A violent enmity subsisted for many years after the war between the citizens of Eisfeld and the monastery of Banz, on account of the two fine-toned bells of their parish church, the "_Banzer_" and the "_Messe_." A Swedish officer had carried off both bells from Banz and sold them to the town. Twice, when the Catholic army was stationed at Eisfeld, the monks had come with waggons and ropes to fetch back their bells, but the first time they fell into a quarrel with a certain Croat who was quartered there, because they wished to take away with them the steeple clock. The Croat rushed upon the pious men with his sword, and he and his comrades ran up the tower and vehemently pulled the bell, so that the monks of Banz could not fetch it down, and were only able to take away the clock with them. The second time they did not succeed better; at last, after the peace, another bell was offered to them as compensation. But when they discovered this sentence upon it: "Preserve us, Lord, by thy word," they returned to their house shaking their heads. At last the pious Duke Ernest arranged the affair; he took for himself as a thank-offering the small bell, and hung it on the Friedenstein in Gotha. The villages did all in their power to defend themselves from the rapacity of the soldiers. As long as they had money, they endeavoured to buy off the officers who were sent forward to seek for quarters, and many rogues took advantage of their fears, and appearing under the disguise of quartermasters, levied heavy contributions on the deluded villagers. Watchmen were placed on the church towers and elevations of the plain, who gave signals if troops were visible in the distance. Then the countryman brought whatever he could save, and the women and children their movable chattels, hasting to some distant place of concealment. These hiding-places were selected with great sagacity; by a little additional labour they were made still more inaccessible, and for weeks, indeed months, the fugitives passed their anxious existence there. On the dark moor, midst ditches, rushes and elders, in the deep shade of woody glens, in old clay-pits, and amid the ruins of decaying walls, did they seek their last refuge. The countryman in many places still shows with emotion such spots. There is a large vault with an iron door in an old tower at Aspach, whither the Aspachers fled whenever small bands of soldiers approached the village; for a more distant refuge they had a field of many acres, overgrown with thick hornbeam, and there they planted thorns which from the fertility of the soil grew into large trees and became like a thick wall. Within this barricade, which could only be attained by creeping on the belly, the villagers often concealed themselves. After the war the thorns were rooted up, and the land changed into hop, and afterwards cabbage grounds. But a portion of this land is still called the "Schutzdorn," "thorn-defence." When the