property diverted from
the use of the church to its own use by the
family of Sandys. The suggestion of a voyage
to the new country thus naturally came from
without to the Scrooby Puritans. It seemed
good in their eyes. They sailed, a hundred
strong, as Pilgrim Fathers, from Southampton,
in the Mayflower, and they took, as the event
would seem to prove, a blessing with them.

So it is that we find in Brother Jonathan—
in the New Englander, or true Yankee—a
Scrooby man, and even in the name Jonathan
a token of his Puritan descent. The separated
church abhorring saints' days and refusing
saints' names to their children, because almost
every person named in the New Testament was
canonised, were driven to make pious use of
Christian gifts, as Faith, Hope, Grace, or had
resort to the Old Testament, and gave their
sons such names as Jonathan and Zachary.
We may add that the name Yankee declares
him an Englishman, the word having arisen
during the colonial wars, as a corruption of
the French l' Anglais, by Indians unable to
pronounce the letter l.

The English part of the history of the first
colonists of New England, the founders of
New Plymouth, as here narrated, was
discovered only a few years ago by Mr. Hunter, in
the manner following:—It had been said by
Governor Bradford, that the Separatists in
England were of several towns and villages,
some in Nottinghamshire, some in Lincolnshire,
and some in Yorkshire, where they
bordered nearest together. Of the members
of his own church he writes elsewhere, that
they ordinarily met at William Brewster's
house, which was a manor of the bishop's.
Putting these statements together, Mr.
Hunter made research, and found that there
was only a single episcopal manor near the
borders of the three counties named, Scrooby
to wit, ancient possession of the Archbishop
of York. So far good.

Then, because it was known that Brewster
held some government appointment, and that
Scrooby was a post-town, Mr. Hunter betook
himself to the accounts of the postmaster-
general, in hope of discovering some mention
of Brewster as living at Scrooby, in further
corroboration of his theory. The result was
a discovery corroborative in the fullest sense
of the whole fact, and at the same time
tending to throw a flood of new light
on its details,—it was found that William
Brewster held for many years, at Scrooby,
the office of postmaster. To pursue the
research and discover more corroborative and
illustrative details now became easy, and in
this way, the whole of the first chapter in the
story of the Pilgrim Fathers,—even to the
connection between Scrooby men and the
Virginia Company established naturally
through the family of Sandys—a narrative of
great historical importance was brought
suddenly to light. The whole story admirably
shows how, by the study of apparent
trifles, antiquarians may find their way to
hidden treasure.

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

DOWN THE DANUBE.

THE navigation of the Danube is always
difficult; but, when the waters are low, it is
dangerous: so we ran aground for the third
time in the neighbourhood of a small Austrian
military station in the Banat of Temesvar. I
landed. It was well to do so, for there is no
village in the world so desolate and
uninteresting that an observer may not glean
something there.

It was a savage little place at the foot of a
grand range of hills, but semicircled by
meadows and rich lowlands towards the river
side. I entered one of the peasants' huts. It
was built of clay, and roofed with wood cut in
the form of tiles. It was composed of a single
room, with a large stone block in the centre.
Upon this block burned, smouldering, the
half of a tree in one huge log fresh felled.
There was no chimney, so that the constant
smoke and heat of the fire had completely
charred the interior of the hut, and it was
quite black. For furniture was a three-legged
iron cooking-pot of an uncouth shape, three
wooden spoons, a mat of rushes, a sheepskin,
and a little tin oil-lamp hung against the
wall. At the doorway, for there was no door,
a man sat on the uprooted stump of a tree,
larding and combing his hair. He was very
particular about it, and it was easy to
perceive, from the expression of his countenance,
that he enjoyed a deep-seated satisfaction in
his personal appearance. After some time
he rose, shook himself into trim array (his
loose clothes required no other arrangement),
entered the hut, and taking the three-legged
pot off the fire, marched with it in a stiff
military way to a barn, where some messmates
awaited him. In this barn was piled up a
large quantity of Indian corn in sacks ready
for market. And the quaint-shaped three-
legged pot contained the dinner of the rustic
coxcomb and his friends. It was a stew of
pork and a savoury miscellany of vegetables,
chiefly onions. The party required neither
dishes nor plates, but, seating themselves
upon their hams, each man took a knife out
of a wooden sheath at his girdle, and fished
for the juiciest bits. So they sat on the floor
with the pot in the midst of them, silent, but
busy. I noticed that every man wore a ring,
and some other articles of personal ornament,
also that they were dandies in their way,
though one would not have thought it.

I watched them till they had finished their