L I C II T E N F E L S. 
25 
No one can know so well as an Arctic voyager tlie 
value of foresight. My conscience lias often called for 
the exercise of it, but my habits make it an effort. I 
can hardly claim to be provident, either by impulse or 
education. Yet, for some of the deficiencies of our 
outfit I ought not, perhaps, to hold myself responsible. 
Our stock of fresh meats was too small, and we had 
no preserved vegetables: but my personal means were 
limited; and I could not press more severely than a 
strict necessity exacted upon the unquestioning libe¬ 
rality of my friends. 
While we were beating out of the fiord of Fisker- 
naes, I had an opportunity of visiting Liclitenfels, the 
ancient seat of the Greenland congregations, and one 
of the three Moravian settlements. I had read much 
of the history of its founders; and it was with feelings 
almost of devotion, that I drew near the scene their 
labors had consecrated.® 
As we rowed into the shadow of its rock-embayed 
cove, every thing was so desolate and still, that wq might 
have fancied ourselves outside the world of life; even 
the dogs—those querulous, never-sleeping sentinels of 
the rest of the coast—gave no signal of our approach. 
Presently, a sudden turn around a projecting cliff 
brought into view a quaint old Silesian mansion, bris¬ 
tling with irregularly-disposed chimneys, its black over¬ 
hanging roof studded with dormer windows and crowned 
with an antique belfry. 
We were met, as we landed, by a couple of grave 
ancient men in sable jackets and close velvet skull- 
