JUDGE
factory answer. But the most attractive town we found in Holland was s'Hertogenbosch, or Bois le Duc, the old capital of Brabant. Travelers seldom went there. Enclosing the city are still the old wall and ditch. In the fine old cathedral the sacristan tells with bated breath how the Protestants knocked the heads and fingers off of the statuary. In the museum is shown the bag with its stains of blood into which the head rolled as the executioner cut it off. In the market sat the country women laughing and having a good time over their salad and cabbage. In the inn was a kitchen filled with brass and copper, so bright that it was a joy to behold, and in the dining-room was an omelet to be yet remembered with gusto, and cheeses of every kind.
In Crefeld, from which so many people came to Germantown, a city whose great silk manufactories are the outcome of the simple weaving of the early Mennonites, we slept with a feather bed for a cover and another feather bed for the support. Years before, Frederick Muller of Amsterdam had told me that in this city was a genealogy in manuscript of the Schenten family which contained much information concerning the Op den Graeffs. There were many Schenten names in the directory, and on a venture I selected Carl. His counting house was in the second story. In such German as I could muster I explained to him that I was connected with the Historical Society of Pennsylvania and interested in genealogical research; that I had heard of the existence of the manuscript and was anxious to discover its whereabouts.
“Are you looking for an estate?” he inquired.
“Oh, no, my interest is purely historical.”
“Well," he said, “you are the first American I ever saw who was not looking for money.” Then he went to his safe and produced the book. I had come straight to its owner. It carried one of my ancestral lines back to about 1584. I visited the village of Aldekerk, a dirty little town
