Brrh! Waste chasmy uplands, snow-choked torrents; wild people, gloomy firs! Here at last, by one's watch 5 P.M., is Elbingerode, uncomfortable little Town; and it is to be hoped the forty post-horses are ready.
"Behold, while the forty post-horses are getting ready, a thing takes place, most unexpected;--which made the name of Elbingerode famous for eight months to come.

Of which let us hastily give the bare facts, Fancy making of them what she can.

Was Monseigneur aware that this Elbingerode, with a patch of territory round it, is Hanoverian ground; one of those distracted patches or ragged outskirts frequent in the German map?
Prussia is not yet, and Hessen-Cassel has ceased to be.
Undoubtedly Hanoverian! Apparently the Landgraf and Monseigneur had not thought of that.

But Munchhausen of Hanover, spies informing him, had.

The Bailiff (Vogt, AdVOCATus) has gathered twenty JAGER [official Game-keepers] with their guns, and a select idle Sunday population of the place with or without guns: the Vogt steps forward, and inquires for Monseigneur's passport.