On midsummer-day 1829, a man was seated in an arbour in a desolate garden, plunged in sad reverie. The land to which the garden belonged was a leasehold, situated on the river Peen, between Anclam and Demmin, and the man who was seated in the cool, shady arbour was the tenant farmer--that is to say; that is what he had been, for he was now bankrupt, and an auction was going on in his yard, and all his goods and chattels were being scattered to the four winds. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of forty-four years of age, with hair of a dusky blond colour. All that work can do for a man had been done for this man, and a better than he could nowhere be found. "Work," said his honest face: an…
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