But, curiously enough, the one thing that this great general specially prided himself upon was neither his skill in warfare nor his favor at court, but simply his strength. There was nothing he enjoyed so much as showing off the power of his muscles, and astonishing the people about him by bending an iron bar, or felling a horse with one blow of his fist; and he was fond of saying that he would give his purse and all the money in it to any man who was stronger than himself, if he could ever fall in with him. Now, it happened that, one day, while the French and German armies were lying pretty close to each other, Marshal de Saxe sent a message to the enemy's camp, asking some of the German officers to dine with him; and after the meal he began to boast of his strength, as usual, till at last an old German general, who sat at his left, said that he would like to see a specimen of what his Excellency could do. Saxe made no answer, but took up a large silver dish, which was standing before him, in his strong white fingers (for, big and powerful as his hands were, they were white and smooth as any lady's, and he was very proud of them), and, without more ado, rolled it up like a sheet of paper! "Can your Honor unroll that dish again?" asked he, handing it to the German; and, although the general was a strong man, and tried his best, he found the task too hard for him, and was forced to own himself beaten. "Your Excellency's strength is very great," said he, "but, nevertheless, I venture to think that there is one man in Flanders who can match it." "And who may he be?" asked Saxe, frowning. "A blacksmith in the village of Scheveningen, Dirk Hogan by name. All the country around knows of his exploits; and when I met with him myself I saw such things as I should have thought impossible, had my own eyes not witnessed them." When the marshal heard this, he looked blacker than ever; and the first thing he did next morning was to send off messengers in every direction to inquire for a village called Scheveningen, and a man named Dirk Hogan. And, sure enough, some of them came back with news that there was such a village, and that Dirk Hogan, the smith, had been living there till quite lately; but that now he had sold his forge and gone away, and nobody knew what had become of him. This was a decided disappointment for our friend Saxe, but he had something else to think of just then. The enemy's army had lately received strong re-enforcements, and seemed inclined to attack him; and he was riding out one morning to reconnoiter their position, when suddenly his horse stumbled and cast a shoe. "There's a village just ahead of us, your Excellency," said one of his officers. "Shall I ride on and see if I can find a blacksmith?" "Do so," answered Saxe; and the officer came back presently to say that he had found what he wanted. So the horse was led up to the door of the smithy, and the smith himself came out to have a look at it.